A D'Angelo Like No Other. Кэрол Мортимер
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suppose you’re now going to tell me that I need not have put myself through the trauma of flying to Paris with the twins,’ she drawled self-derisively, ‘because Rafe is currently at the London Archangel gallery?’
Michael was having trouble speaking at all, his thoughts were so chaotic. Unusual for him, but then this situation was beyond anything he’d ever had to deal with before.
One thing he was sure of, and that was that he didn’t want Eva Foster roaming about, here or in London, repeating her accusations to anyone else. Not till he’d had the chance to talk to Rafe. Something Michael had no intention of doing for the next two weeks, at least!
‘No.’ He spoke softly. ‘I’m not going to tell you that.’
‘Please don’t tell me he’s at the New York gallery!’ Eva groaned. She couldn’t bear even the thought of flying all the way to New York with six-month-old twins who were cranky most of the time because they were both teething. Although to look at the two of them now, both sleeping like little angels, no one would ever believe it!
‘No, I’m not going to tell you that, either...’ Michael D’Angelo answered slowly.
Eva looked at him between narrowed lids, finding it impossible to read anything from his closed expression; those black-on-black eyes were completely without emotion, the harshness of his features set into hard, uncompromising lines. ‘And we’ve already established he isn’t here, either, so where is he?’ she prompted suspiciously.
‘Unavailable.’
Her brows rose at the terseness of Michael D’Angelo’s answer. ‘That isn’t an acceptable answer, I’m afraid.’
His mouth tightened grimly. ‘It’s the only one you’re going to get for the moment.’
Eva eyed him shrewdly. ‘Why “for the moment”...?’ she finally prompted guardedly.
This woman was too astute for her own good, Michael recognised impatiently. For his good too. And most certainly for Rafe’s!
‘It just isn’t,’ Michael bit out between clenched teeth.
Obviously this woman hadn’t seen the photographs in the Sunday newspapers of Rafe and Nina’s marriage on Saturday, no doubt because caring for six-month-old twins didn’t leave her a lot of time for doing anything else. But Michael knew that he couldn’t keep that truth from her indefinitely.
Eva Foster bristled. ‘I need to speak to him urgently.’
He nodded. ‘Anything you have to say to Rafe you can say to me.’
‘Having already made that mistake once, I don’t think so!’ she bit out.
Michael’s nostrils flared his impatience. ‘I will naturally pass on your...concerns, to my brother, when I next speak to him, but other than that—’
‘No,’ Eva Foster stated firmly as she stood up abruptly. ‘That simply isn’t good enough, Mr D’Angelo,’ she answered his questioningly raised brows. ‘I need to talk to him now,’ she insisted, ‘not after you next happen to speak to him.’
Michael had to give this woman credit for tenacity—all five feet and a dot of her!
That determined glitter in those violet-coloured eyes said she wasn’t about to back down any time soon either, not from him, or her demand that she speak to Rafe. ‘I’ve already said that isn’t possible.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘Then I suggest you make it possible, Mr D’Angelo!’
‘I don’t care for your tone,’ he bit out harshly.
Eva shrugged. ‘Then maybe you should stop trying to prevent me from speaking with your brother.’
Michael bit back his own anger. ‘The twins are now six months old, so why this sudden urgency to speak to the man your sister told you was their father?’
‘He is their father,’ Eva insisted stubbornly.
And why the sudden urgency...? Because Eva, much as she had tried, much as she hated having to admit defeat, knew that she just couldn’t cope any more without help. Financially. Or emotionally.
Although she had no intention of admitting the latter to the aloofly controlled and ultra-self-confident Michael D’Angelo, a man who looked capable of dealing with any situation...
How could a man like him possibly understand the crippling heartache that washed over Eva like a dark and oppressive tide whenever she allowed herself to dwell on the death of her sister Rachel, let alone how inadequate Eva felt, no matter how much she might love the twins, for the task of caring for two rapidly growing babies?
And all of that was apart from the fact that she simply didn’t have enough money coming in to be able to afford the care the twins needed now, or in the future.
There was no way Eva could go away on photographic assignments any more, because she simply couldn’t leave the twins for any length of time. Even taking local assignments, going back to the well-paid but monotonous photography of weddings and christenings was becoming problematic as the twins grew older, making it increasingly difficult for Eva to take them with her; brides tended to frown at having the photographer’s twin babies scream at their wedding!
And even if Eva could manage to find a child-minder that she trusted it was going to cost yet more money, and so eat into any of the fees she might earn from her work.
No, Eva had thought long and hard before seeking out Rafe D’Angelo, considered her options carefully, and, unpalatable as this alternative might be, she couldn’t see any other way out of this problem other than asking the twins’ father for financial help.
It wasn’t as if she wanted anything else from him, just a way of being able to care for the twins without having to worry where the next penny was coming from. But that was all she wanted.
After meeting and speaking with Michael D’Angelo, Eva was convinced the less physical interaction any of the D’Angelo family had with the twins—and her!—the better she would like it!
She gave a shake of her head. ‘It’s your brother Rafe I need to speak to, Mr D’Angelo, not you.’
Michael had no idea as to the thoughts that had been going through Eva Foster’s head these past few moments, but he did know they hadn’t been pleasant ones. Her face was once again as pale as bone china, those deep shadows under her violet-coloured eyes more prominent, and the fullness of her mouth appeared to be trembling slightly, as further evidence of her vulnerability.
An air of vulnerability Michael had a feeling this woman would hate intensely if she was made aware of it!
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Have you eaten anything today?’
She gave him a startled look at this sudden change of subject. ‘Sorry?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s almost lunchtime, and you’re looking a little pale, so I wondered if you had eaten anything today.’
She blinked long sooty lashes. ‘I— Yes, I believe I did manage to grab a piece of toast while I was feeding the twins their breakfast.’
No doubt she only managed to grab something to eat a lot of the time with two small babies to care for! ‘At your hotel?’
She gave a slightly derisive smile. ‘I believe you would call it more of a pension than a hotel. It was the best I could afford, okay?’ she added defensively as Michael’s frown deepened. ‘We can’t all live in penthouse apartments in major cities around the world and fly about in private jets, you know!’
There was no denying that Michael did exactly that, as did his two brothers. Which was no doubt one of the reasons Eva Foster had decided to seek out the twins’ father and ask for his help... ‘And where is this pension?’
‘It’s in a back street just a short walk away from the Gare du Nord,’ she revealed