Читать книгу The Scandalous Sabbatinis: Scandal: Unclaimed Love-Child - Melanie Milburne, Melanie Milburne - Страница 9

LUCA didn’t find the mobile phone until an hour after Bronte had gone. He had paced the floor in anger for half an hour before he stopped to pour himself another drink from the barely touched bottle of champagne.

He took the bottle and his glass over to the sofa where Bronte had been sitting earlier. He tossed the first glass down and then poured himself another, barely tasting it before he swallowed. Right at this moment he didn’t care if he got drunk. It would certainly be preferable to this.

He swore viciously and pushed his hair back off his forehead. He had hoped the night would have turned out differently but he had obviously been fooling himself. Bronte was well and truly over him. She had walked out and made it clear she wasn’t coming back. He had hoped she still felt something for him. It was a wild hope, a vain, perhaps even an arrogant hope, but a hope all the same.

She had taken a long time to admit to loving him but when she had finally said it he knew she had meant it. Back then he hadn’t been entirely sure if what he felt for her was love; all he knew was he felt different when he was with her, unlike he had ever felt before. But at that time he hadn’t been sure he had a future to offer her. So he had kept his feelings to himself. He knew he had often come across as cold emotionally. He was often irritable and short-tempered with her on the days after he had been unwell and, while he knew it had confused her and made her feel insecure, he had never told her why he was feeling out of sorts. He hadn’t wanted her to feel obligated towards him. She was the sort of person who would sacrifice herself and he hadn’t been prepared for her to do that. It was his burden, his cross to bear and he had borne it and finally, thank God, got rid of it.

He reached forward to pour himself another glass of champagne, when something hard pressed against his thigh. He looked down and saw a slimline black mobile phone poking up through the cushions.

He smiled a slow smile as he pulled it out. It was the same model as his, only his was the newer upgraded one. He turned it over in his hand, pressing the silent switch on the side to ringtone. It immediately buzzed with messages; one by one they came up on the screen. It was impossible not to read them, even if his conscience told him it was an invasion of privacy.

How did it go?

What’s he like?

Did you tell him about you know who?

Call me!!!!!

Luca scrolled past the other icons, but his finger stilled on the photo gallery one. He hesitated for a fraction of a moment before he pressed it to open it. There were a lot of pictures of a baby girl. He couldn’t determine the age but he thought she was under one year old. She was small, like a doll, with dark brown hair and big blue eyes.

His gut seized and his hand shook as he scrolled through a couple more photos. She was a miniature version of Bronte. She was still in nappies; it looked as if she had only just started to walk. Luca felt a pain like a thick metal skewer go through the middle of his heart. He hadn’t been expecting this. He hadn’t seen it coming. He felt a fool for not realising. No wonder she didn’t want anything more to do with him. Bronte had well and truly moved on with her life.

She’d had a baby.

She’d had another man’s child.

The knowledge was too painful. His chest cavity felt too tight, suddenly too small to accommodate his organs. He couldn’t breathe without pain. Each breath was like a knife between his ribs. His lungs felt as if they were going to explode.

He couldn’t bear to look at any more pictures. He couldn’t trust himself not to smash the phone if he came across the child’s father in one of them. He didn’t want to know who it was or what he looked like. No doubt it was some solidly dependable suburban type who had swept Bronte off her feet and offered her the security she longed for. Luca hadn’t noticed a wedding ring on her finger but having a child with someone these days often came first. She had said she lived with her mother but did her lover and the father of her child live there too? No wonder she hadn’t wanted him to pick her up or even know where she lived. Dio, he couldn’t bear the thought of her going home to lie in someone else’s arms. Even now she could be making love with the father of her child, perhaps conceiving another one with him right at this very moment.

His fingers clenched around the phone as he laid his head back against the sofa cushions. He closed his eyes tightly, almost painfully, trying to block out the taunting images his brain concocted, thinking instead of how a few months could have changed everything.

The phone began to vibrate in his hand.

Luca opened his eyes and looked down at the screen. He slid the answer arrow across and held the phone up to his ear. ‘Hello.’

There was a short silence marked by some rapid breathing.

‘Luca?’

‘Bronte,’ Luca drawled, idly crossing one ankle over his thigh. ‘How nice of you to call.’ Another tight silence.

‘You have my phone.’ The words came out like small, hard pellets. ‘It must have slipped out of my purse or something.’

‘Yes, it must have,’ he said. ‘You want to come and get it or shall I bring it to dinner tomorrow night?’

‘I…’

‘Or I could bring it around to your place now,’ he said.

‘No!’

Luca curled his lip, trying to ignore the pain in his gut. ‘It would be no trouble, Bronte. Where do you live?’

‘I don’t want you to come here, Luca,’ she said stiffly.

‘Lover boy wouldn’t like it?’ he asked.

The silence this time crackled with tension.

‘I need my phone,’ she said. ‘I will come and get it now… if that’s all right? I mean if it’s not too late or anything.’

Luca glanced at his watch and smiled. ‘I’ll be waiting for you.’

The call ended and he tapped his fingers against the phone where it rested on his thigh, his smile disappearing as a heavy frown pulled at his forehead.

Bronte pulled into the hotel’s arrival bay and reluctantly left the keys with the valet parking attendant. She had tried to explain she wouldn’t be long but hotel policy forbade parking out the front, even for short intervals. The tense exchange of words with the attendant on duty hadn’t improved her already overstretched nerves. The moment of panic when she’d realised she had left her phone behind had practically sent her heart into a fibrillation. A heart attack at twenty-five was unlikely but Bronte felt as if she was going to go very close.

Had Luca looked at the photos of Ella? There were literally dozens of them. Fortunately there were none of Ella’s firstborn ones or any from the first few months of her life. Bronte had transferred all her photos only a couple of weeks ago so she only had more recent photos on it.

But even so.

Would Luca see the likeness? Her mother had assured her it was unlikely. Ella was small for her age and had the same hair colour as Bronte and the same slate-blue eyes, dainty features and creamy skin.

Bronte wasn’t so sure her mother was right, however. At times she could see a lot of Luca in her daughter. When Ella was concentrating over a puzzle or a toy she couldn’t quite figure out, she frowned just like Luca frowned. And just lately, as Ella grew more and more adventurous now she was finally walking, she often gave Bronte a look of gleaming satisfaction that was Luca through and through.

Ever since she had realised she had left her phone behind Bronte had berated herself. Why hadn’t she noticed the clasp on her purse was faulty? She should never have agreed to see him. What was she thinking? What good could come of it? It was perfectly clear he was after a quick affair. She had seen the intention in his dark, smouldering eyes. He wanted her. And that kiss! What had she been doing, responding to him like that? What madness had overtaken her? He was testing the waters and they were as hot as he had arrogantly expected.

Fool, fool, fool! Why had she fallen for it? She should have been more determined, more strident, more…. more… in control of herself.

She rested her hot forehead on the wall of the lift, trying to get her breathing to calm down. All she had to do was pick up her phone and leave. Simple. Just take it and leave. Don’t talk, don’t linger and for God’s sake don’t look at him too long in case he saw more than she wanted him to see.

The lift seemed to take ages to climb to the penthouse floor, or perhaps that was because Bronte was sweating out each heart-stopping second in a rising state of panic.

Finally the lift arrived and she walked on legs that felt as spindly and unstable as a newborn colt’s. Her brief knock on Luca’s door was answered by him after an annoyingly lengthy interval. She wondered if it had been deliberate.

‘Come in,’ he said, holding the door wide open.

‘No, thank you,’ she said tightly. ‘I’ll just take my phone and leave.’

He folded his arms across his broad chest, rocking back on his heels in an indolent manner. ‘Since you’ve driven all this way back here, why not stay a while and chat?’

Bronte held out her hand. ‘My phone.’

Luca took her hand and tugged her into the suite, closing the door with a sharp click behind her. He smiled mockingly at her shocked and outraged expression. ‘My way, Bronte, or you won’t get your phone back at all.’

She glared at him with eyes as narrow as that of an embroidery needle. ‘That’s theft, you bastard.’

‘You can have your phone after we’ve had a little talk,’ he said, leading her into the suite.

She tugged at his hold to no avail. ‘I don’t want to talk to you, Luca.’

‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked, pointedly ignoring her attempts to pull away. ‘I’m afraid there’s not much champagne left. But I could always open another bottle.’

‘I am not here to socialise,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘I just want to get my phone and go home.’

He held her in front of him, looking down at her flushed features and tightly pursed lips. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about your child?’ he asked. ‘I’m assuming it’s yours? She looks the image of you.’

Her face paled and her eyes looked stricken. ‘You looked at my photos?’ she asked in a hoarse-sounding whisper.

‘There was nothing too incriminating there, I can assure you,’ Luca said. ‘No boudoir scenes, for instance.’

Her face regained some of its colour, two hot spots on each cheek. ‘You had no right to touch my phone.’

‘On the contrary, Bronte, it was on my sofa and it rang while I was holding it,’ he said. ‘Did you want me to ignore your call?’

She gave him an icy glare. ‘That’s what you would have done in the past, wasn’t it?’

Luca had to admit she had won that round. He could hardly tell her now how hard it had been to see his phone ringing with her number showing on the screen and having to restrain himself from picking it up just to hear her voice one more time. In the end he had changed phones and numbers so in a weak moment he would not be tempted. And there had been many weak moments over the following months. ‘How seriously involved are you with the father of your child?’ he asked. ‘You’re not wearing a wedding ring so I am assuming you’re not married.’

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes flickering with something he couldn’t quite identify. Her teeth caught at her bottom lip, pulling at it until he was sure she was going to draw blood. ‘No, I’m not married… I… The thing is…’ She winced as if she found the subject painful to talk about.

‘You’re no longer together, is that it?’ he said.

She gave her lip another gnaw and finally released it. ‘Yes… something like that…’

‘Well, then,’ Luca said. ‘At least we’ve cleared up that little detail. There is a lot I would do to get you back into my bed, but taking on a jealous husband is not one of them.’

‘I am not going to—’

Luca put a finger against her lips. ‘Don’t speak so soon, cara,’ he warned.

Her eyes flared as he brushed his finger along her lips. The softness of her mouth had always amazed him. She had a classically bee-stung mouth, irresistibly kissable. He bent his head and gently brushed his mouth over her lips, tasting her sweetness, wanting more, but holding back to give her time to reveal how much he affected her. Her lashes came down over her eyes, her tongue darting out and depositing a light sheen of moisture over her lips before disappearing again. He felt her breathe, in and out, a ragged sort of sound that seemed to catch inside her chest.

He bent his head again, hesitating just above her mouth, waiting for her to meet him halfway. ‘Go on, cara,’ he whispered against her lips. ‘You know you want to.’

‘I don’t want to…’ Her eyes met his briefly before falling away again. ‘I don’t want to see you. I don’t think this is a good idea… you know… rehashing the past. It never works.’

He brought up her chin again, holding her gaze with his. ‘We could make it work. Just you and me. No one else needs to know.’

She pushed against his chest and slipped out of his hold, crossing her arms over her body, turning away from him. ‘There’s not just the two of us to consider any more,’ she said. ‘I have a child. I have to consider her. She is my first priority. She will always be my first priority.’

Luca raked a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to think about her love-child. It wasn’t that he didn’t love kids; he did and had always hoped he would have a family of his own one day. He just couldn’t get used to the idea of Bronte being a mother to someone else’s baby.

Had she had the child as a result of a rebound affair? That somehow made it so much worse. If things had been different, he would have loved to have married Bronte and had the family he knew she wanted. She had hinted at it once or twice but he had deliberately avoided picking up the bait. It had been too painful back then to think about the life he wanted and the life he had been given. The bond of a child was a big deal. What if she still felt something for this guy? The kid was adorable. How could Bronte not feel something for the father of her little baby girl?

Luca had a bigger fight on his hands than he had thought. If he was to somehow convince her to get involved with him again he would have to learn how to be a stepparent. And it was not the easiest of relationships either. He had several friends who had never got on with their parents’ partners. It had caused numerous arguments and resentments, some of which went on over years. Bronte’s little girl was very young, but nothing could change the fact that Luca was not her real father. Circumstances had prevented him from having that privilege and there was nothing that he could do to change that now.

‘How old is she?’ he asked.

Bronte pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear and almost but not quite met his gaze. ‘She recently turned one.’ Recently, as in two months ago, she silently added.

His forehead creased as he did the numbers in his head. ‘So you hooked up with her father what… a couple of months after you came back to Melbourne?’

Bronte hated lying outright but what else could she do? She hadn’t had time to think this through. Everything had happened so quickly. Luca suddenly turning up at the studio—was it only that afternoon? And this evening’s awkward meeting and the careless loss of her phone had not given her time to get her head around everything. ‘Is that so wrong?’ she asked, taking an evasive approach. ‘You would have moved on just as, if not more quickly.’

‘But to get pregnant to some guy you hardly knew—’

‘Don’t preach at me, Luca,’ Bronte said in irritation. ‘I did know him. I thought I knew him well. It just didn’t work out.’

‘Do you still see him?’ he asked. ‘Does he have contact with the child?’

Bronte realised now how many lies it took after you told one to keep the others in place. There was going to be no way out of this other than more and more lies. She hated herself at that moment. It seemed so wrong to lie to him and yet the alternative was too terrifying. Maybe she could work up the courage over time. Maybe there would be a right time to tell him. Maybe they could become friends first and then she could tell him he was Ella’s father. Yeah, right, maybe she was kidding herself. She looked at his brooding frown and inwardly gulped. Yep, she was definitely kidding herself. ‘No,’ she said.

‘What? You mean he doesn’t want contact with his own flesh and blood?’ he asked with an incredulous look.

‘Look, Luca, I’d rather not talk about it,’ she said. ‘If I could just take my phone and—’

‘So how do you manage?’ Luca asked. ‘Does the father contribute financially to the child’s upbringing?’

The child. How impersonal he made it sound, Bronte thought. ‘Her name is Ella,’ she said. ‘And I manage perfectly fine without help from anyone.’

‘How do you work and look after a little child?’ he asked, still frowning darkly.

‘The same way thousands of other working single mums do,’ she said, ‘juggling, compromise and guilt.’

‘So that’s why you live with your mother.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It works out for both of us. She works part-time and I work on her days off so she can mind Ella.’

He continued to look at her with a frown pulling at his forehead. His hands were thrust in his trouser pockets, the sound of his change and keys rattling the only sound breaking the heavy silence.

‘I really should get going,’ Bronte said. ‘Mum stays in the granny flat with Ella. She can’t go to bed back at her house until I get home.’

‘If I hadn’t ended things with you the way I did, do you think you would be in this situation now?’ Luca asked, looking at her intently.

Bronte felt the pull of his magnetic gaze, her heart stumbling like a long-legged horse stepping into a deep pothole. ‘There’s no point in discussing it,’ she said. ‘Life happens. It’s not as planned as we would like to think it is.’

‘Did you plan to get pregnant?’

‘No, that was an accident,’ she said. ‘But it’s not one I regret. Ella’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

Luca took the phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. ‘I guess you will need this,’ he said. ‘She’s very cute by the way. She looks exactly like you.’

Bronte felt a thick lump lodge in her throat. ‘Th… thank you.’ She clutched the phone to her thumping chest, blinking back tears of relief, regret and deep self-loathing.

He stepped closer and cupped her cheek, holding her face so tenderly more tears came to her eyes. ‘Why are you crying, cara?’ he said softly.

She swallowed and gulped back a sob. ‘It could have been so different…’ She blinked a couple of times but the tears still fell. ‘I wanted it to be so different… but now it’s too late…’

He brought her head against his chest, his fingers splayed in her hair, the deep rumble of his voice as he spoke tearing Bronte’s heart in two. ‘I know, but that is my fault, mio piccolo. I wasn’t ready. I was in a bad place in my life. I wasn’t able to give you what you wanted. But then I wasn’t even able to give myself what I wanted. It was just not our time.’

Bronte stood in the circle of his arms, wishing she could stay there for ever. But after a moment he stepped back from her. His expression was hard to read. He was smiling but it wasn’t a smile that reached anywhere near his eyes. There were shadows there instead, flickering shadows that gave no hint of what he was feeling.

‘I should let you get home to your little girl,’ he said, sliding his hands down her arms to her wrists, holding them loosely with his long fingers.

A pain deep inside her chest made it almost impossible for Bronte to speak. ‘It was… it was nice to see you again, Luca.’

He brought one of her hands up to his mouth, pressing his lips to her bent fingers. ‘I hope one day you will forgive me for how I ended things,’ he said.

‘It’s OK,’ Bronte said. ‘I should have accepted your decision. I think I made a terrible fool of myself. Actually, I know I made a terrible fool of myself. I practically stalked you. I was so desperate to tell you I was…’ She stopped and quickly regrouped. ‘I mean… I was so desperate to know if there was something I had done to upset you. I should have realised our relationship had run its course. You had never offered anything permanent and I was a fool to hope and dream you would. I was caught up in the whole romance of my first real love affair. I was too immature to see it. Perhaps I didn’t want to see it.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up about it, Bronte,’ he said. ‘We have this chance now to see if we can make a better go of it.’

Bronte felt her heart give a flutter like a startled pigeon. ‘Y-you want to… I mean you still want to… I can’t, Luca. I can’t see you. I told you that.’

His jaw took on an uncompromising set. ‘You told me yourself there is no one else in your life. What’s to stop us revisiting our relationship if it’s what we both want?’

‘It’s what you want,’ she said. ‘It’s not what I want at all.’

‘I don’t believe that,’ he said, tightening his hold on her wrists as she tried to get away. ‘The way you kissed me earlier told me how much you still want me.’

‘You made me kiss you,’ she argued.

‘Don’t split hairs, Bronte,’ he said. ‘We were kissing each other. We want each other just as much as we ever did.’

‘I can’t have a casual affair with you,’ she said. ‘I have responsibilities now. I haven’t got room in my life for you.’

‘Make room,’ he said and, tugging her close, brought his mouth down on hers.