The Sicilian's Secret Son

Annah said, ‘I’ll get Ethan.’

‘I will,’ he told her. ‘Sit down and strap in.’

Her forehead creased. ‘Don’t give me orders, Luca. Not where it concerns Ethan. I’m his mother.’

‘And I am his father,’ he said, a surge of frustration sharpening his tone. Was this how it would always be? Her getting her hackles up over every tiny thing? Getting possessive over their son? ‘Ethan is as much my responsibility as he is yours. The sooner you come to terms with that, the easier this will be for all of us—including Ethan.’

Luca brushed past her and strode to the bedroom. His heart pounded. His blood thrummed in his veins. How did she manage to anger him and kindle his desire to kiss her at the same time? He had no answer. No logical one, at any rate.

And that irritated him even more.

* * *

The sight of Luca holding a sleepy Ethan in his strong arms made something shift in Annah’s chest.

Given that he was a bachelor who probably had little to no experience with children, she hadn’t expected him to look as comfortable as he did carrying Ethan, neither had she expected Ethan to look quite so content in Luca’s arms.

As they got closer, Ethan blinked sleepy eyes at her, and she waited for him to hold out his arms to her, but they remained looped around Luca’s neck.

She looked at them both. Two dark heads. Two sets of beautiful, dark brown eyes—one pair completely innocent and trusting, the other wiser and disconcertingly astute.

Somehow, man and boy looked right together.

Like father and son.

Inwardly, Annah sighed. It was beyond silly to feel jealous and possessive. She was Ethan’s mother and nothing was going to change that. But up until three days ago she’d been the only parent her son had ever known, and now, suddenly, Luca was encroaching on her territory. It made her want to draw a firm boundary around her and Ethan and shove Luca onto the other side of it.

Together, she and Luca settled Ethan into the seat beside hers, reclining it before tucking a blanket around him and then fastening the seat belt over the top. She kissed his forehead and stroked her fingertips through his hair. Within minutes he was asleep again, despite the juddering of the plane each time they hit another turbulent pocket of air.

Settling back in her own seat, she picked up a magazine and leafed through it. The words were a blur and even the pictures were difficult to focus on, but it was better than resuming her conversation with Luca, which had got too close to things she didn’t like talking about.

Would he think her capable of being a good mother if he knew she’d barely spoken with her own in the last few years? Not that he was in any position to judge. By his own account, he hadn’t spoken with his father in the five years before Franco Cavallari had died. But for all her sins, Rachel Sinclair could hardly be compared to the likes of Luca’s father. She wasn’t inherently bad. She was simply self-absorbed, incapable of seeing beyond the scope of her own needs and desires, too emotionally needy and lacking in courage to believe she could ever stand on her own two feet without a man propping her up. Invariably, it was her insecurities that drove men away.

Annah doubted her mother would ever possess enough self-awareness to alter her behaviour, but at least Annah had learned from her mother’s mistakes. She would never be weak and needy, incapable of looking after herself and her child.

As for divulging the fact that her father was some random guy her mother had slept with after a drunken party when she was eighteen... No. She couldn’t bear to share that mortifying bit of information. Not when it was the one mistake of her mother’s she hadn’t avoided making herself. And to think she had once felt superior on that front. Had sat on her lofty moral high ground and looked down upon her mother’s behaviour with disgust and scorn. Rachel Sinclair hadn’t even made it out of her teens without getting pregnant, while Annah had reached the age of twenty-two with her virginity and her self-respect intact.

And then she’d met Luca and taken a spectacular and rather humbling tumble off her self-appointed pedestal.

To give credit where it was due, Rachel hadn’t said anything snide when she’d learnt of Annah’s pregnancy, but then she hadn’t said anything much at all aside from stressing that she wasn’t in a position to provide any support—which was laughable considering Annah hadn’t lived with her mother since she’d turned eighteen and had pretty much looked after herself since well before then.

No. Her mother hadn’t been there for her at all. It was Chloe and her family who’d helped her during her pregnancy and afterwards, on those rare occasions when necessity and the welfare of her child had demanded she swallow her pride and accept assistance.

She put the magazine down, having reached the end and absorbed not a single word, then picked up another from the pile the flight attendant had left.

She didn’t know where she’d be without Chloe, although she’d half hoped her friend would talk her out of taking Ethan to Sicily. After Annah had recounted the essential parts of her and Luca’s conversation, however, Chloe had chewed on her thumbnail and conceded that perhaps it wasn’t such a bad way forward if Annah wanted to avoid getting the authorities and a bunch of lawyers involved. She’d also assured Annah the boutique would survive without her for a week.

Turning the page of her magazine, Annah sneaked a look at Luca from under her lashes. He’d gone back to his laptop and his eyebrows were scrunched in concentration. Dressed in dark jeans and a pale blue shirt with the collar unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up his forearms, he looked mouth-wateringly gorgeous.

She skimmed her gaze down his length, all the way to his Italian loafers and back up to the dark film of stubble coating his jaw.

Every part of him looked strong and toned and masculine. His thighs. His arms. His chest.

His chest.

She gripped the magazine and stared blindly at some travel article, her palms tingling as she recalled how that broad expanse of muscle had felt beneath her hands. She hadn’t stumbled against him on purpose, but once she was there she hadn’t wanted to step away.

And neither had he.