The Italian's Unexpected Baby

‘Where the hell have you been?’

Mia froze at the sound of Alessandro’s condemning voice, the cold rage she heard in it, as he strode towards her, everything about his taut form and angry voice catapulting her back to her childhood.

‘I told you…’ she began, faltering at the sight of the thunderous look on her husband’s face.

‘You told me you needed to think! And then I came home to an empty house, no explanation, my daughter gone…’

‘I went away for a night, that’s all…’

‘Without telling me so. Without telling me where.’ Alessandro shook his head, his eyes dark, his lips compressed. ‘How could you, Mia? How could you do such a thing?’ He shook his head again before she could form a reply. ‘I don’t care. No reason is good enough.’

‘Then I won’t bother giving you one,’ Mia snapped, goaded into her own rage by his high-handed manner. To think she’d been about to tell him she loved him! ‘It seems you can come and go as you please, but I can’t.’

‘That’s completely different. I was working.’

‘While I was playing with the fairies? Never mind.’ Anger and hurt choked her voice. ‘I don’t care. I’m going inside.’ She pushed past him, only to have him reach for her arm.

‘Mia—’

‘Leave me alone.’ She shrugged off his hand, her eyes blinded by tears, and hurried inside. It was, she realised as she headed upstairs, the first argument they’d had since they’d been married, and it felt a

s if it might be the last one as well. How had everything gone so disastrously wrong so quickly? Except it hadn’t been quick at all. It had been happening all month. This was just the result.

Ella was fussing, so Mia fed and changed her before putting her down for a nap. Then she had a shower, hoping it might make her feel better, but everything only made her feel worse. She thought of going in search of Alessandro, but couldn’t bear the thought of another argument, or, worse, a freezing silence.

How had it got this bad between them? Was there any way to make it better?

‘Mia.’ Alessandro stood in the doorway of the bedroom as she came out of the bathroom, finger-combing her damp hair. She stilled as she saw him, everything in her poised for flight.

‘What is it?’ she asked warily.

He shook his head slowly. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

That didn’t sound good. ‘Thinking? About what?’

‘About us.’

Her hands stilled and she turned to face him fully, lowering her hands from her hair. ‘Alessandro…?’

‘I never gave you a choice, Mia.’

What…?

‘You did,’ she protested, scanning his face for clues to what he was feeling.

‘Not really. I as good as sent you to California, and then I took you from there, without you being able to do much about it. I practically forced you to marry me…’

Mia gazed at him, trying to figure out where he was going with this. ‘But you asked me to choose, Alessandro. I was the one who proposed, after all—’

‘Do you really think that was any choice at all? If you’d said no, I would have seduced you. I would have had my way. I was always determined about that. There was absolutely no way you weren’t going to marry me, Mia.’ He met her gaze bleakly, and Mia shook her head.

‘Why are you telling me this now?’

‘Because I realise I can’t do this any more. I can’t give you what you need, what you deserve.’

‘Which is what?’ Mia whispered.

‘Love.’ He spoke the word flatly. ‘It’s too hard for me, Mia. With my childhood…my parents… I can’t do it.’