The Secret Kept from the Italian

Maisie shook her head again. ‘Someone once told me I was the most loving and generous person he knew.’ She laughed, the sound harsh. ‘At least now I know that person doesn’t exist.’ Antonio watched, still frozen, as she turned on her heel and walked quickly out of the building.

Antonio stood there, unable to move, his mind whirling. He took a quick, steadying breath and straightened his suit jacket. That could have gone better, but at least it was over. And if Maisie had, for a moment, filled him with doubt and regret, well, those inconvenient emotions were gone now, replaced by his usual resolve.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have pretended he didn’t know her, but the alternative would have been such a crushing blow that she might have fallen to pieces. Surely this was better, even if it didn’t feel like it. And at least he wouldn’t ever have to see her again.

He stepped into the waiting limo and leaned his head back against the luxurious leather seat, telling himself that that was a good thing. A very good thing. Even if it didn’t feel like it at this moment.

CHAPTER FIVE

One year later

‘TABLE FOUR NEEDS more wine.’

‘I’ll be right there.’

Maisie rolled her shoulders to ease the ache between them and reached for another bottle of wine from the crate by the kitchen door. Waitressing at high-end dinner parties wasn’t where she’d seen herself ending up, but she was glad of the money. She needed it.

A lot had changed in the year since she’d looked down at those two pink lines. She had her daughter, for one. Ella was the most precious and wonderful thing that had ever happened to her. Maisie’s pregnancy had been difficult, first with morning sickness and then with the onset of pre-eclampsia. She’d been bedridden for the last two months, and Max, her amazing brother, had stepped right up to help take care of her.

Maisie cringed to think of how she’d once felt undervalued and unappreciated by her brother. Max had been a star since she’d discovered she was pregnant. He’d taken time off work and insisted on moving in with her, leaving his friends and flatmates behind, so he could help her through her pregnancy and then with a fractious newborn.

He was babysitting Ella tonight, so she could work, and had even volunteered to bring her to the hotel during her break so that Maisie could feed her. At three months old, Ella refused to take a bottle, and in any case Maisie didn’t want to give up the delight of feeding her herself.

In fact, Max was due in another fifteen minutes or so, which meant she needed to deal with Table Four and make sure everyone was happy before taking a much-needed break. She’d been on her feet for the last three hours, and Ella had been up throughout the night before. Maisie had forgotten what a good night’s sleep felt like.

She moved around the table of corpulent, smug businessmen—the dinner hosted in the hotel’s ballroom was for some CEO or other—topping up their wine glasses and evading the occasional groping hand. She’d been waitressing for the last two months, a few nights a week, just to bring in some money. In that time she’d discovered that some privileged men tended to see waitresses as one step removed from prostitutes.

Maisie hardly thought she looked appealing, considering the extra ten pounds she was still carrying, as well as the dark circles under her eyes and the spit-up stain on her shoulder, but apparently millionaires, along with beggars, weren’t choosers.

She was pouring a glass of wine when she heard a sudden, quick, indrawn breath. She looked up and the whole room fell away as she found herself staring into the bright blue eyes that had haunted her dreams as well as a good deal of her waking hours for the past year.

‘Watch what you’re doing!’

With a jolt Maisie looked down and saw she’d overfilled the wine glass. There was now a growing crimson stain on the pristine white tablecloth.

‘I’m so sorry—’

‘You’re an idiot, is what you are,’ the man snapped. His face was red, his expression furious. ‘You’ll pay for my dry-cleaning bill.’

A single drop of wine had splashed onto his suit cuff, and Maisie’s stomach hollowed out. She couldn’t afford a hefty dry-cleaning bill. It would take up most of her wages for waitressing that night.

‘I’m really very sorry...’

‘And so you should be.’ The man was bristling, spoiling for a fight. With a sinking sensation Maisie realised he was one of the men who had attempted to touch her knee while she’d been serving dinner; she’d moved away smartly, and he’d noticed and glowered. ‘I should call the manager over,’ he added, his indignation rising. ‘See that you’re fired. A place like this shouldn’t have sloppy waitresses.’

‘I think that would be a touch excessive.’ Antonio’s voice was light and charming, yet underneath there was a layer of steel that no one could mistake. The sound of it caused shivers to roll down Maisie’s spine. Antonio. Here. He hadn’t been here when she’d last served this table; surely she would have noticed.

‘Especially,’ he continued silkily, ‘considering you have already been excessive.’ He nodded towards the over-full glass. ‘You’re on your fourth, are you not, Bryson?’

The man puffed up, blustering. ‘How dare you—?’

‘Actually, there’s no daring involved,’ Antonio drawled. ‘But I suppose it must seem audacious to you, a man who would bully a mere waitress.’

The man glowered while Maisie remained rooted to the spot, shocked beyond all bearing. It was mind-blowing enough to see Antonio here, but to have him defend her...

But then, he didn’t know who she was. Did he? He was just being nice to a stranger, a mere waitress. Somehow, on top of everything else, that stung.

‘I’ll get you a new napkin,’ Maisie murmured. She walked away blindly, her mind blank and buzzing. What was Antonio doing in New York? She’d read in a gossip magazine that he was back in Milan, where his business was based. Had he come here to wreck another company, to ruin more people’s lives? According to one stinging editorial she’d read, that was his speciality.