The Italian's One-Night Love-Child (17 page)

And he had dealt with this particular one with grace and consideration, Bethany grudgingly conceded.

‘I’m beginning to feel tired.’ She could feel herself wilting in the back seat of his car, drained of all her reservoirs of energy, which she had uselessly poured into arguing with him.

‘My shoulder is right here,’ Cristiano said gruffly. ‘Lean on it.’

She did. Closing her eyes and then falling into another of her light dozes. Her brain felt muddled and tired. He wanted her to lean on him and she so badly wanted to do just that and for a few confused moments, before she drifted off, she
wondered why she was bothering to fight him every inch of the way.

Was her way any more valuable than his when it came to dealing with their
situation
? He was offering her two parents for their baby and a stable arrangement. As he had reminded her on more than one occasion, they were brilliant in bed. How long that would last, she had no idea but wasn’t it better to have a slice of bread rather than shout and scream because the whole loaf wasn’t on offer?

The confused thoughts were still with her when the car finally came to a stop and she was lightly shaken out of her uncomfortable sleep.

She blinked sleepily and gazed up into his unswerving gaze. For a few seconds, she felt her breath catch in her throat and she straightened up and looked around her with a stifled yawn.

‘You were mumbling in your sleep,’ Cristiano told her. ‘Care to tell me what that was all about?’

Bethany went beetroot-red but remained silent as the door was opened for her and she was helped out of the car by Cristiano’s attentive driver.

All the questions which she had been asking herself when she had finally drifted to sleep were still there, nagging away at her convictions. Alongside them now, arranged like an uninvited supporting cast, was the thought of her parents, who would be over the moon if she just gave in and married the man they had welcomed and accepted like their own son…the thought of his mother who, she knew from what he had told her, would be likewise in the queue of happy people…to be joined by both her sisters, who had met and been charmed by Cristiano and flatly disparaging about her decision to wait in hope rather than marry a man who might not be the perfect guy for her…

‘We need to talk,’ she whispered uncertainly.

‘The four least welcome words in the English vocabulary,’ Cristiano remarked grimly. His hand was still around her as they rode the lift to his penthouse at the top.

‘I’m thinking you won’t find this talk too bad…’

‘N
O TALKING
until you’re in bed,’ Cristiano told her, preceding her into his penthouse, which made her own sizeable apartment look like a doll’s house in comparison.

The cool, imported Italian tiles, which ran through the entire floor, were liberally interrupted by the warm, vibrant colours of luxuriously expensive rugs. With virtually no doors to break the clean sweep of the sprawling apartment, the illusion of acres of space was breathtaking.

Even feeling as miserable as she was, Bethany paused, as she always did, to absorb the impact of his place.

She had never failed to marvel at the casual way with which he accepted this level of opulence. He could very well have been blind to the excruciatingly expensive originals hanging on the walls, all of which were independently worth more than most people could hope to make in a lifetime of hard graft.

He wasn’t snobbish. His fabulous wealth was just an accepted fact of his privileged background and a powerful learning curve for her in understanding why he had always chosen to protect himself by knowing the pedigrees of the women he had dated. Until she had come along and blown his well thought out control measures to smithereens.

His bedroom was as impressive as the rest of the penthouse. Dark wooden shutters kept the rest of the world at bay and dominating the room was his bed, handmade because he had wanted something larger than a normal king-size. Every stitch of linen was tailored specifically to fit and the creams and chocolates imbued the space with an utterly masculine stamp.

As she obediently slid under the duvet, she noticed that the little bunch of flowers which she had impulsively bought him three days previously as a tongue-in-cheek present because his penthouse, she had told him, was just a little too relentlessly alpha male, had found their way to his bedroom and were in the process of wilting in a vase on his chest of drawers.

The sight of the flowers focused her mind and brought her tangle of thoughts together.

She had fought long and hard for her independence. She had stoutly refused to be browbeaten into marrying him because his traditionalism demanded it and she had actually thought that she had made headway because he had stopped mentioning it, but now she was tired and doubtful as to the validity of her arguments.

She had missed him when he had been away, even though she would have died rather than admit it. She had also missed his reassuring presence when she had started feeling unwell, missed the way he took control and made her feel safe. It was a joke, really, when
safe
should have been the last thing she felt around him. She had scoffed at his pig-headed insistence that marriage was the only way of dealing with their circumstances but, in truth, when she thought about him agreeing to her terms and backing out of her life, she was assaulted by a sense of driving blind panic.

The flowers gave her hope that if he didn’t love her then he might just have it in him to care enough to treat her with
respect when the novelty of their sexual relationship petered out for him. She held on to this fragile hope as he left, to return a couple of minutes later with a glass of water because dehydration, he informed her, was the last thing she needed. The truth was, and she couldn’t make herself stifle it, maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that he could grow to feel some kind of love for her. Surely that happened! But, if it didn’t happen for them, then the banquet which should have been her married life would be a plate of crumbs and she would learn to deal with it.

‘So…’ Cristiano sat on the bed next to her and braced himself for one of those conversations which would have him gritting his teeth in frustration and clamping down on his inclination to shout at her until she saw things his way ‘…you said you wanted to talk.’

‘You kept my flowers.’

Cristiano followed her eyes to the chest of drawers and he flushed. ‘I can’t remember any woman ever buying me flowers,’ he said with a shrug.

‘But I bet you’ve bought dozens of roses for women in the past.’

‘Was this what you wanted to talk to me about? Because, if it is, then it can definitely wait.’

‘I…I wanted to thank you for…looking after me. If I seemed ungrateful then…’

‘You’re deeply sorry? Apology accepted.’

He realised how unusual it was for her to apologise. Of course, she had in the past, when he had first shown up on her doorstep and exposed her deceit, but even then her apology had bordered on challenging. Right now, she sounded sincere. He liked it. In fact, he liked it so much that he decided to work the conversation to his benefit. Ever the opportunist, he considered it a crime were he to fail to.

‘It’s tough always having to stand on your own,’ he murmured persuasively, taking one of her limp hands in his and distractedly playing with her fingers while he tried to mentally work out how to turn this brief moment in time, when her defences were well and truly down, to his advantage.

‘Let’s take tonight,’ he continued softly, his dark, sexy voice rolling over her like waves lapping on sand. ‘You were unwell and yes, I admit that calling a doctor might not have been strictly necessary, but isn’t it reassuring to know that I care enough to do so?’

‘I’m not dependent on you…’

‘Of course you’re not! And I would never ask you to be…’ The idea, however, was an alluring one but one not to be mentioned at this juncture. ‘Which isn’t to say that accepting a helping hand is a sign of weakness.’ The conversation seemed to be meandering and Cristiano decided to take the reins a little more firmly. No way was he going to be getting back to the value of friends rubbish she had been fond of spouting. ‘We’ve been down this road before, Beth, but I really think it’s time for you to acknowledge that it’s just a hell of a lot easier dealing with this as a couple.’

He was encouraged by her lack of fighting talk. This, he thought, was more like it. He swept aside the discomforting thought that he, a man who was used to having the world at his fingertips, needed to use every trick in the book to get this woman down the aisle.

How severely he had underestimated the impact impending fatherhood would have on him!

‘And think about our child.’ His voice was grave. ‘Should we not be man and wife, what would he think if he found out that he had been denied the privilege of both his parents because you wanted no part of it?’

Bethany frowned. ‘I can’t speculate that far into the future.’

‘You don’t have to. I can.’

She had the unnerving sensation of being under siege when, after ten minutes, he had managed to paint a picture from which she emerged as inconsiderate, thoughtless and selfish. This time round, however, she was not inclined to fight the tacit accusations, delivered by his honeyed tongue.

‘Nothing to say?’ Cristiano asked into the silence.

‘I’m tired.’

‘You should be resting,’ he said immediately. He was sharp enough to know when to leave well alone. He had planted the seed and this time it appeared to have fallen on slightly more fertile ground. In due course, he would water it and he was pretty sure that it would reap its harvest eventually. Indeed, sooner rather than later. ‘I’ll have some food ordered in. What do you fancy?’

‘Is this your way of reminding me how necessary it is to have you around, Cristiano?’

He looked suitably affronted and stood up. ‘I’m only trying to do what’s best and, anyway, I’m hungry if you’re not. Even if you’re not,’ he was obliged to point out, ‘you have to eat. You’ve probably had a lousy diet while I’ve been away. So what do you want? Chinese? Indian? I could get my driver to bring something from the Savoy Grill. In fact, I’ll do that. You don’t need greasy food. Soup and some fresh bread sound okay?’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘Don’t have to what?’ Cristiano stilled, something in her voice making him feel uneasy.

‘Send out for food. I’m fine with whatever you have in your fridge.’

‘I’ve been away for two days and, before that, have only
touched base with this place. I wouldn’t want to compromise your health by attempting to feed you with the contents of my fridge.’

There he went again, she thought sadly—all about the baby.

‘Actually, what I meant, what I
mean
…is that you’re right and you don’t have to pander to my needs to get the point across. I’ve got it. Getting married is the sensible thing to do, so if your offer still stands, then…’

Having shamelessly manoeuvred for just this occurrence, Cristiano was reduced to a few seconds of complete and utter shock.

‘In other words…’ Bethany shrugged, making sure he didn’t miss her concession ‘…you win.’

Considering he was the victor, Cristiano found that he didn’t care for her phraseology, although he didn’t pause to question why that might be.

‘I’m glad.’ In fact, ridiculously so and that was perfectly understandable, bearing in mind that he was a man who didn’t like any situation that frayed at the edges. He strolled back towards her, smiling. ‘In fact, I’m more than glad.’

‘I’m surprised you haven’t said something along the lines of knowing that I’d come to my senses in the end.’

‘I knew you’d come to your senses in the end.’ For someone who had been wrapped up in a million and one emotional, illogical reasons as to why she couldn’t possibly commit to marriage with him, Cristiano was oddly disconcerted by her sudden change of mind. He knew that it was a conversation best left alone but he found himself sitting on the bed next to her, frowning as he tried to harness his thoughts.

‘What brought about this change of heart?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Possibly not, but why don’t you satisfy my curiosity?’

Bethany shrugged. Now was her opportunity to show him that she could be as level-headed and downright cold as he was when addressing the delicate situation between them.

‘Maybe I realised when I got ill that I’m more vulnerable than I like to think. Maybe I’ve just reached the point when it’s time to put crazy notions aside. This is my life. I’m pregnant, for better or for worse. You’ve done the honourable thing by proposing marriage to me. It’s the most sensible course of action, so…’

She was repeating everything he had said to her in the past, virtually word for word, but Cristiano felt unsettled and disproportionately angry at her resigned acquiescence.

‘All true.’ His voice was clipped and matter-of-fact. ‘I just wonder what happened to all the romantic notions of not wanting to be tied down with the wrong guy.’
The wrong guy
. Never had three words left a more bitter taste in his mouth.

He also couldn’t work out why he wasn’t more upbeat about this. He had spent long enough canvassing for such a result, after all. Yet, in possession of the spoils, he now perversely thought that the least she could do was show a bit more enthusiasm. He’d spent weeks bending over backwards to accommodate her and yet none of that appeared to have been taken into account.

Bethany worried her lower lip. Cristiano, whose strong, aggressive personality had been predictable in one area only, and that was in his desire to have her firmly wedded to his side to fulfil his prehistoric notions of conventionality, was now responding in a way that brought her out in a fine film of nervous perspiration. He had told her that he was glad, that he was
more than glad
. But he wasn’t looking very glad.

The thought that he might have changed his mind, that he
might, actually, have come round to
her
way of thinking, despite everything he had said in the past, made her feel sick. Had he just been going through the motions of presenting the marriage option as the one and only solution to what he saw as a shared problem, in the vague expectation that she would continue rejecting his offer, giving him the chance to claim the pious moral high ground in the years to come? He had insisted on her moving in with him. Maybe he saw that as a necessary step at a time in her pregnancy when she needed to have him around. Maybe, without even realising it, he had already accepted that the move would be temporary, until the baby was born, at which point he would, of course, remain a dutiful and generous presence in the life of his child and probably to her as well, but perhaps her insistence on maintaining their respective freedom had begun its gentle process of eroding his convictions that a child required both parents on site.

She wanted to backtrack, to tell him that if he’d changed his mind then that was
perfectly all right
.

Instead, she said coolly, ‘I wasn’t thinking in a practical way. If you’re still interested in marriage, then I’m willing to submit but with a few provisions of my own.’

Willing to submit? Provisions? Anyone would think that he had threatened torture instead of a lifetime of having anything she could possibly want!

‘And what, exactly, might these provisions be?’ Cristiano asked blandly.

‘I realise that it’ll be a marriage of convenience, but…but…’ She fiddled with the duvet and then stared down fixedly at her fingers while she tried to catch her breath and sound as normal as possible. Two adults being sensible. ‘I don’t expect you to…start playing the field the second you get tired of playing Happy Families…’

Cristiano’s eyes iced over. He walked over to the window, buying himself a bit more time so that he could control the volcanic fury rising in him. ‘What sort of person do you think I am?’ he asked in a voice as smooth and as sharp as a razor blade. ‘How sleazy do you think I am?’

‘I don’t think you’re sleazy.’ Bethany stuck her chin up and glared at him. ‘I think you’re a man who has…needs…and, when you get bored with me, then you might be tempted to stray…’

‘Then you’ll have to make sure that life never gets boring, won’t you?’ It was a pretty sleazy remark, considering he had professed outrage at the description, but Cristiano wasn’t ashamed of himself. This wasn’t what he had expected when he had envisaged his plans for them both finally coming to fruition.

‘Is that a threat?’ Bethany asked tautly. ‘Do whatever you want or else you find someone else?’

‘You’re putting words into my mouth and I don’t appreciate it.’