Postcards From Rome: The Italian's Pregnant Virgin / A Proposal from the Italian Count / A Ring for Vincenzo's Heir. Lucy Gordon
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a breath,” he whispered in her ear just before they walked in. She complied, her shoulders lifting with a great gasp. “See that you don’t die before dessert.”
And then he propelled her inside.
His mother was there, dressed in sequins, looking far too young to have two grown children, one grandchild and another on the way. His father was there, looking every bit his age, stern-faced and distinguished, and likely a portrait of Renzo’s own fate in thirty years.
“Hello,” his mother said, not standing, which Renzo knew was calculated in some way or another. “So nice to meet you, Esther,” his mother said, using Esther’s first name, which he had no doubt was as calculated as the rest. “Allegra, Cristian, so glad you could come. And that you brought my favorite grandchild.”
“Your only grandchild,” Allegra said, taking her seat while Cristian set about to setting their daughter in a booster seat that had already been put in place for her.
All of this was like salt in a wound. He loved his niece, but there was a particular kind of pain that always came when he was around small children. And when his parents said things like this...about their only grandchild...that pain seemed insurmountable.
“Not for long, though,” Allegra continued. “Unless Renzo hasn’t told you?”
“He has not. Good. Well, at least now we’re all up to speed.” His mother gave Renzo a very pointed look. “Do you have any other surprises for us?”
“Not at the moment,” he said.
Dinner went on smoothly, their mother and father filling up most of the conversation, and Renzo allowing his brother-in-law to take any of the gaps that appeared. Cristian was a duke, and his title made him extremely interesting to Renzo and Allegra’s parents.
Then suddenly, his father’s focus turned to Renzo. “I suppose we will see both you and Esther at the charity art exhibit in New York in two weeks?”
Damn. He had forgotten about that. His father was a big one for philanthropy, and he insisted that Renzo make appearances at these types of events. Not because his father believed firmly in charity in a philosophical sense, but because he believed in being seen as someone who did. Oh, he wasn’t completely cold-blooded, and truly, it didn’t matter either way. A good amount of money made it into needy hands regardless.
But bringing Esther to New York, having her prepared to attend such a land mine–laden event with very little preparation was... Well, just thinking about it was difficult.
More than just the Esther complication, there was always the Jillian complication. Or worse, Samantha. They split their time between Italy and the States, so the probability of seeing them was...high.
But he’d weathered that countless times. Esther was his chief concern. She would probably end up hiding under one of the buffet tables, or perhaps eating a bowl of chocolate mousse on the floor. Thankfully, it would be at night, so there would be no sunbeams for her to warm herself beneath.
“Of course,” he said, answering as quickly as possible, before Esther opened her mouth. He had to make it seem as though they had discussed this. That he had not in fact forgotten about the existence of this event—one that he attended every year—due to the fact that he had been shocked by the news of a stranger carrying his child.
“Excellent,” his father said. “I do find that it’s much better for a man such as yourself to attend with a date.”
“Why is that?”
“So you aren’t on the prowl for women when you should be on the prowl for business connections.”
That shot from his father surprised him. Especially in front of Esther. His father was typically the more restrained of his two parents. Still, he was hardly going to let the old man see that it had surprised him. “You live in the Dark Ages, Father,” he said. “Sometimes, women are in high-powered positions of business, in which case, my being single helps quite a bit. However, Esther will not be an impediment, on that you are correct.”
“Certainly not,” his father said. “If anything, she will be something of an attraction to those jaded big fish you intend to catch.”
“Are you going to be there, Father?”
“No. When I said I hoped to see you there, I meant only that I hope to see your photograph in the newspaper.”
Renzo couldn’t help but laugh at that. And after that, conversation went smoothly through dessert. At least, until they were getting ready to go. A staff member waylaid Esther, a maneuver that Renzo fully took notice of only when his father cornered him near the front door.
“I do hope this isn’t some sort of elaborate joke like your last relationship seems to have been,” his father said.
“Why would it be?”
“She is a lovely girl. She’s a far cry from the usual vacuous model types you choose to associate yourself with. I had to cut ties with one of my grandchildren already, Renzo, lest you forget.”
“You didn’t have to. You felt it was necessary at the time and you convinced me the same was true. Don’t pretend that you have regrets now, old man,” Renzo said, his tone hard. “Not when you were so emphatic about the need for it all those years ago.”
“What I’m saying is that you best marry this girl. And that marriage best stick. A divorce, Renzo. You had a divorce. And a child outside of wedlock that none of us can ever acknowledge.”
“What will you do if I disappoint you again, Father? Find the secret to immortality and deny me my inheritance?”
“Your brother-in-law is more than able to take over the remainder of the business that is not yet under your control. If you don’t want to lose dominion over the Valenti Empire upon the event of my death, I suggest you don’t disappoint me.”
His father moved away from him swiftly then, and Esther came to join him standing by the door. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights, blindsided completely by the entire evening.
And he knew he now had no choice in the matter. This farce would not be enough. It had to be more. His father was threatening his future, and not just his, that of his child.
Esther Abbott was going to have to become his wife, whether she wanted to or not.
And he knew exactly how to accomplish it. He had seen the way she had reacted to his touch back at his villa. He knew that she wasn’t immune to him. And a woman like her, naive, vulnerable, would not be immune to the emotions that would come with the physical seduction.
It was ruthless, even for him. He preferred honesty. Preferred to let the women he got involved with know exactly what they were in for. Preferred to let them know that emotion was never going to be on the table. That love was never going to be a factor.
But he would offer her marriage, and she could hardly ask for more than that. In this instance, what would the harm be?
There was no other option. He was going to have to make Esther Abbott fall in love with him. And the only way to accomplish that would be seduction.
“Come on, Esther,” he said, holding out his arm, “it is time for us to go home.”
ESTHER WAS USED to the breakneck pace of working in the bar. Going out every night and working until closing time was demanding. But the routine of getting ready, polishing herself from head to toe, so that she could go out with Renzo for a dinner in Rome, was something else entirely. And it was almost no less exhausting.
Being on show was such a strange thing. She was used to being ignored. Invisible.
But two nights ago they had gone to his parents’ house, and the scrutiny she had been put under there had been unlike