Delucca's Marriage Contract
‘You mean the child rearing.’
Keelin took a bite of food and pretended to be distracted. ‘What? Oh, yes, that’s what I mean.’
She risked a glance and Gianni was looking at her with a hard expression and Keelin feigned surprise and put her fork down. ‘Oh, had you intended on having children, for real? Like, your own?’
His jaw was tight, he wasn’t touching his food. ‘Call me old-fashioned but yes, I had anticipated having children of my own.’
Keelin’s anger flared again at the way he’d obviously decided he’d have no problem with children resulting from a cold and clinical union. She forced her irritation down and said pseudo-sympathetically, ‘And you’d imagined your wife bringing them up in the villa?’
‘Something like that. My mother was my main carer, not a nanny.’
Keelin rolled her eyes. ‘Lucky you. I had a veritable parade of nannies.’ She made a faint grimace. ‘I wasn’t the easiest child apparently, but I’m sure it’s not hereditary.’
Gianni seemed prepared to let that little nugget go and frowned. ‘Where was your mother?’
Keelin pushed down the old bitterness and said airily as if it hadn’t mattered a jot, ‘Oh, you know, with Daddy on trips, or away on holidays, or shopping. I was in boarding school most of the time.’
She looked at him after eating more of her starter and washing it down with champagne. ‘You should probably hear it from me that I was expelled from four schools, including my last one, a finishing school in Switzerland.’
Gianni hadn’t touched his starter and when the staff returned he let them take it. His eyes were hooded, dangerous. ‘Hear it from you?’
Keelin shrugged. ‘In case the papers pick up on it when they find out we’re getting married.’
Gianni went rigid. He hadn’t thought about that. ‘You were expelled from all your schools?’
Keelin pouted. ‘Well, not all. Not my primary one. Just the later ones, you know how teenage rebellion is.’
She continued chummily, ‘But I can see how good that discipline was for me so I’d be a big advocate of boarding school—the earlier, the better. There are lots of great schools in Ireland.’
* * *
Gianni fought down the urge to stand up and pace up and down. Keelin was not painting a good picture, and dammit, he hated feeling as if he was being made a fool of. Her father hadn’t hinted at any of this. She was practically a delinquent! And yet she’d be only too happy to send any children they had down the same route! He’d always thought of boarding schools as upper-class nonsense.
Once again he forced himself to remain civil. ‘May I ask what your transgressions were?’
Keelin ticked off her fingers. ‘Being caught in a local bar, smoking, being caught with boys in the dorm, running away...’
Gianni felt disgust rise, not because they were serious crimes since they weren’t especially, but he hated that evidence of someone from a life of privilege taking it so much for granted, exuding a kind of supercilious confidence that said she could do whatever she liked and get away with it.
And clearly she had the idea that her life would be going in the same direction as her mother’s—that of leaving the care of her children to strangers or to a school. And they wouldn’t even be their own children if she had her way! This conversation was also making a completely hitherto unexplored sense of protectiveness at the thought of a child of his own rise up within him.
It was too much. Gianni was feeling seriously claustrophobic. But then the main course arrived and he absently picked a suitable wine to go with the meat. Only to see Keelin wrinkle up her nose and say, ‘I’ll stick to the champagne, if that’s okay. I can’t abide wine.’
Gianni took a deep calming breath and tried not to dwell on that image of Keelin at important functions insisting on champagne when everyone else was drinking wine. He made a gesture to the chef’s waiter and said urbanely, ‘Of course, have what you like.’
Blissfully, for a moment as they ate, there was silence. And once Keelin wasn’t talking and saying anything that was guaranteed to wind him up, he became uncomfortably aware of her.
In spite of the bling jewellery, big hair, lots of make-up and fake tan, she was clearly a beauty. Those eyes, especially when she widened them, threatened to distract him every time. And those lush lips. And the curves underneath the provocative silk of the jumpsuit, not to mention the flash of long shapely legs every time she moved. One thing was very clear—his body would marry this woman in a second, his head though was another matter.
When their plates had been cleared, Gianni’s eyes narrowed on Keelin. For a moment she wasn’t looking at him, or looking vacant, or chattering nonsensically, and he had the strangest notion that this was all some kind of elaborate—what? Was she deliberately sending him crazy? Making him doubt himself? Maybe he was being too hasty? Surely they could talk about these things, and if they had children, then perhaps she could be persuaded that a nanny was sufficient, and not necessarily a boarding school in the remote reaches of Ireland?
But just then she looked at him again, and a small frown marred her smooth forehead. ‘There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.’
Gianni tried not to let his eyes drop to the voluptuous swell of her breasts. ‘Yes?’
Keelin looked exceedingly uncomfortable; a faint blush stained her cheeks. ‘I wanted to talk to you about sex.’
Gianni blanched a little. Had he been so obvious?