Italian Prince, Wedlocked Wife
“Aquillina,” he said. “My home.”
She looked out her window in wonder. Villagers were strolling down the main street in the sunshine, chatting with each other in front of charming, decorated shops. Bright-eyed old men raised their caps in greeting as the Rolls-Royce passed by. Young mothers pushing strollers pointed out the car to their rosy-cheeked babies. A group of boys, six or seven years old, chased the limo down the street, shouting after them with hearty cheers.
Lucy looked at Maximo in wonder. “It’s beautiful.”
He smiled at her, and his eyes caressed her face, lingering on her lips. “I’m glad you like it.”
Her whole body vibrated under his gaze. Stop it, she told her body furiously. He’s nothing to you! But her body laughed at her orders, as uncontrollable as a rebellious child. With Maximo so close to her, the roomy backseat felt way too small.
She swallowed, looking away. “Are we almost to—what did you call it?”
“The Villa Uccello. It’s been my family’s home for many generations. We lost it briefly when I was a child, but now it is mine again.” He gave her a brief smile. “And for the next few months, it is yours.”
Pushing her empty bottle away, Chloe accidentally knocked her pur
ple hippo out of her lap. She started to whine. Maximo and Lucy both reached to the floor at the same time, their fingertips brushing together over the plush fur.
Lucy yanked her hand back as if she’d been burned. Hiding a smug smile, he handed the stuffed animal to Chloe.
“Hold on to your toy more carefully,” he admonished the baby. Lucy frowned in surprise. It was one thing for him to take that tone with her, but how dare he order her child to…
Then she saw Chloe smile, reaching for his nose. Maximo crossed his eyes playfully, and the baby’s laughter rang like the chimes of bells. He laughed with her, and his eyes were warm, crinkling at the sides.
It took Lucy’s breath away.
“You’re good with her,” she blurted out. “Do you have children of your own?”
His face instantly shuttered.
“No,” he said brusquely, sitting back. “I’ve never been married.”
“But that doesn’t mean—”
“I would not have a child without being married to the mother. That would be irresponsible.”
She flushed, feeling the sting of his words. He obviously thought she’d been irresponsible to get pregnant.
And she had been, she thought with a lump in her throat. She’d trusted Alex’s pretty words and promises of love. She’d made excuses for him—justifying why, after proposing to her with a big diamond ring and getting her pregnant, he’d suddenly been reluctant to pick a wedding date.
She’d been so stupid. She’d thought she’d found a real man, a real home, a real family after so many years of being alone. And for that, she gave up everything. She threw away the college scholarship she’d worked so hard to win, tossing aside her plans to be a school librarian, teaching children to love books.
Blinking back tears, she looked away. She could never let herself forget the pain—never let herself be vulnerable and weak like that again. She was her daughter’s only protection. Her only support.
“Children need a father,” Maximo said, and she again felt the sting of blame.
Suddenly furious, she shook her head. “Do you think I don’t know that?” she bit out. “I grew up without a father. My mother moved us from place to place, and when she died I was totally alone. Do you think I want that for Chloe? It’s why I—”
“Why what?” he said sharply.
She bit her lip. “Why I think even a selfish, shallow father is better than none at all.”
“Wentworth doesn’t deserve to be her father.” Maximo’s lip curled. “He fled America to avoid taking even the most basic responsibility.”
She swallowed, pressing her fingernails into her palms. “But he’s her father, Maximo. She has no siblings. No cousins. No one. If anything ever happens to me, I need to know she’s safe, that she’ll be loved and protected.”
“Not by Wentworth.” Maximo’s gaze was stony. “He’s lost his chance.”
She stared at him. “What do you mean?”