Christmas With A Tycoon: The Italian's Christmas Child / The Greek's Christmas Bride. LYNNE GRAHAM
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the italicised print below the photograph. Vittore Zaffari, not Sorrentino. It was a man who resembled Vito—that was all. Her shoulders dropped again but just as she was about to put the newspaper back in the pile she hesitated and then extracted that particular page. Folding it quickly, she dug it into the pocket of her overall and hurriedly finished setting out the newspapers for collection.
It was after midnight before Holly got the chance to check out Vittore Zaffari online. Holly had studied the photograph again and again. He looked like her Vito but the newsprint picture wasn’t clear enough for her to be certain. But the instant she did a search on Vittore Zaffari the images came rolling in and she knew without a doubt that she had finally identified her child’s father.
‘My word,’ Pixie groaned, performing her own search on her tablet. ‘Now I know why he gave you a fake name and was hiding out on Dartmoor. He was involved in some drugs-and-sex orgy. Hold on while I get this document translated into English.’
‘Drugs and sex?’ Holly repeated sickly. ‘Vito? It can’t be the same man!’
But it was. The photos proved that he was her Vito, not some strange lookalike character. Of course, he had never been hers even to begin with, Holly reminded herself doggedly. And it was two in the morning before the two women finished digging up unwelcome facts about Vito, the billionaire banker ditched by his fabulously beautiful blonde fiancée only days before Holly had met him.
‘Of course, you don’t need to concern yourself with any of that nonsense,’ Pixie told her ruefully. ‘All you want from him now is child support and he seems to be wealthy enough that I shouldn’t think that that will be a big deal.’
Holly lay sleepless in her bed, tossing and turning and at the mercy of her emotions. Vito had lied to her by deliberately giving her a false name. He too had been on the rebound but he hadn’t mentioned that either. How would he react when she told him that he was a father? And did she really want to expose her infant son to a drug-abusing, womanising father? The answer to that was a very firm no. No amount of money could make a parent who was a bad influence a good idea.
But that really wasn’t for her to decide, she reasoned over breakfast while she spooned baby rice into Angelo, who had a very healthy appetite. She studied her son with his coal-black curls and sparkling brown eyes. He was a happy baby, who liked to laugh and play, and he was very affectionate. Vito had been much more reserved, slow to smile and only demonstrative in bed. Holly winced at that unwelcome recollection. Regardless, Vito had a right to know that he was a father and in the same way she had a right to his financial help. She had to stop considering their situation from the personal angle because that only muddied the waters and upset her.
Angelo was the main issue. Everything came back to her son. Set against Angelo’s needs, her personal feelings had no relevance. She had to be practical for his benefit and concentrate on what he needed. And the truth was that financially she was really struggling to survive and her baby was having to do without all the extras that he might have enjoyed. That was wrong. Her son didn’t deserve to suffer because she had made a bad choice.
On the other hand, if Vito truly was the sort of guy who got involved in sex-and-drug orgies, he wasn’t at all the male she had believed him to be. How could she have been so wrong about a man? She had honestly believed that Vito was a decent guy.
Even so, he was still Angelo’s father and that was important. She was very much aware of just how much she had longed to know who her own father was. There was no way she could subject Angelo to living in the same ignorance. Nor could she somehow magically estimate whether Vito would be a good or bad influence on his son. The bottom line was that Angelo had the right to know who his father was so that he did not grow up with the same uncertainty that Holly had been forced to live with.
Holly acknowledged the hurt she had felt when Vito failed to make use of her phone number and contact her. Naturally her pride had been wounded and she had been disappointed. No woman wanted to feel that forgettable, but Angelo’s birth had cast a totally different light on her situation. She had to forget her resentment and hurt and move on while placing her son’s needs first. That would be a tall order but she believed that she loved her son enough to do it. She had to face Vito in the flesh and tell him that he was a father.
* * *
One week later, Holly handed over her package to the receptionist on the top floor of the Zaffari Bank in London. ‘It’s for Mr Zaffari. I would like to see him.’
The elegant receptionist set the small parcel down on the desktop and reached for something out of view. ‘Mr Zaffari’s appointments are fully booked weeks in advance, Miss...er...?’
‘Cleaver. I believe he will want to see me,’ Holly completed quietly while she wondered if that could possibly be true. ‘I’ll just wait over there until he’s free.’
‘There’s really no point in you waiting,’ the receptionist declared curtly, rising from her chair as two security guards approached. ‘Mr Zaffari doesn’t see anyone without a prior appointment.’
Stubbornly ignoring that assurance, Holly walked over to the waiting area and sat down, tugging her stretchy skirt down over her thighs. It had taken massive organisation for Holly to make a day trip to London but she knew that if she wanted to confront Vito she had to take advantage of his current presence in the UK. Her internet snooping had revealed that he was giving a speech at some fancy banking dinner that very evening and was therefore highly likely to be at the Zaffari Bank HQ throughout the day. Pixie had taken a day off to look after Angelo, and the children Holly usually minded were with their grandparents instead.
Holly had made a very early start to her day and had been appalled by the price of the train fare. Pixie had urged her to dress up to see Vito but, beyond abandoning her usual jeans and putting on a skirt with the knee boots Pixie had given her for Christmas, Holly had made no special effort. Why? As she continually reminded herself, this wasn’t a personal visit and she wasn’t trying to impress Vito. She was here to tell him about Angelo and that was all. Her restive fingers fiddled with the zip on her boots while she watched the two security guards carrying off her parcel with the absurdly cautious air of men who feared they could be carrying a bomb. Did she look like a terrorist? Like some kind of a madwoman?
Vito was in a board meeting and when his PA entered and slid a small package in front of him, which had already been unwrapped, he frowned in incomprehension, but when he pulled back the paper and saw the Santa hat and the small sprig of holly, he simply froze and gave his PA a shaken nod of immediate acceptance. Interrupting the proceedings to voice his apologies, he stood up, his cool dark eyes veiled.
What the hell was Holly doing here at the bank? Why now? And how had she tracked him down?
Hearing about that night, Apollo had scoffed. With all your options you settled for a stranger? Are you crazy? You’re one of the most eligible bachelors in the world and you picked up some random woman? A waitress? he had scoffed in a tone of posh disbelief.
In fact, Apollo’s comments had annoyed Vito so much that he had fiercely regretted confiding in his friend. He had told himself that it was for the best that Holly had walked away without fanfare, freeing them both from the threat of an awkward parting. He had also reminded himself that attempting to repeat a highly enjoyable experience invariably led to disappointment. With the information he had had he could have traced her but he had resisted the urge with every atom of discipline he possessed. Self-control was hugely important to Vito and Holly had obliterated his self-control. He remembered that he had acted oddly with her and that memory made him uncomfortable. Even so he still hadn’t forgotten her. In fact he was eager to see her because his memories of her had lingered to the extent that he had become disturbingly indifferent to other women and more particular than ever in his choices. He wanted to see Holly in full daylight, shorn of the schmaltzy sparkle of the festive season. He was suddenly convinced that such a disillusionment would miraculously knock him back to normality.
But why the hell would Holly be seeking him out now so long after the event? And in person rather than more tactfully by phone? And how had she linked him to the Zaffari Bank? Black brows lowering over cold dark eyes