Chapter Eight
VITO STARED INTO Flora’s eyes and even though deep down he had been expecting those words, her confirmation of her condition pained him all the same. ‘You think I don’t know that?’ he snapped.
Her eyes grew startled. ‘How?’ she whispered. ‘How can you possibly know I’m pregnant?’
‘I rang Dante.’
‘But… I don’t understand. Dante is my new boss, what does he have to do with anything?’
The emotion of this meeting had definitely impacted on her, because she was blinking at him, her feathery lashes suddenly sparkling with tears, and with a pang Vito remembered the last time he’d seen her cry.
When he’d brought her pleasure so sweet that she had wept—and yet how far away such pleasure seemed right now.
‘How can he know?’ she whispered, her lashes batting up and down as she attempted to clear her vision. ‘Nobody does.’
‘Wipe your eyes,’ he commanded roughly, pulling a pristine handkerchief from his jacket and pressing it into her hand, flinching from the touch of her soft flesh as he recalled the recent nightmare escalation of events.
He had convinced himself it was nothing but mild curiosity which had compelled him to ring Verdenergia’s new CEO to enquire how Flora was getting along, though deep down he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.
He’d been dreaming about her every night, waking up rock-hard and frustrated and covered in sweat.
Yet it wasn’t just sexual recall which had filled him with restlessness, but some insane yearning for the easy familiarity he had enjoyed with her, much to his surprise and irritation.
He’d told himself that his mild obsession was merely a result of not having had time to grow tired of her.
Latterly, he had convinced himself that news of her mundane comings and goings in the office would be enough to kill his desire for her, which surely would have been the most appropriate outcome all round.
And then there had been the shock of Dante’s words and his own horrified comprehension as their significance had sunk in.
He ran his thumb along the edge of his jaw, recognising with alarm that he had forgotten to shave.
Such lack of attention to his usually immaculate appearance was unheard of, for Vito was fastidious about maintaining a cool carapace to present to the world.
Had that been the reason his pilot had regarded him so oddly this morning, or had it been his sudden demand to fly to England as quickly as possible?
Throughout the flight he had been unable to process his thoughts and it wasn’t until his jet touched down that he became filled with one certainty—that he must be true to himself.
For a man incapable of giving or receiving love, what choice did he have than to spare the feelings of others?
Why inflict his emotional indifference on a wife or a child?
Which was why he wasn’t going to offer Flora Greening anything he couldn’t deliver and in the long run, he would be doing her a favour.
He had come here today to coolly inform her that he would have his lawyers draw up a watertight agreement, offering financial support for her and the child, but nothing else.
Nothing.
He stared into her green-gold eyes and suddenly he had to work very hard to remain cold and indifferent. ‘Dante wondered why you kept rushing from the office to be sick,’ he bit out. ‘He said you reminded him of one of his sisters when she was pregnant. And that he had no idea you were married—’
‘Married?’ she cut in. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘For someone who is the same age as me, he has some very old-fashioned ideas.’ His gaze scanned her belly again, as if by looking hard enough he would be able to see through the thick wool of her sweater. ‘How far gone are you, Flora?’
His words seemed to trigger something, because suddenly the linger of tears had been replaced by sparks of angry gold flashing from her green eyes.
‘Let’s skip the injured innocent act shall we, Vito?
You know exactly how far gone I am! We had sex two days before Christmas which makes me three months pregnant.
My baby is due in the middle of September. ’
‘Your baby?’
She stared at him in sudden confusion. ‘I thought you’d be pleased at the let-out clause. You made your feelings on fatherhood clear,’ she said, but he heard the faint tremble in her voice. ‘You never want to get married, remember? You never want a family of your own.’
‘And both those things are true.’ He saw her flinch. ‘Is that why you didn’t tell me?’
‘I was planning to tell you!’
‘When?’ he grated. ‘When you were wheeling the infant in a stroller for a walk around Ealing? Or were you planning on waiting until graduation?’
‘I was actually planning to ring you up today.’
‘Wow, what an amazing coincidence,’ he said sarcastically.
‘Life is full of coincidences, Vito—haven’t you learnt that by now?
’ She sucked in a shuddering breath. ‘Listen, there’s no point in you being angry, or me reacting to your anger, because it isn’t helpful to anyone.
It is what it is. I’m not planning on asking you for anything and I certainly don’t expect you to slide a gold band on my finger. ’
‘Well, that’s good since I’m right out of gold bands,’ he drawled and, as her eyelids shuttered down to hide her hurt expression, he wondered if his words had been unnecessarily cruel.
But it was the truth, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it better she accepted his heartlessness from the get-go, in case she started concocting some kind of fantasy happy-ever-after?
‘But that doesn’t mean that I am unwilling to help in other ways,’ he conceded. ‘Which is why I am here today.’
‘You should have saved yourself the trip. I don’t need your help!’
‘Are you quite sure about that?’ With a sweeping gesture, he indicated the cramped dimensions of the tiny room—the battered sofa and faded curtains which fluttered in the chill that was seeping in through the window. ‘You think this is a good place to bring up a baby?’
Flora willed herself not to get emotional as Vito continued to talk so coldly and dispassionately about the tiny life she carried, but a terrible sadness had started welling up inside her, along with a familiar wave of nausea—the first she’d had in almost a fortnight.
‘I have to go!’ she gulped, stumbling from the room towards the bathroom, glad to have an excuse to escape the scrutiny of that icy stare.
Turning on the taps full blast, she hoped the rush of water would disguise the sound of her retching and once the sickness had passed, she brushed her teeth rather violently, raked a brush through her hair and shuddered at the image reflected back at her in the tiny mirror above the sink.
She looked awful. Drained and drawn and the antithesis of how a glowing pregnant woman was supposed to look.
It was the last way she would have wished to present herself to him, until she reminded herself that what she looked like was irrelevant.
Reluctantly, she made her way back towards the sitting room, registering the incongruous spectacle of Vito Monticelli dominating her tiny flat.
With his powerful body silhouetted against the rain-splashed window, it was hard to look anywhere other than at him.
She noticed he had removed his overcoat and was wearing jaded jeans and a soft sweater a shade darker than his eyes.
She realised she’d never seen him dressed so casually before and there was something dangerously accessible about this laid-back version of the Italian billionaire.
Pared down, his sex appeal was just as potent and Flora was surprised by the sudden curl of longing inside her.
Be careful, she thought suddenly. Be very, very careful.
His icy-blue gaze pierced through her. ‘You have been sick?’ he demanded.
‘Only a bit. It’s the first time in a couple of weeks. Don’t worry. It’s perfectly normal.’
‘No. No lo so! None of this is normal!’ he contradicted, drawing in an impatient breath before pointing to one of the two modest armchairs. ‘You are pale, Flora—for god’s sake sit down.’
Flora was about to protest that he couldn’t start coming in here throwing his weight around, but one look at the tension which was making his features tighten made her accept she had to cut him some slack.
The news must have come as a terrible shock to him too, she acknowledged, putting aside her own wounded pride.
And the sickness had left her feeling weak.
‘Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,’ she said awkwardly, slumping into the nearby chair and sinking back into the cushions with a feeling of relief.
‘But I was shocked too. I couldn’t get my head around it and I didn’t know how you were going to take it.
’ She still didn’t know. ‘Anyway, I’ve been managing okay. ’
‘You think so? You don’t look as if you’re managing to me, not by any stretch of the imagination,’ he accused. ‘You’ve lost weight, you look exhausted and it’s freezing in here.’
‘It’s not f-freezing,’ she argued, though annoyingly her teeth had started to chatter. Maybe that was word association. ‘Okay, it’s a bit cold, I agree. But this is England, not Italy—in case you hadn’t noticed.’
His click of impatience made clear that now was not the time for levity. ‘This place is not suitable for you to have a child.’
She looked at him in exasperation. ‘How do you think most women manage, Vito? They have babies in ordinary places just like this!’
‘I think your situation is a little different from most women.’
‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Because I’m pregnant by a man who never wanted to see me again and is a long-time opponent of family life? Or because you happen to be obscenely rich?’
‘Flora, Flora, Flora,’ he intoned placatingly. ‘Please. Stop. I don’t think that kind of attitude is helping.’
‘Stop speaking the truth, you mean? Don’t you dare patronise me, Vito Monticelli!’