The Italian's Pregnant Virgin. Maisey Yates
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suppose that’s...” She didn’t want to ask about payment. Except, she desperately wanted to ask about payment.
“But the first thing we must do is get you out of this...” He looked around the room, his lip curling slightly. “This place. You cannot stay here. Not while you are carrying the heir to the Valenti fortune.”
She blinked rapidly. The baby that she was carrying was the heir to a fortune? She knew that Renzo was rich. Of course she did. She had seen the way that Ashley was accustomed to living after their stay at the lavish hotel the other woman had insisted they stay in when they’d gone across the border for the procedure.
Still. This revelation seemed different. “But we’ve been fine for the past couple of months,” she said.
“Perhaps. Though, I imagine our definition of ‘fine’ may be sharply different from one another’s. You are not to work at that bar, not anymore. And you will come with me. Back to my villa.”
Esther felt like she had been punched in the chest. She found that she couldn’t breathe. She felt immobilized. Utterly and completely weighted down by that dark, uncompromising gaze.
“But what if I... What if I don’t want to?”
“You don’t have a choice,” he returned. “There is a clause in this agreement that says Ashley can choose to terminate it should she decide she no longer wants the pregnancy carried to term. That has happened. That means unless you comply with my demands, with my word, you will get nothing. And you will have no recourse. Not—I assure you—in Italy. I will pay you more than the sum my wife agreed on, but only if you do exactly as I say.”
Her head was spinning. She felt like she needed to sit down or she was going to fall down. She found herself doing exactly that before she even realized it, her weak legs folding, plopping her down roughly onto the edge of the thin mattress, the wood frame digging sharply into her thighs.
The noise from outside filtered through the single-pane windows, joining the thoughts in her head, swirling around, making her feel dizzy. “Okay,” she said, only because she could think of no discernible reason to refuse him.
She knew there were other consequences to consider. Concerns for her safety, perhaps? She didn’t know him. Didn’t know him in any way beyond a brief understanding of his reputation as a businessman.
She also knew that he had been married to Ashley. Ashley, who had proved to be untrustworthy. Manipulative and—if Renzo was to be believed—a liar.
So, she imagined that said something about his character.
But she didn’t see another option. Not one beyond putting herself through something that would undoubtedly be both physically and emotionally demanding without any kind of recourse. Not for the first time, she felt a deep sense of guilt and regret.
She tried not to traffic too much in guilt. Mostly because she had spent so much of her life neck deep in it. Every time she found a book at the local book exchange and slipped it into her bag—one she knew she shouldn’t have. Every time she figured out a way to smuggle in a CD she shouldn’t have had.
When she’d been kicked out after the discovery of her smuggled items, she’d become determined to live life on her own terms. To shamelessly adore pop music, and sugared cereal and movies. To read all the books she wanted, including books with dirty words and dirty scenes. And to feel not even a hint of shame.
But on this score, it was difficult for her to feel anything but a creeping sense of shame. She had seized this opportunity because it had seemed like a chance for her to make her dreams come true. To go to school. To continue to travel. To start a life that would remain completely separate from where she had come from.
She had been so single-minded, so focused, so determined to keep herself from ever returning to her family, to that small, claustrophobic existence, that she had ignored any and all twinges of discomfort over this arrangement.
But now, it was impossible to ignore. Impossible to wave her hand over the fact that she was carrying a baby. That she had some kind of responsibility in all of this. That it would be incredibly hard on her body. That it would likely wreck her emotionally. And that if she didn’t comply with what Renzo was asking her to do...
There was a very good chance she would come out of it diminished. That the strength she had gained, strength enough to strike out on her own, would be gone. And for what? For money she wouldn’t even be able to get.
So, she found herself cinching her backpack back up. Slipping her feet into her sandals, and turning to face Renzo.
“Okay,” she said, her lips feeling slightly numb. “I’m going with you.”
ADRENALINE AND ANGER coursed through Renzo in equal measure on the car ride back to his villa. It did not escape him that the woman—whose name he had read in the documents, but whom he had yet to be formally introduced to—was looking around the Italian-made vehicle with an expression akin to a country mouse. But he found he could spare little thought to it.
Not when the reality of the situation was so sharp. When his pulse was beating a steady tattoo in his throat, when his blood was running hot and fast beneath his skin. A baby. Esther Abbott, this American backpacker, was pregnant with his baby. Yes, he would have to verify all of this with Ashley, but he was forced to believe Esther. Though he had no real reason to.
Nothing beyond gut instinct. The idea of trusting his gut nearly made him laugh. But then, he rarely trusted his gut. Usually, he trusted in parts lower. And his own quick intellect, which he often allowed himself to imagine was above reproach.
In matters of business, it was. When he was consulted on where a certain business should be built, when he was tasked with seeing to a major bit of real estate development, he never failed. Instincts, inherited from his father, drove him in that arena.
Apparently, in other matters he was not quite so discerning. Or so unerring. His ex-wife was one of the very prominent examples of that truth.
Jillian being another.
Women. It seemed he had a tendency to be a fool for women. No matter that he kept his heart out of any such entanglements, he seemed to have a knack for finding women who got him in other ways.
He looked sideways at Esther, then quickly turned his focus back to the road. He would have no such issues with her. She was plain. Pretty, he supposed. But her wide brown eyes were unlined, unenhanced in any way. Her dark eyebrows a bit heavier than he typically liked on a woman. There were vague bruised-looking circles beneath her eyes, and he couldn’t work out if that was because of exhaustion, or if it was simply part of her coloring.
He was so accustomed to seeing women with a full face of makeup that was near enough to airbrushing in real life that he found it very hard to say.
Her lips were full, dusky, and he thought probably the most attractive thing about her. Though, her body was also nice enough. Her breasts weren’t large, but they were beautiful shaped, and it was clear she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath that black tank top of hers.
But her breasts were immaterial. The only thing that mattered was her womb. And whether or not his child currently resided inside it.
He turned sharply into his driveway, leaving the gate wide open, and not particularly caring. Then, he got out of the car, rounding it and jerking open the passenger door. “Welcome to your new home,” he said, knowing that his tone sounded anything but welcoming.
She bit her bottom lip, gathering her backpack from the floor of the car, and getting out, holding the offensive canvas bag to her chest. She looked around, eyes wide, a sort of sickly pallor appearing beneath her tan skin.
“You were just here a couple of days ago,” he said. “You can stop looking so intimidated.”
“Well,”