The Italian's Pregnancy Proposal. Maggie Cox
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‘That’s probably not on the cards either. I shall just be happy being auntie to my friends’ children.’
He murmured something with feeling, in Italian, and Bliss glanced up at him reprovingly as she finished cleaning Renata’s face. ‘You’ll have to remember that I don’t speak Italian. I wish I did, but I don’t.’
‘Forgive me. I just said that it was a terrible waste that a woman with such natural maternal instincts should look forward to a life without a husband and children of her own.’
‘Well, that’s as may be, but I can assure you that nothing would induce me into marriage.’
‘That is a pity.’ His eyes darkened as Dante reflected that it truly was.
‘You are not married yourself, Mr di Andrea?’
‘Dante.’ Her question was so surprising that for a moment he struggled to marshal his thoughts together on the subject. The fact that his mother had been berating him for his single status for so long now came back to remind him what a disappointment he must be to her on that score. Business-wise he was one of the élite of Italian hoteliers, adding to the family fortune year by year with his natural and almost frightening ability to make money—but personally…? While his younger brother Stefano—his right-hand man in the business—had already fathered three children and had been married for almost eight years now, and Tatiana of course had Renata, Dante was still a confirmed bachelor with not a prospect of a bambino in sight. And nor would there be unless the most exceptional woman came along—one whose first interest wasn’t in how much money he had.
‘No, I am not married. I am—how do you say it?—married to my business.’
‘Oh.’
Just, ‘Oh.’ Not, ‘What do you do?’ or, ‘What business are you in?’ Just, ‘Oh.’ Did he hold such little appeal to this surprising woman that her curiosity wasn’t even provoked the smallest bit about what he did for a living?
Her attention already straying to a still-chattering Renata, Bliss drained the water from the basin, rinsed it out with some cold, then lifted the toddler cheerfully onto her hip again. For some reason that he couldn’t quite explain, Dante’s proud male ego felt ridiculously bruised.
‘All done. We can have that talk now, if you like.’
He nodded gravely. ‘Sì. If you come into the kitchen I will make some coffee for us. You have eaten breakfast, I presume?’
‘I had a cereal bar on the way over here. I never eat much in the morning.’
‘That is not good. Eating should not be such a casual affair.’
‘Of course, you would say that. You’re Italian, aren’t you?’ Her prettily shaped mouth curved into a playful smile as Dante scowled and he experienced the full force of her teasing with a wave of heat that frankly stunned him.
‘By that you are implying what—that we eat too much?’
‘No.’ Reining in another teasing smile, Bliss carefully weighed up her words. ‘I just meant that food is a big part of your culture, isn’t it? Food and family and…’ She was just about to add ‘love’ when she saw the corner of Dante’s too-appealing lips quirk upwards into a lazily amused smile. She was dumbstruck; her gaze was helplessly hypnotised by that sensually stimulating little gesture, so much so that a deliciously affecting shiver shuddered down her spine like little sparkles of coloured light shimmering from a firework.
‘La dolce vita. A love of life, sì?’
The way he said it sounded too sinful for words and Bliss couldn’t help musing that he was the epitome of all the things Italian men were renowned for and more. Sexy, stylish, charming, strong, definitely arrogant and jaw-droppingly beautiful…
‘Yes. That’s it.’ Embarrassed at being caught staring, she slid her violet gaze guiltily away. When Dante smiled at her again as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, Bliss wished the floor would open up and swallow her.
‘Come and have some coffee and some food, then we will talk.’
He turned his back on her and left the bathroom, his tall, broad-shouldered frame moving with a lithe grace that beautifully complemented the undoubted strength in every taut and sinewed muscle that rippled beneath his shirt. Bliss could only trail behind in awe.
’So, we have an agreement? You will go back home and collect your things and stay here with Renata and my sister until my mother arrives from Italy.’
‘As long as your sister is in agreement that I stay in her house and help take care of Renny. If she is, then, yes, I agree to stay.’
Dante sighed as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Glancing towards his little niece, who was playing with some crayons and paper on the floor, his green eyes turned visibly soft. ‘It is bad enough she has lost her father, no? And now her mother cannot take care of her.’
‘But this is only temporary,’ Bliss hastened to assure him. ‘Tatiana will recover soon, I’m sure.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’ If he was honest, Dante was very glad to have Bliss to talk to. There was an air of calmness and maturity about her that was very appealing and right now he needed that. He prided himself on his efficiency and aptitude in almost every other arena of his life except personal relations. There was always a discernible distance between himself and his parents and siblings, no matter how hard he tried to let his guard down. It had been that way since he was small—because his mother Isabella was not his natural mother.
Dante had been the result of an affair his father Antonio had had with an Irish girl whom his father had been forbidden by his own parents to marry. She had died of breast cancer shortly after giving birth to their child. Heartbroken, Antonio had broken all allegiance to his parents after Katherine died and looked after his baby son himself with the aid of his sister-in-law Romana, until he had met and married Isabella Minetti when Dante was six years old. A year later, Stefano had been born, followed only eighteen months after that by Tatiana. Isabella had never treated Dante any differently from his brother and sister, yet Dante had always felt somehow cheated because he wasn’t her natural-born son. Particularly so when his aunt Romana had often reminded him that it was his fault that Antonio and his parents were not speaking any more. She had also reminded him, on an almost daily basis, that he was lucky to be even tolerated in the family because of what had happened, and behind his father’s back had sneered at him, ‘Irish brat.’
If Antonio had guessed what had gone on when he was out at work trying to get his business off the ground, Dante had no doubt his father would have taken him from Romana so fast her head would have spun. But Antonio had never known what his sister-in-law was truly like, because Dante had never told him.
When the boy Dante had finally found himself with two loving parents, he had still felt himself an outsider—always the one with something to prove. It had been easiest to concentrate all his energies on the business. But now his sister had suffered this terrible tragedy and there was a real opportunity to demonstrate his allegiance and his love, and do everything in his power to help Tatiana. Perhaps it would help him let down a few of those painfully erected barriers he’d built so diligently round his heart…with his sister, at least.
‘This afternoon if Tatiana feels like talking, I will take you in to see her yourself. Perhaps she will open up a little to another woman? My mother rings her every day, but it is not the same as having her here with her, is it?’
‘No, it isn’t,’ Bliss agreed, her heart full at the troubled expression crossing Dante’s extraordinarily captivating face. Her own relationship with her mother had never been as close as she would have liked it to be, but she could certainly understand Tatiana’s sense of loss at not having her mother nearby under the circumstances. ‘But I will gladly talk to Tatiana if you think that might help. By the way, don’t forget to leave me your telephone number so that I can contact you when you leave.’
Dante’s green eyes glimmered a little