Happy Mother’s Day!: Accidentally Pregnant, Conveniently Wed / Claiming His Pregnant Wife / Meant-To-Be Mother. Элли Блейк
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a baby.
‘Do you, Aisling? You wish it hadn’t happened?’
‘Of course I do!’ she burst out, in the grip of some terrible hormonal rush. All those old childhood insecurities came rushing back in a terrifying dark wave which was threatening to swamp her. ‘Don’t you think this threatens everything I stand for, everything I’ve worked for?’
There was a deadly silence and when he looked at her the expression in his eyes had changed. Even their colour looked different. Suddenly black seemed like the coldest colour in the world.
‘Then there’s no problem. We won’t let it affect you,’ he said icily.
Aisling’s nails dug into the palm of her hand. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘None of this need affect anything,’ he chipped out. ‘You can keep your precious job and everything which goes with it—and I will keep the baby. A perfect solution to an unwanted pregnancy.’
All she could see was the narrowed jet eyes, the lips curled with cruel intent—like a tiger about to attack. She might have protested—answered him back—but by then his words seemed as inconsequential as whether or not it remained sunny outside. Because now there was no world outside—it was all in here. Here and now. The pain was twisting sharper—as if someone were turning a meat skewer inside her—and she gasped and tumbled forward, the weight of the baby seeming to make her topple, like a giant clown.
She saw Gianluca start and then it was as if everything were happening in slow motion—so that while she sensed he was rushing to her side, he seemed to be moving through water. But maybe that was because all the external things seemed blurred—put out of focus by the intensity of what was happening inside her.
He caught her in his arms before she fell—the warm and unfamiliarly heavy weight of her—and he carried her over to a sofa and laid her down on it, his eyes scanning over her, fearful of what he might see.
‘What is it, Aisling? What is happening? Tell me. Tell me!’
She had no idea, and yet she knew—as women must have known since they’d lived in caves.
‘I’m having a … baby!’ she gasped. ‘Just call me an ambulance, will you?’
‘There’s no need for an ambulance,’ he grated as he bent down and scooped her up into his arms. ‘My car’s outside.’
‘I’m booked in at the local hospital down the road,’ she gasped.
‘Not any more you’re not—I’ll get you into the best clinic in London,’ he snapped.
Even through her pain, Aisling felt a wave of indignation. ‘It’s a fantastic hospital,’ she gritted out. ‘And I’m going there. Besides, there’s no time for messing around.’
He raked his eyes over her and recognised that she spoke the truth. ‘Where are your keys?’
‘On the hook,’ she gasped as he plucked them off and pocketed them and proceeded to carry her towards the car. Her face was pressed against his chest, the scent of him invading her—as if one invasion of her wasn’t enough. Moving her head away, she half-heartedly tried to pummel against him, but his chest was as solid as a brick wall. ‘Put me down!’
‘Save your energy, Aisling,’ he urged, his face and his voice becoming suddenly serious. ‘I demand that you conserve your strength—because you are going to need it!’
To the chauffeur’s credit he said nothing when Gianluca emerged from the villa with a heavily pregnant woman in his arms—just leapt out of the driver’s seat and pulled the door open.
Gianluca settled Aisling in the back seat and gave the driver the address. ‘Drive!'he commanded. ‘Quickly—but lievemente—gently.’ He saw the man shoot them an anxious glance and who could blame him? Because Aisling was now moaning every few minutes, her face tightening with tension as she gripped onto him.
‘Is it the contraction?’ he demanded.
‘Of course it’s the wretched contraction!’ she half sobbed. ‘What else do you think it is?’
‘Do you want me to call anyone for you?’ He realised how little he knew about her—this woman who carried his child. ‘Your mother?’
‘My mother is dead.’
He winced. ‘You have any other family?’
As the fierce wave of pain receded Aisling briefly opened her eyes. ‘No. Just me.’
Somehow, that smote at his conscience—that she had done this all on her own, with no one to protect her—until he reminded himself that it had been her choice to do it that way.
At least the rush-hour traffic had now died away and the baking city streets were relatively quiet, but he didn’t breathe easily until the car bumped its way round the back of the hospital.
‘We’re here.’
Aisling’s eyes flickered open as she read the sign. ‘Accident and Emergency. How apt,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘The baby was an accident—and this is an emergency!’
Gianluca nearly smiled but for once in his life, he didn’t dare—if they didn’t get amove on then his son or daughter was going to be born in a car park. But a wheelchair and a doctor and midwife had miraculously materialised out of nowhere and Aisling was being taken at breakneck speed to the maternity unit—and then chaos broke out. Or, at least, that was how it seemed to him.
There were lights and people dressed in green, battering him with questions, most of which he was unable to answer—because she had kept him in the dark, he thought, and once again that sense of dark fury washed over him.
‘Are you the father?’ a midwife asked.
At least he knew the answer to that one—though he found himself telling them in his native tongue. ‘Sì, io sono il padre!’
‘So you’ll be staying?’
Aisling’s head jerked up. ‘No!’
‘Sì,’ he contradicted with silky emphasis as he stared down into her ice-blue eyes. ‘I will be staying.’
She didn’t want him there. Didn’t want him seeing her in such a vulnerable and sorry state. Now they were putting her legs up in some kind of stirrups—how could she ever look at him again after this? She bit her lip with embarrassment and turned away as the contractions began to get stronger, and more frequent.
And by then she was past caring about anything, other than following what they were telling her to do—or, rather, telling her not to do. Like push. Or bearing down. And she, who hated control being taken from her, found that she wanted so badly to relieve these tightening bands of pain that she almost welcomed the bossy orders they were hurling at her. She might have laughed at the irony of it all if she hadn’t been so exhausted.
The room was crowded for it seemed that the royal obstetrician had been rushed in from his nearby private clinic, following a directive from Gianluca’s doctor in Rome.
‘Please!'Aisling begged. ‘I just want to have this baby!’
Gianluca shot an anxious glance at the doctor, but for once in his life he was forced to relinquish control. He wanted to help Aisling, but he could do nothing for her physically—or emotionally—because when he went to grip her hand, she pulled it away, refusing to look at him.
It was only when he sensed that the labour was close to the end, when her desperate cries echoed on the air, that she reached for him, biting her lip with pain as her fingernails pierced his skin.
‘Help me,’ she whispered. ‘Gianluca—please help me.’
Never in his life had he felt so completely powerless. ‘It’s going to be all right, cara,’ he soothed, but his voice sounded harsh.