In the Italian's Bed: Bedded for Pleasure, Purchased for Pregnancy / The Italian's Ruthless Baby Bargain / The Italian Count's Defiant Bride. Carol Marinelli
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have tea.’
‘Since when?’ Zarios frowned. ‘You always have coffee.’
‘We’ve only been engaged for a week,’ Emma pointed out.
‘Full of surprises.’ Zarios grinned again, but there was a glint to it which she chose to ignore. ‘So, what are you doing today?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘The tickets have arrived for next Saturday’s ball—which reminds me.’ Zarios glanced up. ‘You need to get something to wear.’
‘I have a wardrobe full of new things to wear,’ Emma retorted, but Zarios wasn’t listening. He just took a rather loud slurp of his coffee, which set Emma’s teeth on edge.
‘Sorry, darling!’ Zarios said, which told her he wasn’t. ‘That’s the awful sort of habit that should only slip in once you’re safely married.’
‘Which we’ll never be!’ Emma said, pouring her tea and adding a heaped spoon of sugar. She watched as Zarios ripped up an engagement congratulations card, which she could only assume was from his mother, and carried on with the rest of his mail.
‘Oh, I don’t know…’ He slurped his coffee again, and Emma realised that he was toying with her. ‘When are you paying me back again?’
‘Next Monday,’ Emma answered coolly—refusing to rise to whatever bait he was dangling, picking up a newspaper and reading the headlines.
‘Good!’ Zarios said, watching as she turned the pages, still too new to the game to be bored with the novelty of seeing her name in print. ‘What are they saying about us today?’ he asked.
‘The usual…’ Emma rolled her eyes. ‘I’m your rebound from Miranda, a decoy for the board…’ She scanned the words, more interested really in the picture. But it was the same one again! Zarios, Emma had fast realised, was always two steps ahead—the unexpected tenderness he had displayed outside the jewellers had been captured on film, and though he had denied it when Emma had confronted him, she was quite sure he had manufactured the whole thing just so that he could be photographed wiping away her tears of happiness and, as the paper had reported, sealing the deal with a kiss.
‘This is a better picture of you…’ Still reading his mail, almost distracted, he handed her another tabloid, neatly folded at an open page. Emma felt her insides turn to liquid. ‘I think you’re going into The Casino gaming rooms—I thought it must have been before last week, but your hair’s already done. There’s a small piece about you…’ He wasn’t pretending to be distracted now. He was staring over at her, his face loaded with contempt. ‘It mentions that you looked as if you were crying when you came out…’
Zarios wasn’t just two steps ahead, Emma realised, he was a whole street in front. This, Emma knew as she scanned the offensive article, was the real reason he was joining her for breakfast. She’d gone to The Casino looking for Jake. After numerous failed attempts to get through to him panic had gripped her, and Emma had headed to the one place she knew she might find him.
‘I know how this must look…what you must think.’ Emma ran a worried hand through her hair. ‘But I don’t have a problem—’
‘Well, I do,’ he interrupted darkly. ‘I deal in people’s money, in their investments, their savings…My fiancée staggering out of the gaming rooms isn’t quite the image I’m hoping to portray.’ She squirmed at his implication. ‘I don’t want your excuses, and I don’t want your reasons—just know that I will not be shamed. Zarios D’Amilo’s fiancée does not have a gambling problem—there will be an apology in the newspaper tomorrow. Don’t make me call in any more favours again. Do you think you can stay away for one more week?’
When all she managed was a rigid nod, he said, ‘Good. Don’t think as my wife you will have access to limitless funds to feed your filthy habit.’ Picking up his briefcase he turned to go, but thought better of it. ‘I’m assuming that will be the case? I mean,’ he added nastily, ‘people don’t usually come out of a casino crying when they’ve won!’
‘You’re so quick to think the worst…’ She didn’t have to justify herself to him—didn’t have to beg his understanding or forgiveness for a crime she hadn’t even committed. ‘You’re so sure that everyone’s out for your precious dollar!’
‘Remind us both again—exactly why are you here, Emma? Even before we got into this you told me yourself that was the only thing you wanted from me!’
‘After you had gone back to her!’ Tears stung her eyes as she veered towards the truth. ‘You slept with me and then went back to her, Zarios. What did you want me to say? Congratulations? I hope the two of you will be happy—or the three of you, or whatever made you deem it necessary to just walk away?’
‘Leave it, Emma…’ Zarios warned, but she wasn’t listening.
‘You hurt me, Zarios, and I said those things to hurt you.’
‘That morning…’ His usually swarthy face was pale, his jaw so quilted with tension she could see the effort it took for him to form words. ‘It was never my intention to go back to her. Miranda told me…I found out that she was…’ He shook his head hopelessly. ‘Leave it, Emma,’ he said again.
Oh, but she wouldn’t.
‘She was pregnant?’
‘No.’
‘Did she have an abortion?’ Emma flailed in the dark for an answer. ‘Or lose the baby?’
‘I’ve told you!’ Zarios roared. ‘There was no baby.’
‘So it’s true, then?’ Over and over she’d tried to fathom an excuse for him—told herself that the papers had got it wrong, that the man she happened to love really wasn’t that much of a bastard.
Except he was.
‘I have every right to say those hateful things.’ Through pale strained lips she told him her truth. ‘I have every right to hate you—because you threw away what we had for no good reason. And Miranda has every right to hate you, too.’
‘Leave her out of it.’
‘Just as you did,’ Emma spat, ‘when she couldn’t provide you with children. Well, guess what, Zarios? You don’t deserve them!’
Always Zarios had the last word—always there was a retort or a scathing reply—but not this time. His face was as white as chalk apart from his black angry eyes. He didn’t even pick up his briefcase. He just walked towards the door. And if it hadn’t been 8:00 a.m.—if she hadn’t seen that he had been perfectly lucid just moments earlier—from his stagger Emma would have sworn he had been drinking.
‘Zarios!’ She called out to him but it was too late. The door had closed behind him without so much as a slam.
Emma was shaking—not just at the venom of her words, but at the effect they had had. She could feel nausea rising, and barely made it to the bathroom in time. Crouching, hugging the bowl, she was more sick than she had ever been in her life. The anger that had been aimed at him was now aimed somehow at herself, at her fury for not being able to accept that he wasn’t the man she wanted him to be, was sure he could be.
After rinsing her mouth, Emma made her way back to the lounge, reading again the article that had led them to this row. Heading for the bin, she picked up the card he had tossed away.
The English wasn’t great, but Emma was touched at the effort the woman had made.
Emma and Zarios,
It was with happiness I received the good news of your engagement.
Emma, I hope to meet you soon, to share in your joy.
Mamma xxx
What joy?