Demanding His Billion-Dollar Heir

‘It’s just that...my brother... We have to go to Italy, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I don’t even have the right clothes and—’

He couldn’t help let out a laugh, now that he knew there was nothing wrong with their child, as he struggled to understand the chain of her thoughts.

‘What do clothes have to do with Italy and your brother?’

‘He knows, Matthieu. He saw a photo of us at the gala. A very pregnant, married “us”.’

‘You didn’t tell him?’

‘I...’

Matthieu felt his frown return. It wasn’t as if they’d actually talked that much about her family. He knew she had a brother, that her father had remarried after the loss of his first wife in childbirth with Maria. Had he just assumed that she had told them? Perhaps he had assumed a little too much where his wife was concerned.

‘What did he say?’

‘He wants us to visit him in Siena. He wants...to meet you.’

Matthieu managed to resist the urge to laugh this time. Clearly this meant a lot to Maria. He’d never seen her like this before—all this buzzing energy and indecision. Casting his mind back, he was pretty sure that she’d been less panicked when telling him that she was pregnant.

‘Then we’ll go,’ he said simply. And for the first time she stopped pacing.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, Maria. He’s your family, it’s important.’ Good God, did she think he was a monster that would refuse to visit her brother? But rather than seem relieved, she turned a lighter shade of pale and Matthieu sensed that there was definitely something more going on.

‘But I have nothing to wear,’ she cried.

His eyebrows shot up—he was sure he could feel them disappearing into his hairline. When had Maria ever cared about clothing?

‘Maria—’

‘And shoes! My shoes don’t even fit right now, because I’m just getting...fat. Everywhere. In places that aren’t around my child. And don’t,’ she said, spinning back to him and pointing a stabbing finger in his direction, ‘don’t for one minute dare to even think that this is hormones,’ she hissed.

‘I didn’t—’

‘Because, yes, there are hormones, lots of them!’ She was most definitely shouting now, and in that moment Matthieu was regretting the smooth planes of concrete he had loved so much and was yearning for soft furnishings to take the edge off the anger vibrating around the room. ‘So many. Making me want to eat ice cream. All. The. Time. Surely that’s what morning sickness is there for? To balance the scales. Why couldn’t I just have morning sickness?’

‘You want—’

‘Of course I don’t want to be sick, don’t be ridiculous.’

Matthieu couldn’t tell whether he wanted to laugh or cry, and sensed more than anything that Maria was also torn between the two. But he was now convinced that although there might be something to the hormones, it wasn’t everything and if he didn’t do something this conversation would end very badly indeed.

He stalked over to the freezer and hunted in the bottom drawer to find what he was looking for. He seized it with one hand and riffled in the cutlery drawer for a spoon. Returning to the small island that he strategically placed between him and his rather adorably flustered, but most definitely volatile wife, he took off the lid of the ice-cream pot.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

‘Eating.’ He plunged the spoon into the depths of the carton and retrieved a sizable amount and consumed the entire mouthful.

‘Now? You’re eating now? When I’ve just—’

‘From now on,’ he said, around a mouthful of the cold sweet dessert and swallowing, whilst digging around for another spoonful, ‘I eat what you eat.’ He stared at her with determination and watched her expressive features as they shifted focus from whatever crazy chain of thought she’d been on, to watching him eat spoonful after spoonful of ice cream. Only, he realised too late, he was about to get brain freeze. No matter. He’d eat the whole damn tub if it would make her feel better right now.

He waited until he was sure that he had her full attention. ‘So we’re going to Italy?’

>

‘Sebastian has invited us for dinner at his in two days’ time.’