Claiming His Secret Love-Child: The Marciano Love-Child / The Italian Billionaire's Secret Love-Child / The Rich Man's Love-Child. Maggie Cox
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that had come up on her computer. She watched with baited breath as he looked at the montage of images of Matthew she had constructed, his body becoming as still as a lifeless statue as his eyes roved each and every photo.
Every milestone was there—the first ultrasound picture, the first few minutes after birth, Matthew’s first tooth, his first birthday, his first wobbly steps, even his recent third birthday with the racing-car cake she had made for him.
The silence stretched to the point of pain.
Alessandro was not aware of his hands gripping the edge of the desk until he finally registered his fingers were numb. His heart was beating, but too fast and too hard. His stomach contents were liquefying, his vision was blurring. He couldn’t swallow, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t even think.
‘His name is Matthew.’ Scarlett’s soft voice carved through his swirling thoughts. ‘He turned three a couple of months ago.’
Alessandro counted back the months and gripped the desk even tighter. It couldn’t be true. It was a lie. He had seen the test results. He was infertile, as planned.
But the child looked like him.
God, he even looks like Marco, Alessandro thought with a gut-wrenching pang of grief that he’d deluded himself into thinking he had locked down long ago.
Somehow he found the wherewithal to turn away from the computer screen and face Scarlett. His heart was still doing leap-frogs in his chest but, seeing her there, standing so still and silently before him, was like a stake being driven right through his body.
‘He’s yours, Alessandro, even if you don’t want to ever acknowledge it,’ she said, holding his gaze determinedly.
He scraped a hand through his hair and drew in a breath that scalded his throat. ‘I need proof. I am sorry if it offends you, but I need to have proof. It is…’ He swallowed deeply. ‘It is important.’
She gave him one of her scathing looks as she folded her arms across her body. ‘I believe you can buy a DNA kit off the internet. I am quite willing to allow you to use it.’
She wasn’t supposed to say that, Alessandro thought with another wave of dread. Not if she had lied to him. The way she had suggested a test the other day and then instantly backed down had made him think she was still lying. But there was no way she would give him the go-ahead for a test that would prove without a doubt who was the child’s father. Besides, she’d had three years to try and force a paternity test on him and yet she hadn’t done so. The legal system was full of such cases these days—men who had been paying out large sums of money for children had begun to fight back, insisting on proof the children they were supporting were actually biologically theirs.
‘I don’t know what to say…’ He hated admitting it, but it was true. He was lost for words. He had never been in a situation like this before. He had always prided himself on being in control, which was why he had insisted on having a vasectomy in the first place. He didn’t want a repeat of what had happened to Marco. He couldn’t bear to put a child of his through it, not knowing what he knew about himself and his family.
‘“Sorry for not believing you” would be a very good start,’ she said with crispness in her tone.
He swallowed again to clear his throat. ‘I will have to save that for when I know for sure.’
She rolled her eyes in disdain. ‘You can’t do it, can you? You can’t even for a moment harbour the possibility that you got it wrong.’
His jaw felt so tight he thought his teeth were going to crack. ‘Do you have any idea of what this is like for me? Do you?’ he asked.
She glared at him with chips of grey-blue fire in her gaze. ‘You’re not going to get the sympathy vote from me, Alessandro. I was the one who carried your child for nine miserable months, and delivered him after an eighteen-hour labour without his father there to support me.
‘Don’t talk to me about how this is for you. You don’t even know half of what it’s been like for me. I have struggled to provide for my child. I’ve had to put him in crèche when I would much rather be at home with him, but what other choice did I have? I can’t even afford to send him to the school of my choice when the time comes, because his arrogant, always-right untrusting bastard of a father wouldn’t accept that he might have somehow got it wrong.’
Alessandro felt as if an avalanche had hit him. The first glimmer of tears in her eyes was like the blunt end of a telegraph pole hitting him in the mid-section. He moved towards her, but she swung away and snapped up a tissue from a pretty little box with primroses on it. Funny, the little inconsequential things you noticed when everything else was spinning out of control, he thought as he watched her wipe at her eyes and discreetly blow her nose.
‘I’ll arrange to see a doctor tomorrow,’ he said. ‘It might take a day or two to get the sperm-test results back from Pathology.’
Scarlett turned and looked at him with a puzzled frown. ‘Sperm tests?’
His eyes were full of pain as they met hers. ‘I had a vasectomy performed when I was twenty-eight years old. I was declared infertile three months later.’
Scarlett stared at him in a stunned silence. No wonder he had denied fathering a child so vehemently. What man wouldn’t have reacted in exactly the same way? He had believed himself to be incapable of fathering a child; he had taken the necessary steps to ensure it would never happen. Looking at it from his angle, he had every right to be suspicious—although a part of her still felt he should have trusted her regardless.
‘Scarlett…’ he said, dragging a hand through his hair, his expression still tortured with anguish. ‘I never thought something like this could happen. It never once occurred to me that it could. The chances of it must be a million to one at least.’
Her slim shoulders began to shake, and he moved across the room. His hands came down on her shoulders and turned her to face him. Emotion clogged his throat at the grey-blue of her tear-washed eyes. He realised then that, if he had ever had a choice in the matter, she would have been the mother of his children. She would make the perfect mother. She was gentle and nurturing, and yet strong and determined—so like his own mother used to be until life dealt her such a cruel hand. His mother was not the same mother he had adored, even though Marco had been buried long ago.
He hardly realised he was doing it as he lifted Scarlett’s chin with the point of his finger. ‘If you do not want to continue with the project I will cancel the contract. You will not incur any expense as a result.’
She bit her lip so hard he was sure bright-red blood was going to spring from it. He brushed his thumb against her teeth and her lips trembled in response.
‘It’s all right,’ she said on an expelled breath. ‘I will do it. But I want you to know I’m not doing it for you or for me, but for Roxanne.’
He lifted one brow quizzically.
‘She’s worked so hard for what we’ve built up,’ Scarlett explained. ‘We both have, but I’ve been a bit hamstrung with my commitments to Matthew. She’s been so good, and I don’t want to let her down.’
Alessandro placed his hands on the top of her shoulders and gently squeezed. ‘We will sort it out, Scarlett, do not worry.’
She lowered her gaze. ‘He’s so like you…’ she whispered.
He closed his eyes against the sudden and unexpected sting of tears; his chest felt like a clamp had been placed on his heart and lungs.
‘I wanted to send you photos,’ she went on, her voice still barely audible. ‘So many times I wanted to prove to you how like you he is. He even does that little thing you do when you sleep.’
‘What thing?’ His voice sounded like a croak, but at least he had been able to get it to work.
‘He sprawls all over the bed,’ she said. ‘With his arms and legs