The Italian Billionaire's Secret Love-Child

‘Oh. Right.’ So that was what he was up to! Now would come the nitty-gritty details of when he would leave the house. Charlotte felt it in her bones, and knew that she should have been over the moon because her life would get back to normal, but she felt an empty void settle in the pit of her stomach.

Why fight the truth? She had become accustomed to having him around the house. She had always thought that two was such a tidy number. Just her and Gina, both of them against the world. But three was just so much rounder and more fulfilling.

If he thought that cooking a meal was the adult, civilised way of breaking the news, then she would show him that she was fine with that idea and dress accordingly, in her usual casual, staying at home ‘because I love my life without you in it’ gear—a pair of comfy combat trousers, and a baggy olive-green sweater.

She was not expecting what she found in the kitchen. Candlelight, for a start. Riccardo turned around as she walked in, and Charlotte smiled awkwardly at him.

‘I didn’t dress for the occasion.’ She spread her hands along her randomly put together outfit, feeling a bit of a fool even though he was in casual clothes as well. Though somehow he looked considerably less scruffy than she was.

‘No matter.’

‘You’ve cooked a meal from scratch?’ She spotted the recipe book propped against the bread bin and the sink full of pots and pans, which seemed to suggest an awfully ambitious meal just for two. Why did he have to get under her skin like that? Why did he have to make her like him?

‘There’s no need to sound quite so astounded,’ Riccardo said. He fetched something from the fridge. It turned out to be avocado and prawns.

‘I thought you hated cooking, and sneered at men who ventured anywhere near a kitchen unless in pursuit of a bottle of wine from the fridge.’ She sat down and tried to squash the foolishly special feeling rushing through her. This just wasn’t going to do, was it?

‘Obviously I wouldn’t make it my life’s work.’ He handed her the dish, the avocado and prawns both drowning under ample amounts of seafood sauce, which he had bought because the recipe had seemed ridiculously long considering the length of time that would be spent eating the damned thing. ‘It might taste better than it looks,’ he said, picking up his fork and diving into the starter. ‘Not bad.’ Fairly revolting. Ben the Chef probably did all manner of creative things involving herbs and spices, which immediately made Riccardo scowl.

‘It’s not that bad,’ Charlotte told him, misinterpreting his expression.

Riccardo grunted. Most evenings she worked long hours. Way too long. Never mind that she had an excellent childminder. It had crossed his mind more than once that she’d need not necessarily been at work, that she could have been seeing her boyfriend behind his back. It had crossed his mind even more that he could have her followed and put his suspicions to rest once and for all, but he’d baulked at the idea. He didn’t want to discover whether she had broken ties with Ben or not; he didn’t want to have to deal with the confrontation that would result from such a discovery. Because it had become blatantly clear to him over the past couple of weeks that he wanted her in his life. He had no idea how he could have been so stupid as to think that the physical spark between them would be enough to cement the union         he felt his daughter deserved. Charlotte might have caved in once, but she had made it perfectly clear as time had gone by that that had really meant as little to her as she had told him at the time.