The Italian's Pregnant Virgin. Maisey Yates
Читать онлайн книгу.
telling you about the baby. I wasn’t thinking I would stay here.”
“Are you going to pretend that you would prefer the hostel? There is no need to pretend with me. You agreed to carry a child for money. It isn’t as though you can suddenly make believe you have no interest in material things.”
She shook her head. “I don’t. I mean, not the way that you think. I want to go to college.”
He frowned. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
He held back a curse. She was the same age as his sister, Allegra. Possibly a bit younger. Had he been the sort of man who possessed the ability to feel sympathy for strangers, he thought he might feel some for her. But those softer feelings had been bled from him long ago, empathy replaced by a vague sense of concern.
“And you couldn’t access any scholarships?”
“No. I had to pay to take the SATs. I didn’t exactly go to high school. But my scores are good enough to get into a few places. I think. I just need to get my financial ducks in a row.”
“You didn’t go to high school?”
She pursed her lips together. “I was homeschooled. Kind of. Anyway, it isn’t like I was trying to get myself a yacht. And even if I was, nobody does surrogacy for free for a stranger.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I suppose not. Come this way.”
He led the way into the villa, suddenly completely at a loss. His housekeeper had already retired to her quarters, and here he was with an urchin whom he suddenly had to manage. “I imagine you’re tired,” he said.
“Hungry,” she replied.
He gritted his teeth. “The kitchen is this way.”
He led her through the expensive house, listening to the sound of her shuffling footsteps behind him as they made their way to the kitchen. The house itself was old. Stonework dating back centuries. But inside, all of the modern conveniences had been supplied. He made his way to the large stainless steel fridge and opened it. “You may have your pick of what’s inside.”
As soon as he said that, he realized that most of the food was still ingredients, and not exactly a meal. But surely, there would be something. Then he remembered that his housekeeper often left portions in the freezer for him just in case.
He didn’t often eat at home, and he would just as soon go out if there was no staff on hand to make him something. But he was not going back out tonight.
He looked until he found what looked to be a container of pasta. “Here you go,” he said, setting it down in front of a wide-eyed Esther.
He didn’t stay to see what she did after that. Instead, he strode from the room, taking the stairs two at a time and heading toward his office. He paced the length of the room for a moment, then turned to his desk, taking hold of his phone and dialing his ex-wife.
It took only two rings for Ashley to answer. That didn’t surprise him. If she was going to answer, of course she would do it quickly. Otherwise, had she intended to ignore him, she would have done so steadfastly. She was nothing if not extreme.
“Renzo,” she said, sounding bored. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You may not find it such a pleasure to speak to me, Ashley. Not when you hear what I have to say.”
“I have not actually found it a pleasure to speak to you for quite a few months.”
“We were only married for six months, so I hope that’s an exaggeration.”
“It isn’t. Why do you think I had to find other men to satisfy me?”
“If you are talking about emotional satisfaction, I have several answers for that. However, if you mean to imply that I did not satisfy you physically, then I’m going to have to call you a liar.”
Ashley huffed. “There’s more to life than sex.”
“Yes indeed. There is, in fact, the small matter of the woman who is currently downstairs in my kitchen.”
“We’re divorced now,” Ashley said, her voice so sharp it could cut glass. “Who is or is not in your kitchen—or bed—is none of my concern.”
“It is when it’s Esther Abbott. A woman who claims that she had an agreement with you. For her to carry our child.”
There was a pause. He was almost satisfied that he had clearly succeeded in rendering Ashley speechless. It was such a difficult thing to do. Even when she had been caught in bed with someone else, she had done her best to talk, scream and cry her way out of it. She was not one to let it rest. She was never one to let someone else have the last word.
Her silence now was telling. Though, of her absolute surprise, or of her chagrin at being found out, he didn’t know.
“I thought it might save us. But that was before... Before the divorce was final. Before you found out about the others.”
“Right. The five other men that you were with during the course of our marriage?”
Ashley laughed. “Seven, I think.”
It didn’t matter to him. Five, seven or only the one he had actually witnessed. He had a feeling the truth didn’t matter to Ashley either. It was all about scoring points.
“So this is true,” he said, his tone harsh.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice tight.
“How?” he bit out.
She huffed out an impatient-sounding laugh. “Well, darling, the last time we were intimate you used a condom. I just...made use of it after you discarded it. It was enough for the doctor.”
He swore. At her. At himself. At his body. “Is there nothing too low for you?”
“I guess that remains to be seen,” she said, her tone brittle like glass. “I have a lot of living left to do, but don’t worry, Renzo, you won’t be part of it. My depths will not be of any concern to you.”
“This woman is pregnant with our child,” he said, trying to bring it back around to the topic at hand. To the reason he had some creature-ish backpacker in his home.
“Because she is stubborn. I told her she didn’t have to continue with it. In fact, I told her I refused to pay the remainder of the fee.”
“Yes,” he bit out. “I have had a discussion with her. I was only calling you to confirm.”
“What are you going to do?”
That was a good question. An excellent question. He was going to raise the child, naturally. But how was he going to explain it? To his parents. To the media. These would be headlines his child would read. Either he would have to be honest about Ashley’s deception, or he would have to concoct a story about a mother abandoning her child.
That would not do.
But surrogacy was not legal in Italy. No agreement would be binding within these borders. And he would use that to his advantage.
“There is nothing to be done,” he said, his tone swift, decisive. “Esther Abbott is pregnant with my child. And I will do the responsible thing.”
“Renzo,” she said, her voice fierce, “what do you intend to do?”
He knew. There was no question. He had been in a situation similar to this before. Only then, he had had no power. The woman involved, her husband, his parents, had all made the decisions around him. His ill-advised affair with Jillian costing much more than his virginity.
At sixteen, he had become a father for the first time. But he had been barred from having anything to do with the child. A story carefully constructed to protect her marriage, her family, that child and his reputation had been agreed on by all.
All