CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FOUR
‘H E WANTS TO take you out to dinner to discuss the future.’
Megan’s voice was neutral, but her observation of Siena as she made this declaration was wary.
‘It’s none of his business,’ came the terse reply. ‘And I told you not to have any more contact with him!’
‘If you won’t, I must!’ Meg shot back. ‘Look, Si, he’s got responsibilities—to the baby and to you. He knows he has to sort maintenance out—’
‘No, he does not. Megan, stay out of this. I won’t have him anywhere near me or my baby. He’s a vile, despicable jerk and he can go to hell and stay there!’
Siena’s voice was vehement. She shut her eyes. Megan kept going on and on about maintenance...
But I’m not taking a penny from him! Not a single damn penny! Not now, or ever—not after the way he’s treated me!
All she wanted to do was plan the future she was facing, find a decent enough place to live—far away from London and a million miles from Vincenzo Giansante!—see out her pregnancy, have her baby in peace, all by herself.
‘Si, please ... Just meet him and talk —’ Megan started again.
Siena’s eyes snapped open. OK, maybe that was what she should do—tell him to his face that he could go to hell. Get him off her back—and Megan too.
‘So, where and when does he want to meet?’ she heard herself asking.
‘Tomorrow night. La Rondine—and that’s a hell of a fancy restaurant, by the way. In my job I know just about every fancy restaurant in town!’ Megan’s voice relaxed. ‘I’m wondering if it’s significant that he doesn’t want you to meet at his hotel...’ Now she gave a wicked laugh. ‘Maybe he’s worried he’ll fall for your charms all over again and haul you up to his room! I have to say, Si, that you are looking totally gorgeous. You know, pregnancy really is making you bloom—just like they say it does!’
Siena threw her a fulminating glance. ‘That isn’t funny,’ she said brusquely. ‘What time does His Lordship want to summon me?’
‘Half-eight. What are you going to wear? Like I say, La Rondine is a pretty fancy place. Borrow something of mine—you can still fit into just about anything, so make the most of it before you turn into a barrage balloon!’
Siena didn’t find that amusing either. ‘I am not dressing up for him. I’ll wear whatever comes to hand first.’
She did just that—deliberately dressing down. Deliberately choosing the very top and skirt she’d worn when she’d gone to his office. Would he recognise it? Probably not—but it gave her a sense of satisfaction to do so. The only sense of satisfaction she could find right now. That and the prospect of telling him to go to hell and take his precious money with him.
She left for the restaurant, put into a taxi by Megan, with Megan’s final admonition ringing in her ears.
‘See what he’s offering but agree to nothing—that’s for the lawyers.’
Siena hadn’t bothered to answer.
All she wanted was this evening over and done with.
Then never to set eyes on Vincenzo Giansante again.
Vincenzo sat on the leather banquette at the table he’d reserved. Megan Stanley had just texted to tell him Siena was on her way. He reached for his martini. Emotions were stabbing at him, but he was ignoring them. This was about what had to be done—not what he was feeling about it. His feelings, whatever they were, were not relevant.
Yet despite the control he was exerting over them, he could feel them stabbing. Wanting release.
He took a shot of the strong, dry martini and set down the glass, his glance going again to the reception area where the desk clerk was checking in new arrivals.
And there she was.
Vincenzo observed her approach, keeping any expression out of his face, the way he preferred.
She looked tense.
She also looked out of place.
She was wearing chain store clothes... His eyes narrowed. Yes, exactly what she’d worn when she’d turned up at his office to disclose her valuable information to him. That was surely no coincidence.
His expression darkened.
He got to his feet as she reached the table. Face tight, she took her place at the far side of the curved banquette from him, so they were a semi-circle apart.
‘Thank you for agreeing to come tonight,’ he said, keeping his voice rigidly civil and neutral as he resumed his seat.
He got a brief nod in response, but that was all. She set her handbag down beside her.
‘I have no idea why you’ve bothered—’ she started. Her tone was openly belligerent.
He cut across her. ‘You’ve never struck me as stupid,’ he said. ‘So of course you know why you are here.’
Her eyes flashed. She wasn’t wearing a scrap of eye make-up, but that did not lessen their impact. The same impact they’d had when he’d first set eyes on her.
And that’s ended up with me here, like this...
He pushed the pointless observation away. He was here for the reason he was here—and so was she.
‘I’m here,’ she said, ‘to get you to accept that I make absolutely no claim for maintenance, and that you are, therefore, completely free of this entire situation.’
The words were ground out from her. He heard them, and let his eyes rest on her for a moment. Why was she being like this? What did she hope to achieve? A higher sum?
She’ll get only what I’m prepared to offer—there will be no bidding war.
Whatever she hoped.
A waiter approached, wanting to know her choice of drinks and carefully placing menus in front of them both. She asked for mineral water and an elderflower spritzer, and the waiter disappeared again.
Vincenzo flicked open his menu. ‘I suggest we keep our discussion for the meal,’ he said. He kept his voice civil, still neutral. He lowered his eyes to focus on the menu options. After a moment, she did likewise. Then, making his decision, he shut the menu with a snap, beckoned the waiter over again.
‘Have you decided?’ he addressed Siena.
She looked up. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she announced.
Vincenzo’s mouth tightened. ‘Starving yourself will not be good for the baby,’ he said.
Something flashed in her eyes. Absently—and quite irrelevantly—he registered that the flash only made them more striking. Again, he blanked their impact. It was not relevant.
‘I’ll be the judge of what is good for my baby,’ she snapped back.
‘ Our baby,’ he corrected tightly.
She stared balefully at him. ‘Mine,’ she riposted.
The waiter’s arrival silenced him, and he simply gave the man his order, not bothering with a starter. Whether Siena Westbrook ate or not, he didn’t care. But she had clearly changed her mind, ordering grilled fish with vegetables.
The waiter glided off again, and the wine waiter took his place. Siena shook her head, so Vincenzo simply ordered a glass for himself.
They were left to themselves finally, and he sat back, letting his eyes rest on her. He kept his face expressionless, though he was more than conscious of the tension inside him. But how should there not be? He was in an unprecedented situation.
‘So...’ he opened. ‘Maintenance.’
‘I don’t want any,’ came the automatic response.
He ignored it.
‘My lawyers have put forward a reasonable proposition,’ he went on, naming the sum in question.
He saw her eyes widen, and grim satisfaction went through him. Yes, that was more like it—she was realising just how rich the pickings could be. She would not be turning them down.
She did.
And in words as clipped as they were concise. Adamant.
‘It could be triple that—I don’t care, and I’m not taking a penny. Please stop wasting my time and get that through your head.’
Vincenzo felt his teeth gritting. ‘I have responsibilities and I will not walk away from them.’
‘Well, you can—with my blessing. I don’t want you or your responsibilities.’ She lifted her eyes to him, eyeballed him. ‘Just leave me alone, Mr Giansante.’
‘Mr Giansante?’ He echoed her formal address disbelievingly.
Something flashed in her eyes again. ‘Well, what else are you to me? The man I called Vincenzo I only knew one night.’
Vincenzo’s eyes glinted darkly. So that was the cause of her hostility—the fact that he had wanted nothing more than a single night with her. Her female vanity was offended. Insulted.
‘I am based in Italy,’ he said stiffly. ‘Whatever the...charms of that night, anything more would have been unworkable.’
Even as he spoke, he knew he was simply feeding her something to allay her vanity.
‘You should not take the...brevity of our time together as an insult,’ he added for good measure. His tone was deliberately sardonic.
He saw her jaw set, and her eyes were not flashing now, but like steel.
‘Oh, really? So I’m just imagining that you put it to me, on that memorable day in your office, that I had fallen into bed with any number of men after a bare few hours of acquaintance with them?’
There was anger in her voice—tight, hard and vicious.
He set down his martini glass with a click.
‘The sole purpose of that observation was to point out to you the fact that you might have any number of candidates responsible for the pregnancy you claimed.’ His tone now was not sardonic, merely dismissive. ‘It was not,’ he went on, ‘to indicate any criticism of your sexual behaviour.’
Her face worked. ‘Well, that is very good of you! I’m so grateful! You all but called me a slut to my face!’ She leant forward. ‘Well, let me point out to you, Mr Giansante, that it takes two to tango. You fell into bed with me within hours of meeting me—what does that make you ? Some kind of ultra-masculine stud to be admired and applauded?’
Vincenzo took a sharp breath. Anger, answering hers, flared inside him, but he would not give it space. Instead, he said, his voice tight, control rigid, ‘I cast no such aspersions—on either of us! It was simply a question of whether there might be other candidates for the claim you were making.’
‘Well, there weren’t! If there had been, why the hell would I have come to your office as I did?’ she demanded hotly.
‘Because,’ Vincenzo replied silkily, ‘I just happened to be the richest candidate...’
He saw her throw herself back against the squabs of the banquette. Eyes flashing like gunfire. Directed straight at him, full-on.
‘Ah, now we have it, don’t we?’ Her tone was withering and scornful. ‘This isn’t about babies, or sex, or anything else at all, is it? It’s about your money! And you think I want to get stuck into it! Well, I’ve told you—and I will tell you again and again if I have to—that I am not taking a penny from you ! So go and take a running jump and leave me alone !’
She moved to push herself to her feet, but the waiter was just arriving with their meal, lowering plates, making a fuss over them, and then the wine waiter was there with his glass of wine, making a fuss over that too.
He could see her fulminating, but she stayed seated. Vincenzo used the time to take several deep breaths and regain his composure. She had an ability to rile him that got right under his skin...
For the next few minutes, as they started to eat, neither of them said anything. Then, knowing he had to resume battle, he spoke again.
‘Whether or not you wish or don’t wish to accept maintenance from me, I shall create a trust fund for the child.’
‘We don’t need anything from you!’ she retorted, barely glancing up from her food.
‘It will pay out when he or she reaches majority,’ he went on.
She didn’t answer—just went on eating. Not looking at him still. For a moment he let his eyes rest on her. His expression darkened, his jaw tightening.
‘Siena, please co-operate on this,’ he said tautly. ‘I have acknowledged paternity. I acknowledge the responsibility that comes with that.’
‘I absolve you totally of that responsibility.’
She spoke indifferently, and something snapped inside Vincenzo. He set down his knife and fork abruptly.
‘That,’ he gritted, ‘is not within your remit. As you said only a few moments ago, it takes two to tango. Now that I know the child you carry is mine, you are not the sole arbiter of what is to happen. So be sure—be very, very sure—that I will not hesitate to resort to the law, if necessary, to claim my right for involvement.’
Her eyes snapped up then, and she looked straight at him. ‘Are you threatening me?’ she bit out.
‘I am warning you,’ he corrected.
He could feel anger rising within him—or something that he thought must be anger...anger at her obstinacy, her obstructiveness, her dogged, relentless opposition to him.
‘I would far prefer not to have had to give you that warning, and would prefer even more not to be given reason for making my claim in that manner. But make no mistake: I am making that claim. And nothing you can do, or say, or attempt, will prevent that. Understand that, or things will become highly unpleasant.’
She glared across at him. ‘They already are,’ she said bitterly.
Her expression changed. Became questioning. She looked at him, frowning, and when she spoke her voice had changed, incomprehension in it now.
‘I don’t understand why you are making such an issue of this! Look—we met, we fell into bed, we had a single night of torrid sex and then you left, never to see me again. The last thing you want is to leave me—or any female you have sex with—in such circumstances! Pregnant. You went into total denial when I came to your office, and you couldn’t have made it clearer that you didn’t want to know. And now that you’ve insisted on a paternity test—completely against my will and consent, as I have made very clear to you—and the results are what they are, you are equally insistent on bringing money into the situation. When I have told you to your face I don’t want a single penny of it—neither for me, nor my baby. And yet you are...just going on and on about it! Give me a piece of paper, right now, and I’ll absolve you of all responsibility—past, present or future—in writing! I’ll sign it in blood if it makes you any happier!’ she bit out. ‘I will do anything and everything to get you out of my life and out of my baby’s life!’
‘Why?’
She stared across at him. The single word seemed to have silenced her.
‘Why?’ he said again.
He wanted an answer.
He got one.
He saw her expression change. ‘Because,’ she said, enunciating the word, holding his gaze rigidly, ‘you are a total and complete jerk. And falling into bed with you was the worst mistake I have ever made in my life.’
She dropped her eyes, picked up her knife and fork, and went on eating. She looked calm, but obviously she was not. The white-knuckled grip on her cutlery showed him that.
But then neither was he calm either. Anger was trying to break free—anger at her obduracy, her insults, the very fact that he was in this damnable situation.
He felt his teeth grit again as he spoke, his voice tight.
‘I suggest we leave such puerile comments aside,’ he said dismissively, resuming his meal. ‘Understand and accept that, whether you want it or not, I will have an involvement in your pregnancy—and thereafter. All that is required, therefore, is for us to reach agreement on it. Starting with your accommodation. I will find an apartment for you, where you can live at least until the baby is born. We can use the time to discuss what is to happen once he or she makes an appearance.’
She didn’t answer...only took a slug of her elderflower spritzer.
He went on talking. At least she wasn’t arguing back, or giving him her pungent, if entirely irrelevant, opinion of him.
‘I will cover all the expenses of the apartment—rent, taxes, utilities and so forth. I am also willing to make you an adequate monthly allowance to cover your costs during your pregnancy. I will also cover private medical costs for you, so you are not reliant on the NHS.’
She made no reply—only set down her glass, and picked up her knife and fork again.
An impulse just to get up and walk away knifed through him, but with rigid self-discipline he repressed it. This was not a situation he could walk away from.
Nor for the rest of my life.
He thrust the thought from him. He could not deal with it—not right now. It was enough just to handle the situation at hand.
He made himself continue. ‘I was thinking that the Holland Park area might be suitable. It is not far from Notting Hill, and your friend Megan, and it also has close access to the park there, which will be pleasant for you. How does that sound?’
He strove to make his voice civil.
Her response was an indifferent glance.
Something snapped inside him.
He dropped his cutlery abruptly.
‘Do you think you might possibly bring yourself to pay attention? Bring yourself to deal with this situation—unprecedented for both of us—in a way that is co-operative and not intransigent?’ he demanded scathingly, his patience at an end. ‘I have acknowledged paternity, I am acknowledging my responsibilities for the child, and I am doing my damnedest to make your life easier so that you can have a healthy and safe pregnancy! So damn well stop stonewalling me!’
That got a response. She looked across at him. Anger was flaring in her eyes again.
‘Am I supposed to be grateful? I forced myself to come to your office that day. Forced myself! I didn’t want to—I didn’t want anything more to do with a man who hadn’t even had the courtesy to behave with some basic level of civility after our night together! But I thought that I should tell you—thought that I had no right to deny you knowledge of your own child. And all I got for my pains was insults and contempt! If you had said then that a paternity test might be prudent, but in a polite and civil manner, then I would have understood. But you just went straight for the jugular! You couldn’t wait to throw me out! Like I was dirt on your shoe! And now—now that you can’t evade paternity—you have the temerity to talk about my being co-operative ? Don’t make me laugh!’
Vincenzo’s face was set. ‘That was then...this is now—we have to deal with the situation.’
‘I am dealing with it! I’m telling you I want nothing from you and nothing more to do with you. I am telling you I absolve you of all and any paternal anything! So just leave me—walk out the way you walked out on me the morning after the night before! Leave me to get on with my pregnancy and raise my child.’
‘The child is mine as well. You cannot ignore that.’ Vincenzo’s voice was terse.
‘Believe me, I’ll do my level best—I promise you!’
She fell silent and drained the rest of her elderflower spritzer. Then she crushed her napkin onto her side plate and got to her feet.
‘This has all been pretty pointless, but at least it’s sorted things out between us. You go back to Italy and I’ll look after myself. Like I say, I’ll sign any documents you like, absolving you of any responsibility—especially financial—and then we’ll be done with it all.’
She picked up her handbag, slung it over her shoulder, and prepared to walk away.
Vincenzo’s next words stayed her. Where they came from, he did not know—but he heard himself say them all the same.
‘There is an alternative outcome,’ he heard himself say. ‘That we marry.’
Siena stilled—and stared at him disbelievingly.
‘We spend one night together— one night —and now you say we should marry ?’ Incredulity filled her voice.
‘As I say, it would be one way of addressing the situation. Of course I would require you to sign a prenup, but since you have been at pains to tell me you are not interested in my money, that should not be a problem for you.’
She could hear the open sarcasm in his voice, and it grated like nails on a chalkboard.
Her eyes flashed. ‘You must be insane to think I’d marry you!’
‘Then accept my offer of accommodation and an allowance.’
His voice was implacable, his gaze on her relentless.
She sat down heavily again, placing her hands on the table either side of her empty plate, and leaned forward. There was a tangled knot of emotions inside her...like a bunch of snakes.
‘I will say this one more time.’ She spoke slowly, in a staccato voice, enunciating each word as if it was bitten out of her. ‘I do not want anything more to do with you. I should never have had anything to do with you in the first place! I bitterly, bitterly regret that night!’
He was looking back at her, his face grim, eyes dark.
‘Do you think I don’t?’ he retorted starkly. ‘But it happened. And now we have to deal with the consequences. You will have to accept that you carry my child,’ he said, and his darkened eyes had a dangerous anger in them. ‘And you are not walking away with it.’
He drew a breath—a harsh, heavy one. That dark expression was still on his face, and she didn’t like it. Not one little bit.
Suddenly, it was all too much. She couldn’t cope—not one minute longer. Not with one more vicious, biting exchange.
She heaved herself to her feet. She was done here. Done, done, done, and done with Vincenzo Giansante.
She stood, her face working, and he looked back at her.
‘Go to hell,’ she said. ‘Just go to hell !’
Then she walked out.
Before she collapsed.