The Scandalous Sabbatinis: Scandal: Unclaimed Love-Child. Melanie Milburne
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dropped his hand from her arm and stepped away. He rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to soothe a knot of tension there. He didn’t speak. He just stood in front of the bank of windows and looked at the last of the storm’s activity outside. His back was like a fortress, a thick impenetrable wall she had no hope of scaling. In spite of his hostility, she wanted to go to him, to put her arms around his waist, to hold him, to breathe in the aching familiarity of his scent.
‘Luca?’
He turned to face her, his expression rigid with determination. ‘I want to see her,’ he said. ‘I want to see my child.’
Bronte took a little step backwards. ‘You mean… now?’
‘Of course I mean now,’ he said, scooping up his car keys from the coffee table.
‘But she’s asleep,’ Bronte said. ‘And… and my mother’s there and—’
‘Then it’s time your mother met the father of her grandchild,’ he said. ‘She’s going to have to get used to me being a part of the child’s life.’
‘“The child”,’ Bronte said, throwing her hands out wide. ‘Can you please use her name? It’s Ella.’
‘Does she have a middle name?’ he asked, his eyes hard and black with contempt as they pinned hers.
Bronte compressed her lips. ‘Her full name is Ella Lucia Bennett.’
He blinked and the strong column of his throat moved up and down over a swallow. ‘You named her… for me?’
She let out a small sigh. ‘I wanted her to have something of you, even if it turned out she never met you. I felt I owed you that. I felt I owed her that.’
A little muscle in his jaw worked for a long moment. ‘I want my name on her birth certificate,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose it’s there?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t see the point at the time.’
‘Did you tell anyone I was the father?’
‘Not until recently,’ she answered. ‘My mother eventually pried it out of me. Rachel figured it out when you came to the studio yesterday.’
There was a small tense silence.
‘I’m starting to think a paternity test is going to be a waste of time,’ he said. ‘You didn’t cheat on me, did you, Bronte?’
She shook her head. ‘No. There’s been no one but you.’
Luca curled his fingers around his keys until the cold hard metal cut into his palm. He needed time to process everything. His head was still reeling with the knowledge he was a father. He felt as if he had been pummelled all over. He ached with a pain he couldn’t describe. It was worse than anything he had ever experienced. He couldn’t imagine how he was going to sort out the mess his life had suddenly become. Things were going to get a whole lot more complicated when it came down to the practicalities. He lived between Milan and London. Bronte lived in Melbourne. Thousands of kilometres separated him from his daughter. That was one of the first things that had to change. ‘Let’s get going,’ he said, moving across to hold the door open for her.
‘Luca… wouldn’t it be better to do this tomorrow when we’ve both had some time to think about things?’ she asked. ‘To cool down a bit, think things through in a more rational state of mind?’
‘What is there to think about?’ he asked. ‘I want to see my daughter. I haven’t seen her once and she’s fourteen months old. I am not prepared to wait another hour, let alone another day.’
She moved past him with her head down, her expression shadowed with worry. Luca wanted her to be worried. He wanted her to be aware of what she had done. He wanted her to feel something of what he was feeling, how cheated he felt, how completely devastating it felt to have your world turned upside down without warning.
After asking for directions to her home, Luca retreated into a brooding silence. He couldn’t hope to keep something as big as this silent for long. The press would very likely get in on the news. He had to call his mother and brothers and his grandfather. He didn’t want them to read it in the press rather than hear it from him. And then there were legal things to see to, such as changing his will to make sure Ella was well provided for in the event of his death.
And then, of course, there was the issue of where to go from here with Bronte. He glanced at her, sitting with her head bowed, her eyes on her knotted hands in her lap. A sharp little pang caught him off guard when he thought of her trying to contact him with the news of her pregnancy. He wondered what she must have been feeling, alone and abandoned, far away from her family and friends. He thought too of the audition she’d had her heart set on. A once in a lifetime opportunity she had relinquished in order to have his baby. So many women would have chosen another option but she hadn’t. She had soldiered on, giving up her dream to give life to his daughter.
‘Tell me about the pregnancy,’ he said. ‘Were you well throughout?’
She lifted her head to glance at him. ‘I was sick a lot in the beginning,’ she said softly. ‘I lost a lot of weight in the first three months but after that things settled down a bit.’
Luca felt another jab of guilt. ‘What about the birth? Did you have someone with you?’
‘My mother was with me.’
He gripped the steering wheel tighter, thinking of what he had missed out on. That first glimpse of new life, hearing the miracle of that first spluttering cry. ‘Was it a natural birth?’ he asked once he got his voice into working order.
‘Yes. I think the fact that I was fit and well helped a lot. I had a relatively short labour. It was painful but I wanted to do things as naturally as possible.’
‘Were you able to breastfeed her?’
‘Yes, but it took a while to get things established,’ she said. ‘For something so natural it’s harder than you think to get things right. I weaned her a couple of months ago, just before her first birthday.’
Luca let silence build a wall between them. He wasn’t quite ready to let her off the hook. He knew he hadn’t made things easy for her by being so adamant about ending their relationship, but he still felt she could have tried harder, should have tried harder.
The closer he got to Bronte’s mother’s house, the more nervous he felt. His stomach was a hive of restless activity. It seemed like a flock of sharp-winged insects was inside him trying desperately to find a way out.
He was about to see his baby daughter for the first time. He would be able to touch her, to hold her in his arms, to feel her petite little body nestled up against him.
He already loved her.
That had surprised him. He thought he would have to meet her first, but no, as soon as he knew she was alive he felt something switch on inside him. The urge to protect and provide for her was so strong he couldn’t think about anything else. He was determined to give her everything money could buy, to give her the sort of childhood that would give her every opportunity to blossom and grow into a beautiful young lady, well educated, compassionate and ready to take on the world.
‘It’s the third house on the left,’ Bronte said. ‘The one without a fence.’
Luca parked in front of the small weatherboard house. As far as he could see, it was neat but in no way luxurious. Humble was probably a more appropriate word. There wasn’t much of a garden, just a lawn and a few azaleas and camellias that lined the boundary of the block. The contrast with his family’s villa, his childhood homes in Milan and Rome and the holiday villa at Bellagio couldn’t be more apparent. He knew for certain there wouldn’t be any household staff opening the door as they approached, nor would there be a team of gardeners to tend the block, nor a driver at the ready to run errands.
Bronte’s car—he assumed it was hers as it had a baby seat in the back—was