Bound By Their Nine-Month Scandal (The Montero Baby Scandals 3)

“Why?”

“My mother died. My father’s family no longer saw a need to maintain my upkeep.”

“And cut you off at fourteen?” Her teen years had been agonizing and lonely, but at least she’d had a roof over her head.

She glanced at her phone where other comments had ranged from comparing her to a scantily clad female ninja character in a particular game to questioning whether she “deserved” to become part of Angelo’s beloved team.

“No wonder they idolize you for what you’ve made of yourself. You’re very inspirational.”

“In an industry of introverts, an extrovert is king,” he drawled. “I’m inviting my team to our engagement party. They’ll hate it as much as you will.”

“I won’t hate it,” she protested, even though she already hated it a little, mostly because it had ruffled so many feathers.

Angelo was fixated on having their party tonight, but her parents had already been committed to another function elsewhere. It would be bad form for La Reina not only to back out, but to host a competing event, even if it was for her daughter. Angelo had booked it at his hotel and suggested her parents come by when time allowed.

That had still left her mother in the position of backing out of their own social event because they couldn’t possibly be anywhere but at their daughter’s engagement. Pia had tried shifting Angelo on the date, but he’d been adamant. At the last moment, Cesar and Sorcha had swooped in to insist they host the party at their home. It was a strategy straight from the Montero playbook, taking back home court advantage.

Pia’s parents had had to withdraw from the other affair, something at which her father was supposed to have presented an award. That was bad enough, but they weren’t the only ones jumping ship in favor of the far more exclusive event up the coast. If anyone held more social sway in the country than La Reina Montero, it was her son’s wife, Sorcha. Dignitaries attended for the chance to rub shoulders with the Duque and Duquessa, while young professionals, jet-setters and the fashionably elite wouldn’t miss a chance to mingle with the Montero heir.

Pia had quit reading her texts. She didn’t know who she was causing to be snubbed and didn’t care, too busy with her own concerns. Along with the multitude of calls and emails with her own accountant and the family lawyers and PR team, she was working with her stylist to curate her wardrobe for the events they faced through the holiday season and into her wedding in mid-January. She was trying to be nicer to the wedding planner, but the young woman was underfoot at every turn with questions and samples and suggestions.

Finding a wedding dress on short notice had meant calling in a favor with a friend of Sorcha’s in Italy. Her poor designer had had to swear a blood oath to keep Pia’s pregnancy under wraps until such time as they wanted to announce it, and Pia still hadn’t settled on a dress for tonight.

Then there was the act of moving from the gorgeous little house her maternal aunt had bequeathed to her to the island mansion where an interior designer was already asking about nursery furniture.

“Of course you should keep this house if you want to,” Angelo said as he wandered the rooms of her home, taking in the earthy tones and comfortable furniture. “It will give us our own space when we come to visit your family. You’ll have to convert one of these rooms to a nursery, though.”

“Oh dear Lord,” Pia whimpered.

Angelo chuckled as he kissed her forehead. “Why don’t you nap before we have to dress and leave for your brother’s?”

“I have so much to do.” She could barely face it, though.

“I’ll wake you before I leave for my meeting,” he promised, nudging her into the bedroom, where he draped a blanket over her.

She should have known he was lying.

Two hours later, the jangle of the landline woke her. Few people used it beyond her family or the occasional call from the grocer. She answered in time to hear her housekeeper on the extension telling the caller she wasn’t available and offer to take a message.

“I’m here,” Pia said. “Who’s calling?”

“This is Tomas Gomez, Señorita Montero. Do you know who I am?”

“I’ll take it,” Pia said, sitting up. The phone clicked as her housekeeper hung up. “I believe my brother Rico now owns an estate that previously belonged to your family.”

“That’s right. It was in our family for generations. Do you know why Angelo was on the estate the night of the masked ball?”

“W-was he?” She instinctive

ly played dumb, mostly because she was so surprised to receive this call.

“He was there for more than the painting, Pia. But you already know that, don’t you? Were you helping him?”

Her skin crawled at his use of her name, but she couldn’t seem to hang up the phone. “In what way? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The jewelry. Did you help him retrieve it?”

She caught her breath loudly enough he must have heard it.