Modern Romance Collection February 2025, #1-4

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

‘S O ,’ ASKED M EGAN , ‘what are you going to do? Did he really offer to marry you?’ Incredulity was mingled with another emotion—several of them, Siena thought cynically, of which envy was only one.

She gave an inner sigh. Megan was pitifully impressed by Vincenzo Giansante—that was obvious.

‘It was a play, Megan, a totally transparent one. Marriage would give him control over me. And he must be insane to think I’d even give him the time of day!’

Megan laughed shortly. ‘Any other woman would snap his hand off at the offer. All that money and all those lethal looks!’

‘And all that charm...’ Siena rejoined with acid sweetness.

‘So, are you at least going to move into this apartment he’s rented for you? He sent me the details—it looks pretty good.’

‘No, of course I’m not,’ Siena returned.

‘But why not?’ Megan pursued. ‘Look, you can move in at the weekend—I’ll help you.’

‘Megan, no.’ Siena’s voice was adamant. ‘That’s final. I’ve got a roof over my head till Fran gets back—time enough to decide where I’m going to move to and get a place to rent there.’

Till then she’d stay here and keep on with her temporary clerical job at the PR firm Megan worked for, earning some useful money.

But when she got back from work on Friday evening, it was to find the bed in her room pulled away from the wall, all the furniture swathed in a dust sheet, another dust sheet on the floor, and paint pots on the chest of drawers.

Megan’s attitude was unapologetic. ‘I’ve decided this room needs a little sprucing up, Si.’ Her tone was sympathetic, but determined. ‘Just move into the apartment Vincenzo’s taken for you—he’s had the keys delivered to me, and I’ll come with you this evening to settle you in. It’s all furnished and kitted out. We just need to take basics, like milk and tea. We’ll get a takeaway, and you can go food shopping tomorrow. I’ve even packed your things for you.’

Siena stared at Megan in dismay.

Megan patted her arm encouragingly. ‘You know it makes sense, Si. It gives you somewhere to think things through. And I hope—I really, really hope—you’ll decide to stay there and take up your place at art school. I’d hate to see you give it up!’

Siena’s face worked. She knew her friend was trying to be helpful, but—

But right now, however galling it is, I have no choice but to do what she wants. I don’t even have a bed to sleep in tonight!

Grimly, she let Megan have her way.

And Vincenzo Giansante was getting his own way too.

Her face darkened. She would stay in his damn flat only until she got her life sorted out. Then she’d be gone.

And he’ll be out of my life.

The way, after all, he obviously wanted her out of his life...

Her expression became even grimmer, memory stabbing of how he’d walked out on her that morning after their searing night together.

He hadn’t wanted anything more to do with her then, and if it weren’t for the baby he still wouldn’t. That was the blunt, hard truth of it...

Vincenzo gave a tight smile of grim satisfaction as he read Megan’s text.

She’s here—we’re ordering a takeaway. She’s not in the best mood, so I’d give her a day to accept what’s happened.

He took her advice, waiting until Sunday before turning up at the apartment. As the taxi dropped him off he glanced around. The street on the park side of Holland Park Avenue was quiet and expensively residential. The apartment block was small and twentieth century, compared with the surrounding nineteenth-century stucco-fronted houses, but it was well maintained, and close to the park entrance. It was costing a pretty penny, but that was only a fraction of the future expense this whole damn situation would put him to.

A lifetime of expense. A lifetime of responsibility that he could not shirk, nor avoid. That he must assume, whatever it took. And right now that was getting Siena Westbrook to see sense.

That, at least, seemed to have started happening. She was here, in the apartment he’d taken for her. Now he had to move things on from there. Make some kind of acceptable arrangement for the future, however pointlessly and inexplicably obdurate she was being.

He frowned. Why had she not jumped at the financial offer he was prepared to make? Let alone his offer to marry her. His thoughts darkened. Why was she protesting? Refusing?

Well, whatever she was playing at, he would deal with it. He had no choice but to do so. This was not about her, or him. It was about the baby that in six months would be making its appearance. That was all he must focus on.

His expression as he paid off the taxi was set.

He had his own keys for the apartment, bestowed upon him by the letting agent, and he let himself into the lobby, ignoring the lift and vaulting lightly up the two flights of stairs. Then, without pause for thought, because thoughts were only unwelcome, he let himself into the apartment.

From the hallway he could see into the reception room, from which came the sound of the television. He walked in.

Siena was lounging on the sofa, a cup of tea on the side table, a paperback beside her, and sunshine streaming in from the window overlooking the garden at the rear.

As he walked in she sat bolt upright.

‘What the hell—?’ The words broke from her, shock and consternation in her face.

Two emotions knifed through Vincenzo. One was the same grim satisfaction he’d felt when he’d learnt she’d moved in here, fight it though she had. The other was completely different.

It knifed through him again.

The sunshine was turning her hair to a glossy mahogany, glinting off it gloriously, and even though she was lounging in nothing more than pale blue cotton trousers and a yellow top, and hadn’t done a thing to her face, he still felt his senses kick in response. The same kick that had come that first, fateful evening when he’d seen her for the first time. Seen her—and wanted her.

He crushed the reaction down. It had been that damn reaction that had brought him to this predicament now.

‘Buongiorno,’ he said civilly, though he could hear the jibe in his own voice.

She grabbed the remote for the TV, flicking it to mute. It was some old black and white Hollywood movie, he could see.

‘What are you doing here? And why have you just let yourself in?’ she demanded.

‘I came to see how you’ve settled in,’ he said. He glanced around the room. ‘Does it suit you, this place?’ he asked.

She glowered at him. ‘No, because I didn’t choose to be here—you fixed it with Megan.’

He didn’t bother to reply.

‘Do you have any coffee?’ he asked.

‘I’m pregnant—no caffeine or stimulants,’ she answered, her voice clipped.

He went into the kitchen, resolving to have a coffee machine delivered before his next visit. As it was, he opted for tea—only to discover that that, too, was decaffeinated. He made himself a cup, then went back into the living room, cup in hand. She was still curled up on the sofa, looking tense and baleful.

He lowered himself into an armchair, crossed one leg over the other, and made a start on his cup of tea.

‘Your friend Megan told me you have not lived in London long,’ he opened. He was going to stay civil, whatever the provocation. Anything else was not helpful. ‘You never did mention, when we first met, what you do for a living.’

He saw two reactions in her. One was a distinct flare of colour in her cheeks as he referred to the evening when they had first so fatefully encountered each other. The other was a tightening of her expression—as if she didn’t want to expound on the subject.

‘I’ve been doing some casual office work for the PR company Megan works for,’ she replied, but he could tell she said it with reluctance.

‘Do you plan to continue?’ he asked. He kept his voice studiedly neutral.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘I don’t know what I’ll be doing. Other than having a baby.’

Vincenzo let his eyes rest on her a moment. So, here it was, then—what he had been expecting. For all her vehement protestations that she didn’t want anything to do with him, she did, in fact, expect him to keep her.

He didn’t reply, only went on calmly sipping his tasteless tea. Letting his gaze rest on her. Letting himself be deflected from his purpose by something that was completely irrelevant.

She truly is beautiful—radiantly so.

His glance went to her waistline. Nothing showed. Yet within her body his child was growing...

He felt something go through him, but he did not know what it was. He set it aside. He had enough to deal with.

He finished his tea. On the still silent screen he could see the old film end, and Siena reached absently for the remote and turned the TV off.

He got to his feet. ‘It’s a fine afternoon—pleasantly warm for England. How about taking a walk in the park?’ he asked.

He crossed over to the sofa, picked up her own empty tea mug, and took them both through into the kitchen. Then he returned to the living room. She hadn’t moved.

She looked up at him. ‘You’ve seen I’m OK, so why don’t you leave now?’

‘Because,’ he said pointedly, his gaze levelled on her just as pointedly, ‘we have things to discuss.’

Her face tightened. ‘No,’ she said, ‘we do not.’

Vincenzo took an impatient breath. ‘Stonewalling is pointless. There are practicalities to be decided upon.’

She shook her head vigorously. ‘No, there are not. I am only in this damn flat until I find somewhere else. After that you can wash your hands of me.’

‘But not,’ he said even more pointedly, his gaze boring down at her, ‘of the baby.’

Anger flashed in her eyes—and frustration too, he could see. She opened her mouth again, and he was pretty sure she was going to offload the same diatribe—tell him that she wanted nothing to do with him, that he should clear out and get back to Italy.

Well, that was not going to happen, and she had better take that on board.

He held up a hand.

‘Let us walk and talk at the same time,’ he said, making an effort to keep his voice even. He gestured towards the door. ‘Shall we?’ he said.

She got to her feet with visible ill grace, slipping her feet into the canvas shoes on the rug in front of the sofa. Silently he handed her her bag, lying on a sideboard within his reach. She all but snatched it. He went through into the entrance hall, holding open the door for her. She marched through, head high, making straight for the stairs. Vincenzo locked the door and followed her.

Of all the women in the world he knew, of every one of them with whom he had ever had sexual relations, it was this bristling, critical, obstreperous and supremely uncooperative and unappreciative one that he’d got pregnant.

He couldn’t have made a worse choice.

But we did not choose, did we? We got landed with it, that’s all. And now, somehow, I have to try and find a way forward.

That was all he must focus on.

As they made their way into Holland Park Siena was churning inside. Vincenzo walking in like that had been a shock, unexpected and totally unwelcome. Why the hell couldn’t the man stay away? Stay in Italy. Wash his hands of the whole damn business, like she kept telling him to. He should be glad she didn’t want anything to do with him!

Her eyes darkened. He thought her a slut for falling into bed with him the way she had, and now a gold-digger, trying to get a free meal ticket off him because she was pregnant.

Well, I am neither, thank you! And you— her glance went malevolently to him as he fell into step beside her, heading towards the nearby park —are a total jerk!

She waited for anger to fill her again—the anger that had been spearing in her ever since that hideous afternoon when she’d been thrown out of his office. It had more than enough, to feed on. And yet right now all she could feel was a deflation of her spirits. A dullness and tiredness and sense of depression.

About everything—just everything .

This was all wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong . She should not be pregnant, and she shouldn’t be staying in an apartment which the man responsible had forced her into—the man who obviously thought she was after his money.

This wasn’t what I wanted—none of it!

Even as she thought it she felt guilty, and that only added to her darkness of mood. The creation of new life was precious—she should not feel so bitter, should not so resent what had happened. How could her poor, innocent, hapless baby be to blame for anything? How could she blight the start of its existence by wishing she were not pregnant at all?

Yet still something cried within her.

This is not how it should be!

Babies should be born into joy and happiness, welcomed and rejoiced over, bringing blessings and being infinitely blessed themselves. To grow in love, become happy, healthy children...

Yet the cry inside her came again.

This is not how it should be!

But this time it was an echo. A terrifying echo. She felt it clutch within her, like a vice around her heart, her lungs, her throat. Memory stabbed at her, infinitely painful.

‘What is it?’

Vincenzo’s voice pierced her dark thoughts. He was walking beside her, along one of the paths in the park.

She didn’t answer, and he spoke again. ‘What is it,’ he repeated.

She gave a shake of her head. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said.

She didn’t want to talk to him, to walk with him, to be with him at all. She wanted absolutely nothing in her life right now—the life that had finally been heading in the direction she had waited so long for it to go in, and which had now been derailed. Again.

She felt her arm taken, and halted in her pacing. Vincenzo stepped in front of her, looking down at her. His face had a taut expression.

‘It is not “nothing”,’ he said. ‘It is not “nothing” that both you and I find ourselves in a situation neither of us wished for.’

‘No? But you think I’m definitely thinking it’s a bit of luck for me, don’t you? It’s got my greedy little fingers into your nice rich pie, hasn’t it? A meal ticket for life! That’s what you think!’

His brow darkened and he dropped her arm.

Siena’s mouth set tight. ‘Despite my repeatedly telling you to walk away—that I don’t need your financial support or want it!’

‘So how will you support yourself?’ he countered immediately. ‘Live on state benefits in a council-paid bedsit? That was the graphic image painted by your friend Megan to get my attention,’ he said witheringly.

‘She acted totally without my consent!’ Siena threw back instantly. ‘I never wanted her to interfere. Just as I never wanted you to come anywhere near me again! And just as I do not want any of your damn money!’ she bit out. ‘Just believe me when I say I’ve got enough to live on.’ She took a slicing breath. ‘If you really want to know, I’ve inherited some money and it’s safely banked. It’s quite enough to let me live somewhere a lot cheaper than London and look after my baby, so I neither need, let alone want, a single penny from you!’

Dear God, how many times had she got to say that before he got the damn message?

But it seemed he was set on moving on to a new subject.

‘Even setting that aside—for the moment at least,’ he said repressively, ‘there is more to the situation than financial considerations.’ Vincenzo’s voice was still tight. ‘I told you I would not walk away—and I do not mean only from my financial responsibilities.’

Siena started to walk again. The vistas of the park all around were scenic, but she had no appreciation for them.

Vincenzo fell into pace beside her again. ‘We cannot avoid looking ahead,’ he was saying now, as if he were forcing himself to do so. ‘To beyond the child’s birth and babyhood.’

She felt her mind sheer away. She couldn’t even cope with being pregnant, let alone thinking beyond it to an unimaginable future. One she had never, in all her days, thought she would be landed with.

Depression weighed down on her. All around were people enjoying the park—families, couples, singletons young and old. Yes, maybe they had their own problems, but all she could focus on were her own. Her pace slowed, energy draining from her.

At her side, Vincenzo spoke again, glancing at her. ‘We should find a café, and you should sit down,’ he said.

They made their way to one with outdoor seating which overlooked a small fountain, and Siena was glad to sit down. Her energy levels fluctuated these days—her mental energy levels too. She knew it was not good for her to be so agitated—but what else could she be in the circumstances?

Vincenzo got coffee for them both, and she sipped her decaf without enthusiasm. As he sat opposite her at the small table she was acutely conscious of his physical closeness, the strength of his body, and she caught the scent of masculine aftershave. Memory assailed her, of that night she’d succumbed to his seduction.

I went along with it willingly—oh, so willingly! And now...

‘Do you have to drink decaf all the time?’ There was a frown on Vincenzo’s face as he put the question to her.

‘Standard recommendation when pregnant,’ she said flatly, resenting the note of criticism. ‘Like no alcohol and no smoking.’

‘Is it so very bad for you?’ Vincenzo pursued, stirring his own coffee. ‘Pregnant women have drunk caffeinated tea and coffee for generations and no harm seems to have been done. The rules seem very strict these days. Banning all alcohol too...’

She gave a shrug, not wanting to debate it. She hadn’t issued the damn guidelines, so why should he be challenging her? It set her teeth on edge.

‘We are supposed to do nothing that risks the baby,’ she said. ‘Even though—’

She broke off.

Some risks have nothing to do with the mother’s lifestyle...

No, she must not think of that—it was too upsetting. And it served no purpose but to weigh her down yet more. She knew she should—she must—be thankful, but the thought oppressed her all the same, however stringently she sought to repress the memories that assailed her. It made her feel guilty that she was resenting a pregnancy that was seemingly healthy when—

Vincenzo was speaking again, bringing her thoughts back to her predicament. Once again Siena got the impression he was choosing his words carefully,

‘Stress is also bad. Stressful emotions.’

She eyeballed him, feeling on edge again. ‘What are you getting at?’

He looked directly at her. ‘Anger, hostility, resentment—these are all negative emotions. They cannot be doing you any good. Nor the baby.’

‘Are you criticising me?’ Siena’s anger shot to the fore. ‘Don’t you damn well preach at me!’

He held up a hand. ‘Do you deny that you are seething with anger at me?’ he returned implacably. ‘That that is your dominant reaction to me ever since your friend Megan took matters into her own hands to bring me here?’

Her eyes flashed with the very anger he was accusing her of. ‘How should it be otherwise?’ she threw at him witheringly. ‘After that delightful scene in your office!’

A dismissive expression filled his face. ‘What were you expecting?’ he retorted scathingly, his expression hardening. ‘You turn up, out of the blue, demand to see me, then drop your bombshell on my desk. Were you expecting me to shout with joy and sweep you into my arms and promise undying love?’

‘I was expecting civility ,’ she ground out tightly—as tightly as she was gripping her coffee cup.

He made a rough sound in his throat, as dismissive as his expression. ‘I dealt with the situation as required. Rationally. Until paternity was established, there was no point in any further conversation at that time.’ He sat back, took a mouthful of his coffee. ‘But now that it is established we can move forward—as we must.’

His gaze levelled on her.

‘Tell me, have you thought through what I put to you the other evening? That one option appropriate to the situation would be that we marry.’

Siena stared at him. ‘Even as a joke, that is not humorous. As a serious suggestion—and I cannot believe it to be as such—it is, as I’ve told you already, totally insane!’

She saw his face darken. He hadn’t liked her answer, and it was obvious why. Presumably she should be melting all over him and planning a hideously expensive wedding as an excuse to start spending all his money on herself.

‘There are practical advantages—’ he began.

‘No,’ she said. She wanted this conversation stopped—right now.

His dark eyes flashed angrily and he held up a hand. ‘Hear me out before you give me an infantile rejection! Marriage would regularise the situation...provide far more security both for yourself and the baby, and enable us to—’

‘I said no ,’ Siena ground out. Her own eyes flashed with anger. ‘The only reason you want to marry me is to control me—and my baby. So don’t feed me any garbage to the contrary!’

For a moment she saw an expression on his face that almost silenced her. But she would not be silenced—she would not ! Emotions were boiling up in her, tangled and knotted, vehement and vicious.

‘It’s bad enough you feel you have any say about my baby—let alone expect me to walk into the noose you’re dangling in front of me. So get this, and get this once and for all—finally! I will never marry you! I will never have anything to do with you of my own free will. Because of this baby I am handcuffed to you—shackled to you! And I resent it and I hate it. Hate it—’

She broke off, churning inside. Heart thudding. She pushed her pallid, undrunk coffee aside. She got to her feet, looked down at him. Her face contorted with the emotion heaving inside her.

‘I can’t bear ,’ she said, ‘that it’s you who got me pregnant.’

She walked away. Eyes blind. Crushed and hopeless.

Words went through her head—as crushed and hopeless as her spirit.

It’s all a mess—such a mess.

Such a hopeless, hopeless mess.