Claiming His Scandalous Love-Child. Julia James
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he hated to allow in—the vision that sent anguish spearing through him like the point of a blade. His father, stricken after his heart attack, lying in a hospital bed in the last few minutes of his life, his hand clutching at Vito while Vito’s mother collapsed, sobbing, at his side.
‘You’ve got to get those shares back—Vito, you must...you must! Whatever it takes—whatever it takes get them back! Pay whatever price she demands. Whatever it costs you! Promise me—promise me!’
And he had promised. What else could he have done with his dying father begging him so? Binding him with an unbreakable obligation.
Unbreakable.
The word sounded in his head now as he heard Marlene out. She was taking her time in getting to the point, asking him about his tour as they drank their coffee, but eventually she set down her cup and glanced briefly at her stony-faced daughter—who had left her coffee untouched, Vito noticed.
‘And now,’ began Marlene, setting her gaze upon Vito, ‘we must look to the future, must we not? The matter of Guido’s shares—’
At last! thought Vito impatiently.
A benign smile was settling across Marlene’s well-preserved features...a smile that did not reach her eyes. And at her next words he froze.
‘My poor Guido entrusted his shares to me, and of course I must honour that trust. Which is why...’ her unsmiling eyes held Vito’s blandly ‘...I can think of no better way to resolve the issue than by a means long dear to my heart.’
She paused, and in that pause Vito felt his brain turn to ice.
‘What could be better than uniting the two shareholdings by uniting...’ she beamed, glancing from Vito to her daughter and back ‘...the two halves of our family? You two young people together!’
Disbelief paralysed Vito. What kind of farce was Marlene trying to play out? Urgently he threw a look at Carla, waiting for her to express the same rejection and revulsion that he was feeling. But, like a shockwave going through him, he registered that there was no such reaction from her. Instead she was turning a steely, unblinking gaze on him.
‘I think,’ she said, ‘that’s an excellent idea.’
He stared, hearing the words fall from her tightly pressed lips.
Oh, hell! thought Vito.
* * *
Eloise tossed restlessly in bed. How long could that family function of Vito’s go on? It was way past midnight already. She’d spent a forlorn evening. Calling Room Service for a dinner she had only picked at, staring unseeingly at an English-language TV channel. Missing Vito. Feeling left behind.
Finally she had resorted to bed—but the huge king-sized mattress seemed empty without Vito’s lean, muscled form.
She tried to think positively. Maybe Vito was spending some time with his mother—after all, he hadn’t seen her for weeks now, while he’d been inspecting his hotels. It was natural for her to want to spend a little time with her son.
A thought struck her. Maybe Vito’s telling her about me!
But what would there be to tell? That elegant Frenchwoman in Nice—one of his exes as he’d admitted—had acidly called her Vito’s latest beautiful blonde.
Implying I’m just one in a long line... None of them meaning anything special to him.
But was she something special to Vito? And did she want to be?
I want to find out! I want time with him, a proper relationship with him. I want to find out what he means to me and me to him!
Living in Rome, being settled here, would surely show her that? She could get a daytime job as a nanny—maybe to an ex-pat family—while Vito took up the reins of running his family hotel business. She would learn Italian cooking—how to make fresh pasta, even!
She felt her imagination take over, seeing herself cooking dinner for Vito, being part of his everyday life. Eagerness leapt within her. Bringing with it a realisation of just how attractive to her that image was—and why.
It must mean he’s important to me—far more than just a passing romance! Mustn’t it?
She tossed and turned, knowing for certain only that she wanted Vito back with her tonight. That she missed his company.
She must have fallen asleep eventually, for the next thing she knew she was awake.
‘Vito...?’ she said, her voice warm with drowsy pleasure.
He was standing by the window of the bedroom, silhouetted against the pale curtains. He didn’t move for a moment, but went on looking down at her.
A thread of uneasy disquiet went through her. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.
Vito felt her anxious gaze on him. Savage emotion seared through him. No, everything was not all right! It was the damnable, impossible opposite of all right!
His fists clenched in his pockets. In his head he heard Carla say, yet again, those fateful words.
‘I think it’s an excellent idea.’
Fury and disbelief had exploded within him. ‘You can’t possibly mean that!’
Carla hadn’t answered, had only tightened her mouth, while Marlene, with a little light laugh, had got to her feet.
‘My dear Vito,’ she’d said, relinquishing her daughter’s hand, which had promptly closed like a vice over the back of the chair instead, ‘you must know how much I would love to welcome you as my son-in-law! It is my long-held dream!’
The triumphant expression in her eyes had made Vito’s fury sharpen.
She’d scarcely left the room before he’d rounded on his step-cousin.
‘What the hell are you playing at, Carla?’ He hadn’t minced his words. ‘You’ve always stone-walled your mother in her insane obsession about us marrying—just as I have! And as for Guido’s shares... I’ve told you that I’m more than willing to pay a generous price for them—’
Carla’s voice had cut in tautly. ‘Well, the price is marriage to me, Vito.’
He’d shot right back at her, his voice icy. ‘Carla, I will not engage in your mother’s demeaning and quite frankly distasteful fantasy about the two of us marrying.’
Two spots of colour had flared in his step-cousin’s cheeks. ‘So you think it demeaning and distasteful to marry me?’
There had been an edge in her voice that had made Vito pause.
‘That isn’t what I said,’ he’d retorted.
He’d taken a breath—a heavy one—staring hard at her, his eyes narrowing.
‘Carla, what’s going on here? The last I heard you were running around with Cesare di Mondave—the two of you were all over each other!’
His eyes had rested on his step-cousin, taken in the sudden paling of her face, the flash of burning emotion in her violet eyes.
Slowly, words had fallen from him as realisation had dawned. ‘So that’s it—he’s finished with you, hasn’t he?’
The two spots of colour in her cheeks had flared again. ‘You are not the only one, Vito, who considers it “demeaning and distasteful” to marry me,’ she said tightly.
Immediately his expression had changed. ‘Oh, Carla, I’m sorry.’ His voice had been sympathetic—genuinely so. ‘Sorry because...well, to speak frankly, it was always going to end that way. The Conte di Mantegna can trace his bloodline back to the ancient Romans! He’s going to marry a woman who can do the same! He might have affairs beforehand, but he’ll never marry a woman who—’
Carla’s voice had sliced across his. ‘A woman, Vito, who is about to announce