Chapter Nine #3
‘The problem is that I’m pregnant and yes, I can see that word is making you flinch, Vito, even though you’re trying to hide it—so just imagine the reaction of other people. Very soon I’m going to start to show. And then what?’
‘You tell me,’ he said, feeling completely out of his depth. And it wasn’t a nice feeling.
‘At first they’ll just think I’m one of your usual live-in girlfriends—’
‘But I’ve never had a live-in girlfriend,’ he growled.
‘Oh. Right. Well, that’s irrelevant.’ She looked startled and then noisily cleared her throat, which he supposed was intended to divert attention from her undeniable smile. ‘So how are you going to explain it to people when they see me expanding?’
‘Don’t your own British royal family talk about never complaining and never explaining?’ he demanded. ‘Why should I say anything?’
‘That is such a naive question—I can’t actually believe you asked it! Because otherwise they’ll speculate. That’s what people do. If that’s what you want, then fine. But if we’re going to pretend this is not your baby, then we’ll need to get our story straight.’
Vito stared at her, unable to hide his sudden dismay.
It hadn’t occurred to him to explain away Flora’s presence in his life by fabricating a story and his body tensed with outraged objection.
He was not going to lie about this child’s paternity.
For hadn’t he learnt the folly of lying, in the most bitter way of all?
And hadn’t she put all that to the forefront of his mind earlier, with her innocent observations about his brother?
‘Are you happy for me to introduce you as the mother of my child?’ he demanded.
‘I don’t know if “happy” is the right word. If you do that, then people will assume you’re planning to be a hands-on father.’ She took a deep breath, her green-gold eyes huge. ‘And you don’t want that, do you, Vito?’
There was a pause during which he could hear the beep of a car horn in the distance.
‘No,’ he said abruptly, staring out of the window again as he glanced down at the Piazza San Babila.
His gaze was unfocused and all he could see was a blur, but it gave him a chance to gather his thoughts and remove himself from her line of vision.
He had been right when he’d told her that he preferred his own company, although that didn’t stop people from constantly seeking him out in the city he had adopted in preference to his native Rome.
The organisers of the glitziest gallery openings, high-profile parties and first nights waited with bated breath to see if Vito Monticello would grace their event with his presence, but he refused far more invitations than those he accepted.
He was easily bored and it was always the same conversations. The same faces.
But Flora’s face was different. She was different, in ways too many to count.
Fresh and unsophisticated. Relatively naive and, always, breathtakingly honest. Wouldn’t it be like throwing a hunk of glistening meat to a pack of wolves if he told people she was having his baby, while offering her nothing tangible in the way of security? Didn’t he owe her that much, at least?
He turned back to survey her, his throat growing tight. ‘We could say we’re engaged.’
‘I thought you didn’t want to get married.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘I most certainly don’t. I’m not talking about a real engagement, but an illusory one. It will provide you with security and alleviate the sense of responsibility I feel towards you.’
‘Gosh. How grim that sounds.’ She pulled a face. ‘Like I’m some intolerable burden!’
‘Melodrama isn’t particularly helpful in the circumstances, Flora,’ he drawled. ‘I’m trying to be pragmatic. Being my fiancée will give you a certain…status in Milanese society—although it will inevitably subject you to a degree of scrutiny. Possibly envy,’ he concluded thoughtfully.
‘Oh, dear. Will I have to withstand a hail of missiles from heartbroken females every time I set foot outside the door?’
‘I don’t think things will descend to quite that level,’ he murmured, with the glimmer of a smile. ‘Do you think you can bear to do it?’ There was a pause. ‘Do you want to do it?’
‘That depends. Will we have to pretend to be in love?’
‘I don’t think I’m that good an actor,’ he offered dryly.
‘Ouch. You really don’t pull your punches, do you, Vito?’
‘Do you want me to lie to you?’
Well, yes. Flora pulled a face. Sometimes, she did. Sometimes she wanted to hear things he was never going to say. ‘I suppose not.’
‘So, we have a solution. Be my fiancée. At least for show, in public. Just while you’re here. It isn’t going to be for long, is it?’ he added softly.
Flora bit her lip. He obviously couldn’t wait to see the back of her!
‘Not only will you miss out on being a social pariah,’ he continued. ‘But you’ll get a big diamond ring to wear, which should provide a little in the way of compensation.’ His mouth flattened into a grimace of a smile. ‘Judging by how much women seem to value diamonds.’
Flora stared at him, hating the cynical timbre of his voice.
Did he really think the entire female sex was that shallow—or that he needed to placate her with expensive toys?
It seemed a waste of time to tell him she thought diamonds were cold and unimaginative.
They certainly weren’t forever. Not in this case.
But his words contained a strange kind of sense, despite the impersonal way he had delivered them.
An engagement would guarantee her respectability, even if it wasn’t real.
Because what was the alternative? People looking at her pityingly, or angrily—outraged that this little nobody of a secretary had trapped one of Italy’s most gorgeous bachelors?
Could she really cope with that level of insecurity, on top of dealing with sharing an apartment with the irascible tycoon?
‘Okay, I’ll wear your ring,’ she said, as if she didn’t really care one way or another.