Читать книгу Bound By Their Christmas Baby - Clare Connelly - Страница 11
ОглавлениеABIGAIL STARED OUT of the window, unseeing. It was a cold, snowy night, but she hadn’t put the heating on. Raf was bundled up in a fleecy suit and wrapped in blankets, fast asleep, and she was wearing about six layers. She wrapped her hands around her hot chocolate—it was a pale imitation, seeing as she’d taken to making it with water instead of milk, but it was still sweet and warm—desperately necessary after the day she’d had.
She’d gone over her conversation with Gabe all evening—while he was no doubt out at some glamorous restaurant or bar with an equally glamorous woman. He probably wasn’t even giving her a second thought. Why would he be? He’d made it clear he despised her and, more importantly, didn’t believe her. So why would he be thinking about a baby he didn’t believe existed?
She should have shown him a photograph, but Abigail hadn’t been thinking straight. A photograph would have convinced him of his paternity. They were so alike—Raf had Gabe’s dark eyes, his strong determined brow and curling black hair, though the dimples in his cheeks were all Abby’s. She curled up in the armchair by the window and watched as a child dressed as an elf ran past, followed by a happy-looking mum and dad, also wearing elf hats.
Fliers had been up in the street for weeks—tonight was one of the local school’s Christmas concerts—which explained why there’d been a procession of Wise Men and reindeer shuffling around her Brooklyn neighbourhood since she’d returned.
While Abigail hadn’t expected Gabe to be doing cartwheels about the fact he was a father, nor had she expected his reaction—utter disbelief.
For months, she’d tried to find a way to tell him about the baby they’d conceived. First, when she’d been pregnant, and then once Raf had been born. It had never, not for an instant, occurred to her that he wouldn’t believe her. She had run through almost every contingency—but not this one.
The coldness of his expression as she’d stepped into the lift and turned back to face him would always be etched into her mind. He hated her. He’d said as much, and in that moment she knew it to be true.
So, what was she going to do?
She looked around the apartment, empty save for a threadbare chair, a plastic table, a lamp that she’d bought at a thrift shop, and she felt hopelessness well inside her.
Even with her job, she’d barely been making ends meet. Now? She had forty-seven dollars in her bank account, rent was due and her baby needed formula and nappies. Before long, he’d need actual food and bigger clothes, and then what?
She couldn’t keep living like this. Raf deserved so much better.
She finished the hot chocolate and placed the empty cup on the floor at her feet and then curled her legs up beneath her.
Exhaustion was nothing new to Abigail. Pregnancy had been exhausting and she’d been sick almost the whole time. But then Raf had been born and she’d discovered that motherhood was a little like being hit by a truck. She was bone-weary all the time.
Her eyes were heavy and she was so tired that even the thought of getting up, showering and changing for bed seemed too onerous and so she stayed where she was, telling herself she’d just sleep for a moment. Just a little rest. Then she’d go to bed, wake up in the new day and scour the papers for help wanted ads. She’d get a new job. Gabe couldn’t have her fired from every place in the city.
A knock at the door woke her after drifting off. It was persistent and loud—so loud she was certain it would wake Raf if she didn’t act quickly. She scrambled up and moved towards the door, yanking it inwards without taking the precaution of checking who was there—a foolish risk given that the downstairs security door had been busted for weeks.
Still, she had thought it might be the upstairs neighbour, Mrs Hannigan, who seemed to always need something at inconvenient times. Even this though—nearly midnight—was a stretch for her.
Abby hadn’t expected—foolishly, perhaps—to find Gabe Arantini on her doorstep, his handsome face lined with emotions she couldn’t comprehend.
‘Gabe?’ The word was thick with sleepiness. She ran the back of her hand over her eyes in an attempt to wake up, but it only induced a yawn. ‘What are you doing here? How did you find where I live?’
His response was to brush past her and step into her apartment.
‘By all means, come right in,’ she snapped sarcastically. But the tart emotion disappeared almost as soon as it had arrived, swallowed by a sense of self-consciousness for him to be seeing her threadbare apartment.
‘Where is he?’
‘I... He’s sleeping.’
‘Of course he is,’ he said, the same thread of incredulity in his words now as had been there earlier that day.
He still didn’t believe her? How was that possible? She would just show him a photo. Her phone was on the chair. She’d get it and show some pictures to him. Then he’d have no doubt that she was telling the truth. She moved in that direction but his voice stilled her.
‘Stop, Abigail.’
She froze, turning around to face him once more. He was right behind her, his body close to hers, his angular face filling her vision.
‘No more lies.’
‘I’m not lying to you.’
He lifted a finger and pressed it to her lips. ‘I think you don’t even realise you’re doing it,’ he said. ‘I think you’ve lost sight of what’s true and what’s not.’
‘I...’
‘Shh...’ he said again, shaking his head. ‘I didn’t come here to hear more lies...’
‘Then why...?’
His eyes held hers and Abigail grabbed a deep breath because she knew what was coming and she had about two seconds to decide what she would do. Step backwards, away from him, or surrender to the intimacy of his kiss, even knowing it was stupid and wrong and wouldn’t achieve anything?
But oh, how she craved him. Ached for him. Desperately longed for him.
He was going to kiss her and she was going to let him. Heck, she was going to kiss him if he took much longer. The air around them seemed to hum and crackle with anticipation, their eyes locked, their lips parted. Time seemed to stand still. It was madness, but hadn’t it always been for them?
He dropped his head infinitesimally closer and she pressed a little higher, waiting, her mind blanked of the myriad reasons she shouldn’t let this happen.
Then he blinked and straightened.
‘What the hell is that?’
The question jolted her, dragging her out of the sensual fog.
‘Raf!’ She shot him a look of frustration and sanity began to seep back in. Gratitude too. How could she have let herself get sucked back into his sensual, distracting appeal?
In the seconds it took her to compute the situation, Gabe was already moving to the hallway. There was a bathroom on one side and a bedroom on the other. He followed the sound of the crying and pushed into the bedroom. He stood just inside the door, staring at the crib as though he’d never seen a baby in his entire life.
‘Excuse me,’ Abby said, moving past him to scoop up Raf. He nuzzled into her and she stroked his head, her eyes lifting to Gabe’s with a hint of triumph in their depths.
‘What is this?’ he finally asked, dumbfounded.
‘What do you think?’
‘It’s a baby.’
She could have laughed; it was so absurd. ‘Yes, it’s a baby. This is your son. You may remember I told you about him this afternoon?’
‘I...’ Gabe stared at the child with a look of utter confusion.
‘He needs to go back to sleep,’ she said, nodding towards the door. And purely because he was at such a loss he did as she suggested and stepped out of the room, leaving her to settle Raf on her own.
When Abby emerged a few moments later, Gabe was in the centre of the tiny living room, his expression grim.
‘You were telling the truth.’
‘Yes!’ she said emphatically. ‘Why would you think I wasn’t?’
He frowned. ‘You need to ask that?’
‘Gabe, I made a mistake that night. Admittedly, a big one. I get why you’re mad. But it was a mistake. A stupid decision. Contrary to what you might think, I don’t make a habit of lying to people.’
He rubbed his palm over his face and shook his head. ‘How is this even possible?’
‘Really? You need me to explain how that works?’
‘I mean, we used protection.’
‘Yeah. The doctor said that’s not infallible.’
He grimaced. ‘It was your first time. This shouldn’t have been possible.’
‘Okay, you need to stop saying that. You’re the only man I’ve ever been with and nine months after that night, almost to the day, Raf was born. So, whether it should or shouldn’t have been possible, that’s what happened.’
‘You should have told me,’ he said, harsh judgement in the statement.
Abby made a primal noise of irritation, a growl born of pure annoyance. She would be the first to admit she’d messed up the night they’d met, but she wasn’t going to be tarred with that brush for evermore. ‘I tried to! Damn it, Gabe, why did you think I was calling you?’
He paled visibly beneath his tan. ‘You... I presumed to apologise, or make up excuses.’
‘No. I mean yes to the apology thing, but mainly, Gabe, I needed to tell you about Raf.’
‘You’re saying you didn’t keep him from me intentionally?’
‘Are you serious? Do you really think I’d do something so immoral?’
His eyes locked onto hers and she sighed.
‘I guess you do think me capable of that. But Gabe, I would never, ever keep someone from their child. He’s your son. I had no intention of doing this alone. That’s why I went to Rome...’
‘Rome.’ His eyes swept shut, anguish on his features. ‘You knew you were pregnant then? You came to tell me?’
‘Yes!’ Pique at his reaction darkened her expression. ‘And you had me dragged out like some kind of criminal.’
‘Madre di Dio, Abigail. I didn’t know.’
‘Yes, well,’ she said stiffly. ‘If you’d given me a minute of your time, you’d have seen for yourself the evidence of my condition.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I was six months along.’
‘And they just dragged you out of the building?’
‘Well, they told me in no uncertain terms to go before the police arrived,’ she conceded.
‘I asked them to do that,’ he admitted darkly. ‘I didn’t want to see you. I was so angry you’d come.’
‘I know.’ She lifted her chin, defiance radiating from her slender frame. ‘But don’t you dare accuse me of intentionally keeping Raf from you.’
He shook his head, as if to clear the memory. ‘I cannot believe I have a son.’
What could Abby say to that? It was the truth. She waited for something—perhaps an apology. A commendation of how well she’d done? An admission that she’d tried to do the right thing, to tell him the truth?
And got instead: ‘And you’re raising him here? Like this?’
Her spine straightened and she squared her shoulders. ‘What’s wrong with it?’ she said.
‘It is a hovel.’ He glared at her. ‘How can you live like this?’
Her jaw dropped. His assessment wasn’t wrong but how dare he?
‘It’s fine,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘And I’ll find something better before he’s big enough to notice. For now, this is fine,’ she amended.
‘This isn’t fine for a pack of rabid dogs, let alone my son.’
She stared at him as though he’d called her the worst name in the book. ‘I’m aware that it’s not ideal. I’m not blind. But it’s the best I could do at short notice and with very limited means.’
A muscle in his jaw throbbed and Abby stared at it, fascinated by the pulse point there. ‘So when your father discovered you were pregnant with my child, he turned you out of his home?’
She winced. ‘It was more complex than that. I mean, it proved that I’d lied about that night. That I’d let him down.’
‘Let him down?’ Gabe repeated incredulously. ‘Dio! He is unbelievable.’
‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I never thought he’d react like this. I mean, I thought he’d be angry, but not...’
‘To remove all financial support from his pregnant daughter, just because he hates me?’ Something in Gabe shifted and he was very still, his expression faraway, as though completely consumed by unpleasant thoughts.
Abby waited, her breath unconsciously held, for him to elaborate.
But in the end he shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. You are no longer his responsibility.’
‘I’m no one’s responsibility,’ she said stiffly, instantly rejecting that assessment.
‘Wrong, cara. You are mine.’
‘No.’ Abby’s denial was swift.
‘You are the mother of my child.’
Her hackles rose. ‘I’m a woman you spent one night with, a year ago.’
‘Sì. And you fell pregnant. I should have prevented that. I was experienced. This is my fault.’
‘Your fault?’ Now her maternal instincts roared to life. ‘I don’t consider Raf anyone’s fault. He’s a blessing.’
Gabe grimaced, uncharacteristically on the back foot. ‘I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.’
But she wasn’t to be placated. She had to set the record straight while she had a chance—if she didn’t control this, the situation could quickly move beyond her control. ‘You don’t owe me anything, Gabe. I’m not asking for a handout.’
‘You live like this,’ he said slowly, gesturing around the room, ‘and you think I don’t owe you anything?’
Frustration burst through her. ‘I know this place isn’t...’
‘It’s a dump.’
The insult hurt. ‘It’s home, for now.’
He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression intractable.
‘You say you wanted to tell me about the baby?’
She nodded.
‘And what did you expect me to say?’
Abby frowned, but her silence only seemed to spur him on. He took a step closer, his expression grim.
‘What did you want from me?’
She swallowed, and tried to find the words of the speech she’d imagined she’d give him, if ever he learned the truth. ‘Raf is your child too, and I respect the fact you might want to be involved in his upbringing.’
‘Oh, yes?’ he murmured, but there was a sharpness to the response, an underlying firmness she didn’t understand.
‘Your life is in Italy and we live here, but I mean, you visit the States and I guess, when he’s older, he could come over...’
Her sentence tapered off into silence. His eyes held hers for a long, icy moment. Then, with a guttural sound of disgust, ‘Look at this place, Abigail!’ He glared at her. ‘Why is it so cold? Why is the heating off?’ He stalked into the kitchenette and ripped open the fridge. ‘What are you existing on? I see two apples and one bread roll. What did you have for dinner?’
She bit down on her lip and ridiculous tears moistened her eyes. She dashed at them angrily. ‘I’m not crying because I’m sad,’ she clarified. ‘I’m mad! And I’m tired! And you have no right turning up on my doorstep at midnight only to throw insults at my feet!’
‘What did you think I would do? How am I supposed to react?’
‘I...’ She glared at him. ‘I don’t know. I just had to tell you.’
He dipped his head forward in silent concession. ‘I’m grateful that you did. And for the fact you haven’t used our son to attempt to blackmail me.’
‘Blackmail you?’ she repeated, aghast, flicking her fair hair over one shoulder. ‘What would I blackmail you for?’
His laugh was short and sharp. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Money. Power. Calypso prototypes?’
Abby had never hit a man in her life—or anyone, for that matter, but her fingertips itched to strike his arrogant face. ‘You’re a jerk.’
‘I’m the father of your child and, like it or not, I’m in your life now.’
She was very still, waiting for that thought to make sense. But it didn’t. ‘In my life how?’
Gabe shut the fridge door and moved to the pantry. It was almost empty, save for a tin of spaghetti and a bag of pasta.
‘How quickly can you pack a suitcase?’
‘Huh?’ She watched as he stalked back into the small living room.
‘Your wardrobe looked small. I presume you don’t have much. Is there a bag somewhere?’
‘I... No.’ She’d sold her designer set of luggage as soon as she’d moved into the apartment.
‘Fine. I’ll have one sent over.’
‘Gabe, wait.’ She lifted a hand in a determined appeal for his silence. ‘I don’t need a suitcase. I’m not going anywhere.’
He ignored her, speaking as though she hadn’t. ‘It’s too late to depart now. You should go to bed. I’ll...take the chair. We can leave in the morning.’
‘And where exactly do you imagine we’re going?’
‘Italy.’ He reached for his phone and, before she could respond, he began speaking into it. She had not a hope of comprehending as he spoke in his native tongue, but she picked out a few words—bambino...andiamo...subito.
He disconnected the call before giving Abby the full force of his attention.
‘The plane will be ready in the morning. My car is downstairs. Tomorrow, Abigail, we will leave.’
She shook her head emphatically. ‘No!’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m not going to Italy. This is my home. His home. And you... I know you’re his father, but I didn’t tell you so you’d take us away! I just wanted you to know because he’s your child and at some stage he or you might want a relationship. I don’t believe in secrets like this, okay? I have no right to keep a father from his child. But that’s the end of it. I’ve done my part. I told you about Raf, and when he’s older I’ll tell him about you.’
His eyes narrowed and his chest lifted with the force of the deep breath he sucked in. ‘Get ready. This is non-negotiable.’
‘You’re right. It’s non-negotiable. We’re staying here.’
‘Make no mistake about it, Abigail, my son is coming to Italy. I am giving you a chance to come with him. The decision is yours.’
Panic flared in her gut but she hid it behind anger. ‘There’s no way you can do that.’
‘Do you want to test that theory?’
‘You seriously think I’m going to move to a foreign country with a man I hardly know?’
‘No. I think you’re going to move to a foreign country with the man you’re going to marry.’
Her eyes flew wide and for a moment she thought she must have misheard. ‘What did you just say?’
His jaw tightened. ‘You heard me.’
‘But that’s crazy.’
He jerked his head in silent agreement.
She blinked. ‘But why?’
Something like anguish shifted through his dark gaze, showing how clearly he wished this step weren’t necessary. ‘Because it’s the right thing to do.’
‘Right, how?’ she demanded, wondering if she’d slipped through the looking glass into a bizarre parallel universe.
‘Because of what I can offer him, and what I can offer you. The security, the comfort, the support.’ He took a step closer. ‘I’m offering you the world, Abigail. The world for you and our son.’
Her heart twisted painfully inside her chest. She was like an outsider looking in. In that moment, she realised that marrying Gabe Arantini would have, in another lifetime, constituted a fantasy. If things had been different between them, if they’d met under different circumstances and they’d been allowed to enjoy getting to know one another.
‘This is the twenty-first century. People don’t get married just because of a baby.’
His eyes narrowed and she had the strangest sense that he was holding back on saying what he really wanted to say. Through teeth that were bared like a wolf’s, he said, ‘My son is going to grow up with two parents.’
‘Who hate each other? Do you really think that’s best?’
‘No.’ His eyes glowed with silent warning. ‘But it’s the best decision you can make. I have a son, Abigail. A three-month-old boy I knew nothing about. If you think I am leaving this country without him, if you think I have any plans of walking out of his life, even temporarily, then you are deranged.’
She sucked in a breath but her lungs didn’t fill sufficiently. She dug her fingernails into her palms, taking strength from the gesture. ‘Then stay here,’ she said after a moment, the words sounding reasonable and calm despite the tremors taking over her central nervous system.
He looked around the room with scathing contempt.
‘Not here here,’ she amended. ‘In New York.’
His eyes locked onto hers. ‘I have no intention of raising my child anywhere other than Italy. We will go there tomorrow and as soon as possible we will marry. Raf will grow up believing that he is wanted.’
‘He is wanted by me!’ she shouted and then winced at the very real possibility that such loud arguing would wake their son.
‘And by me,’ he said warningly.
‘No. I think it’s time for you to leave, Gabe. We can discuss this in the morning when you’re thinking straight.’
‘Do you think you have any right to dictate to me after what you’ve done?’
‘What I’ve done?’ she demanded, taking a step closer, wishing she were taller so that she didn’t have to crane her neck to look up at him. ‘And just what am I supposed to have done?’
‘You set all this in motion when you came to my hotel last year. Even if there had been no baby, no Raf, you have still shown yourself capable of making very poor decisions.’
‘You got that right,’ Abby muttered. ‘Sleeping with you was the biggest mistake of my life.’
She swept her eyes shut, instantly wishing she could retract the words because of course she could never really regret anything that had resulted in Raf. Besides, even without Raf, she’d be hard-pressed to regret what she and Gabe had shared. Only that her father’s machinations had been the cause of it.
‘I feel exactly the same way.’ The coolly delivered response slammed right into her heart and suddenly all the emotions of the previous year filled her up, like water in a bathtub.
‘Oh, go to hell,’ she muttered, slumping back against the wall and dipping her head forward.
‘I think I’m already there.’
The volley landed squarely in her chest, twisting her organs and supercharging her blood. She swallowed, but her throat was drier than the desert.
Two days ago she’d been working as a kitchen hand for one of New York’s most renowned chefs. She’d been exhausted and lonely but she’d been making it work.
And now she had this man, this handsome, arrogant billionaire who she couldn’t be in the same room as without breaking into a full-blown fight, demanding that she move halfway around the world and become his wife? Mrs Gabe Arantini?
She couldn’t marry him! God, what a nightmare! Why had she ever thought she had to tell him about his son? At least without seeing a lawyer first! Why had she been so naive? She should have kept Raf hidden from him. She should have moved heaven and earth to avoid this.
What an idiot she was!
‘I won’t marry you,’ she said angrily, her blood simmering. ‘I can’t. It would never work.’
‘Believe me, the last thing I want is to legally bind myself to you—or your father, for that matter.’ His eyes glazed with determination. ‘But it is the only way this will work. These are my terms, tempesta.’
‘It makes no sense.’ The words were stoic when her chest was crushing under the weight of his demands.
He stared at her long and hard. ‘I told you, I want our son to have a family. That’s...very important to me.’ The words were spoken with an iron-like determination but, even without that, Abby found the concept dug deep into her chest. A family? What would that be like? It had been so long since her mother had died, she could barely remember a time when they’d been a collective. Her father had emotionally shut her out many long years before he’d finally cut their ties altogether.
Abby was alone in the world. Her beloved mother was dead, her father had slammed the door on her, and now Gabe was threatening to take Raf away. She couldn’t lose her son; she wouldn’t let her son lose her either!
But, far from losing him, what if she could give him exactly what Gabe was offering? What if she could give Raf a real family?
‘A marriage born of hate cannot work,’ she said dubiously, her eyes flicking to his before skimming away.
He spoke softly, considering each word. ‘There is love too. I saw my son and loved him instantly. You are his mother. That means something to me, Abigail. No matter how I feel about you personally, I wish you no ill. I want to take care of you as well. Raf deserves that—to know that his father will protect his mother.’ Deep emotions rang through that last sentence, as though he’d dredged it up from deep within his soul.
She wanted to fight him. She wanted to tell him that what she most needed protection from was the power Gabe wielded over her, and the ease with which he could hurt her. She wanted to shout at him and rail against him but the last year had been long and draining for Abigail, and all the pluck she’d once held in her armoury had been dulled to the point of non-existence. Her fight had been washed away; sleeplessness and loneliness, abandonment and discord with her father had made her heart sore and heavy. She wanted to fight Gabe, she wanted to fight him so badly, but every day had been a battle and she found—in that moment—she had very little fight left.
What he offered was so tempting. She swept her eyes shut, desperately trying to rally some strength, some fight, some determination to keep him at a distance.
‘I don’t know how it would work.’
‘We don’t need to discuss semantics now.’
‘It’s not semantics!’ she insisted, reaching out a hand and wrapping her fingers around his wrist. ‘This is my life. Mine and Raf’s. You can’t expect me to just marry you.’
He expelled a sigh, a sound of impatience. ‘Why not?’
‘Seriously? Why not? I could give you a thousand reasons.’
‘I’m not interested in a thousand. Give me a single good one.’
His manner was imposing at the best of times but now, in this conversation, she could barely scrape her thoughts together.
She clutched at the first straw she found. ‘I hardly know you.’
‘How is that relevant?’ he said with a shake of his head.
‘You’re asking me to move to Italy and become your wife...’
‘I’m suggesting you choose the best-case scenario in this situation.’ He stared at her resolutely. ‘It is, of course, your decision.’
Her heart sank.
Her decision?
She was broke, alone, and hardly ever saw her tiny baby because of the hours she had to work just to get by. Everything she did was for Raf; wouldn’t she hurt her son by denying him all that Gabe could offer?
She was terrified of the way this man made her feel, but wasn’t motherhood about putting your child’s needs above your own? All she had to do, in order to make this decision, was ignore her own needs and wants and think of what was best for Raf.
Then the decision was a simple one.
She wanted Raf to have the best life in the world—she wanted to give that to him. She just had to dance with the devil...
Living with Gabe wouldn’t be a walk in the park, and nor would marriage to him. But for Raf? What wouldn’t she do? With a look of fierce strength and resolve, she nodded. ‘Fine. You win. We’ll come to Italy.’
‘You’ll marry me.’ It wasn’t a question, but he clearly wanted her to answer.
‘On one condition.’
He arched a brow, but said nothing.
Abby hadn’t been sure what she wanted to say, only that she knew she had to demand something of him—anything—to assert her position as an intelligent woman. Yielding power to him would be a disaster. ‘If I move to Italy and marry you—’
‘When,’ he interrupted, his expression daring her to disagree.
‘When I marry you,’ she agreed with soft defiance, ‘you’ll be a good father to him. You’ll spend time with him. He’s not a trophy son to be loved on Christmases and birthdays. I’m only doing this for Raf, so he’ll have what I...’
