The Italian's Unexpected Baby

He’d never expected this. All along he’d been planning his strategy, wooing his wife, poised for victory, negotiating the terms. She would be his.

He hadn’t realised he would be hers.

But he felt it now in every sated fibre of his being, and this union between them that they had just consummated wasn’t just special, it was sacred. It was overwhelming. And he knew, as he held her close, that he was in very grave danger of doing that which Mia herself had been so afraid of—losing himself. Giving everything to the woman he now held in his arms.

The woman who held his heart without even realising it. Without him ever having meant to give it to her.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IT HAD BEEN one month since she’d become Alessandro’s wife, one amazing, incredible, pleasure-filled month. The days had been spent with Ella and often with Alessandro, when he could get away from work, spending time together in easy pleasures, exploring the market town and the surrounding countryside, and simply enjoying getting to know one another.

When Alessandro had to work at his office in Florence, Mia had pottered about the villa, taking over some of the duties from Alyssa, as well as learning Italian and attending a local mums and babies group. She’d been surprised how easy and pleasant it was to fill her days in this way, to simply enjoy being.

And as for her nights…those were filled as well, with a pleasure and intimacy she’d never expected or dared to dream of. Every night she and Alessandro explored each other’s bodies, learning the maps of their very selves, and offering themselves to each other in a way that felt like the purest form of communication.

Each night left Mia both sated and shaken, as if she’d flown close to the sun, and been engulfed in its brilliance. It warmed her right through, but she also knew it had the danger to burn her right up.

Because, a month on from their marriage, she knew she was falling in love with her husband. She might have fought against it at the start, had worried all along that it would happen, and now she knew it was.

And she had no idea how her husband felt about her. At night she’d swear on her soul that he loved her, and he showed her he did in a thousand ways. But during the day…

Mia hadn’t been able to fault him, at least not until recently. He’d been kind, affectionate, humorous, gentle with Ella. Yet all along she had never been able to escape the sense that he was still keeping some private yet essential part of himself from her. Whenever the conversation turned a little too personal, she felt a distance open up between them, a cool remoteness in Alessandro, as if he had picketed off part of himself and it absolutely wasn’t up for grabs.

When she was alone, she told herself she must be imagining it. How on earth could she not be satisfied with all Alessandro gave her? It was such a vague notion, after all. Then, when they were together again, she felt it, like a part of her rubbed raw, always chafing. The words he’d never say, the sense that he wasn’t hers, not in the way that she knew she was his. The remoteness was real…and it hurt.

And it had grown worse over the last few days, with Alessandro barely spending any time with her at all. He’d worked late, missing dinner as well as Ella’s bedtime, coming to bed when Mia had already succumbed to a restless, unhappy sleep.

She hadn’t asked him about his withdrawal; she hadn’t, she acknowledged unhappily, been brave enough. Maybe he had some important deal at work. Maybe something else was going on.

But then, why couldn’t he tell her about it?

And, more importantly, why couldn’t she ask?

Now, with Ella settled in her bouncy chair as Mia prepared dinner, she could pretend, at least, they were just like any other family, any other loving couple. Alessandro had told her this morning he would be home for dinner, and hopefully they would sit and eat, talk and laugh, and everything so easy and simple…at least on the surface.

And when they went up to bed a little while later, it would be even simpler, because between the sheets Mia felt she had all of Alessandro to herself…body and soul.

There Alessandro never became a tiny bit repressive, a little tight-lipped. In bed, she never saw the flash of something in his eyes that reminded her of the man she’d met back in London, cold and autocratic, ruthless and remote. Not the man she married. Not the man she was beginning, to her own wonder and fear, to love.

Alyssa bustled into the kitchen, chucking Ella under her chin before turning to Mia. ‘Something smells molto delizioso!’

Mia smiled wryly. ‘I hope so. That is…lo spero.’

Alyssa beamed her approval. ‘Molto buona! Your lessons are coming on, si?’

‘Si.’ She’d been having several hours’ tuition every day, and she hoped eventually to be fluent, to help Ella be fluent as well. Alessandro already talked to his daughter in Italian, something that made Mia melt inside. At moments like that, she could let herself believe in the fairy tale. She could be carried away by it.

‘Is Signor Costa eating at home tonight?’ Alyssa asked, and Mia nodded.

‘Yes…that is, I hope so. Lo spero.’ She smiled wryly again. ‘He said he would before he left this morning.’ Even though he hadn’t for the few nights before, with no real explanation.

She was just setting the table, Ella bathed and gurgling in her bouncy chair, when her phone beeped with a text from Alessandro.

Working late.

Two measly words when she’d already prepared dinner, had everything ready. Mia’s stomach swirled with disappointment and a far deeper hurt. This was the fourth night in a row. Feeling a bit reckless, she swiped her phone’s screen to dial his number.

‘Mia?’ His voice was terse. ‘Didn’t you get my message?’