The Italian's Christmas Housekeeper

She was aware of her hand touching her belly and aware of Salvio’s gaze following the movement before he lifted his black eyes to hers. She searched their dark gleam in vain for some kind of emotion, and tried to ignore the painful stab in her heart when she met nothing but a cold, unblinking acceptance in their ebony depths. Of course he wasn’t going to feel the same way as she did about their child. Why wouldn’t he look sombre? Having his life inextricably linked to that of a humble little housekeeper was surely nothing for the Neapolitan billionaire to celebrate.

‘Very well. Since—as you have already pointed out—I have very little alternative... I agree,’ she said, and then, because subservience was as much a part of her life as breathing and because deep down she was grateful to him for his grudging generosity, she added a small smile. ‘Thank you.’

Salvio felt his gut clench, knowing he didn’t deserve her thanks. Or that shy look which made him want to cradle her in his arms. He knew he could have asked her to marry him in a more romantic way. He could have dropped onto one knee and told her he couldn’t imagine life without her. But why get her used to an attitude he could never sustain and raise expectations which could never be met? The only way he could make this work was if he was straight with her, and that meant not making emotional promises he could never fulfil.

But he knew one sure way to please her—the universal way to every woman’s heart. ‘Go and get your stuff together, nicuzza,’ he said softly. ‘We’re going shopping.’

* * *

Molly stepped out onto the icy Bond Street pavement feeling dazed but warm. Definitely warm. Who would have ever thought a coat could be so warm? Wonderingly she brushed her fingertips over the camel cashmere, which teamed so well with the knee-length boots and the matching brown leather gloves which were as soft as a second skin. She caught sight of her reflection in one of the huge windows of the upmarket department store and stared at it, startled—wondering if that glossy confection of a woman was really her.

‘Sì, you look good,’ Salvio murmured from beside her.

She looked up into his ruggedly handsome face. ‘Do I?’

‘Good enough to eat,’ he affirmed, his black eyes glittering out an unspoken message and Molly could do nothing about the shiver which rippled down her spine and had nothing to do with the icy temperature.

After a slow drive through the snow to London, he had brought her to one of the capital’s most famous streets, studded with the kind of shops which were guarded by burly security men with inscrutable expressions. But the faces of the assistants inside were far more open and Molly knew she hadn’t imagined the faint incredulity which greeted her appearance, as women fluttered around Salvio like wasps on a spill of jam.

He asked for—and got—a terrifyingly sleek stylist, who was assigned the daunting task of dressing her. Endless piles of clothing and lingerie were produced—some of which were instantly dismissed by an impatient wave of Salvio’s hand and some of which were met with a slow smile of anticipation.

‘It seems a silly amount of money to spend since whatever I buy isn’t going to fit me for very long,’ she hissed in a fierce undertone after nearly fainting when she caught sight of one of the price tags.

He seemed amused by her attempt to make economies. ‘Then we’ll just have to buy you some more, won’t we? Don’t worry about the cost, Molly. You will soon be the wife of a very wealthy man.’

It was hard to imagine, thought Molly as a feather-light chiffon dress floated down over her head, covering an embroidered bra whose matching panties were nothing more than a flimsy scrap of silk. As she appeared from behind the velvet curtain of the changing room to meet Salvio’s assessing gaze, she began to wonder if he’d done this whole transformation thing before. And she wondered whether she should show a little pride and refuse all the gifts he was offering.

But then she thought about the reality. Salvio probably came from an extremely wealthy family who might not take kindly to someone from her kind of background. Wouldn’t she feel even more out of place if she turned up looking like a poor relation in her cheap clothes and worn boots? Which was why she submitted to the purchase of sweaters and jeans, jackets and day dresses—and the most beautiful shoes she had ever seen. Gorgeous patent stilettos in three different colours, which somehow had the ability to add precious inches to her height and make her walk in a different and more feminine way.

And when they were all done and the glossy bags had been placed in the limousine which had been slowly tailing them, Salvio guided her past yet anot

her security guard and into a jewellery shop where inside it was all light and dazzle. Locked glass cases contained the biggest diamonds Molly had ever seen—some the colour of straw, some which resembled pink champagne, and some even finer than Lady Avery’s vast collection of family jewels.

‘So what’s your ideal ring? What did you used to dream about when you were a little girl?’ asked Salvio softly, his fingers caressing the small of her back as an elegant saleswoman approached them. ‘Whatever takes your fancy, it’s yours.’

Did he have to put it quite like that? Molly wondered, moving away to avoid the distraction of his touch. The only thing she used to dream about when she was a little girl was making sure there was a hot meal on the table, and wondering if she’d managed to get all Mum’s pills from the pharmacy. Yet Salvio was making her sound like someone whose gaze was bound to be riveted by the biggest and brightest ring in the shop.

She could feel her cheeks growing hot, because suddenly this felt like the charade it really was. As if they were going through all the motions of getting engaged, but with none of the joy or happiness which most couples would have experienced at such a time. And while Salvio’s handsome face was undeniably sensual, his jet-dark eyes were as cold as any of the jewels on display. Molly lifted her gaze from the display cabinet as a quiet air of certainty ran through her. ‘I don’t want anything which looks like an engagement ring,’ she said.

Hiding her surprise, the assistant produced a ring to just that specification—a stunning design of three thin platinum bands, each containing three asymmetrically placed diamonds which glittered and sparkled in the sharp December sunlight. ‘The diamonds are supposed to resemble raindrops,’ the young woman said gently.

Or tears, thought Molly suddenly. They looked exactly like tears.

From Bond Street they were whisked to Salvio’s home in a fashionable area of London. Molly had heard of Clerkenwell but had never actually been there—just as she’d never been in such a gleaming, modern penthouse apartment before. She wandered from room to room. Everything was shiny and clean, but it was stark—as if nobody really lived there. It was as if some designer had been allowed to keep all décor to a minimum, but its sleek emptiness wasn’t her main worry—which was that it was no place for a baby.

What was left of the day rushed past in a whirl of organisation but for once it wasn’t Molly doing the organising, since Salvio seemed to have fleets of people at his disposal. People to organise cars and planes. To book hotels and arrange the last-minute purchase of gifts. They ate an early supper, which was delivered and served by staff from a nearby award-winning restaurant who even provided candles and a fragrant floral centrepiece.

‘You don’t have a chef, or a housekeeper?’ Molly asked, as she sat down at the glass dining table and tried not to think about how dangerous a piece of furniture like this might be for a young child.

‘I prefer to keep resident staff to a minimum. It optimises my privacy,’ Salvio explained coolly, as two delicate soufflés were placed in front of them. ‘I hope you’re hungry?’

‘Very,’ she said, shaking out her napkin and trying not to dwell on what he’d just said about privacy—because he was about to have it shattered in the most spectacular way. ‘Have you lived here for very long?’ she questioned.

‘I’ve had the apartment for about five years.’

‘And you’re here a lot?’

‘No, not really. I have other homes all round the world. This is just my base whenever I’m in London.’ He gazed at her thoughtfully. ‘Why do you ask?’