CHAPTER SIX
L ARK ’ S PALMS WERE sweaty as she sat her at tiny kitchen table, unable to concentrate on the crossword puzzle she was trying to do to pass the time.
Cesare—no, Signor Donati —would be here any minute and all the things she’d told herself she was going to do that morning hadn’t got done, because she hadn’t been able to settle.
Maya was playing in her playpen in the little living area just across the hall and Lark could hear the happy sounds she was making as she smashed a couple of wooden blocks together. She hadn’t started walking yet, but she wasn’t far off and Lark knew her playpen days were numbered. Which meant Lark’s life was going to get a little bit more difficult.
There was a thump then a cry, and instantly Lark leapt to her feet, her crossword forgotten. She went into the living room to find Maya sitting on her bottom and crying loudly, lifting her arms to Lark as she appeared.
Lark went over and picked her daughter up, murmuring comfortingly as she cuddled her close. Maya was getting heavy now and of course as soon as she was picked up, she wanted to go back down. She was a very strong-willed little girl and stubborn to boot.
Like her father, perhaps?
Lark kissed the top of Maya’s rose-gold head, trying to ignore the anger that lay like a stone in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want to think about Cesare Donati and she especially didn’t want to think of him as Maya’s father.
The night before, after the plane had landed, she’d been terribly afraid he’d insist on coming back to her flat with her and seeing Maya. Either that or convincing her to come back to whatever palatial London house he occupied for the night.
She’d been too honest with him on the plane, when he’d loomed over her, surrounding her with his heat and his scent. Her mouth had gone dry and all she’d been able to think about was kissing him again, having him again. She’d wanted to tell him that the sex had meant nothing, her curiosity had been satisfied, but he’d surprised the truth out of her.
Deep down she’d been hoping against hope that sex with him would return her memories, yet it hadn’t. That night was still a black hole. And now she’d had a taste of what she’d missed out on that night with him. What it must have been like that first time, to kiss him, touch him. Have him inside her. Those moments in the plane had been like missing pieces of the jigsaw puzzle falling into place, and yet... The whole picture remained hidden.
Being with him again would only remind her of all those other moments she’d lost, that she’d never get back. Of seeing his first reaction to her body, then the joy of mutual discovery, the thrill of newness, of shared wonder...
That was all gone and it had hurt more than she’d expected it to.
She hadn’t wanted to tell him any of that, but she had, and there had been recognition in his eyes. And genuine understanding. And pity.
‘I’m sorry,’ he’d said...
That had made her ache, which in turn had made her angry all over again. She hadn’t wanted him to be sorry, she’d wanted him to leave her alone, take his intense, distracting presence elsewhere. She had to look forward, not backwards, and sleeping with him again would definitely be going backwards.
Anyway, as it turned out, he’d neither insisted on coming home with her nor tried to tempt her into coming home with him.
As soon as they’d disembarked the plane, he’d told her he’d see her the next day and a car would take her home. Then he’d walked off, his phone stuck to his ear, got in another car and had been driven away.
She’d told herself she was glad, that she didn’t want him anywhere near her. Yet that night, after she’d got home and the nanny had left, and she’d checked on her little girl, she’d gone to sleep and her dreams had been full of him. His hands and his mouth on her. His bare skin against hers. Stroking her, teasing her, taunting her. And then he’d whisper, ‘Beg me, little bird,’ before vanishing.
She’d woken up aching and restless and in a terrible temper.
Getting tied up in knots over a man, no matter how attractive, was a mistake and one she had to avoid at all costs. She wouldn’t be her mother, falling in love with an awful man, marrying him and having his baby only to find herself trapped. Knowing that the only way to protect her child was to run and then be hunted to the ends of the earth.
Okay, so maybe Cesare— Signor Donati —wasn’t quite as awful as her father had been. But he was terrible all the same. He was forceful, opinionated, arrogant and selfish, and those were enough red flags for her.
What if he’s Maya’s father?
Then she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. She just didn’t want to think about it now.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Lark settled Maya on her hip and went to the door to open it, trying to ignore the nerves that leapt and jumped around inside her.
Sure enough, it was him. Cesare Donati. Standing on the doorstep wearing an immaculate handmade suit of dark grey wool. His shirt was black this time, his tie the same deep blue as Maya’s eyes.
Behind him, a limo waited at the kerb, looking extremely out of place in her small suburban street, a couple of bodyguards standing nearby.
Not that she was really taking in the limo, not when he was bare inches away.
She’d thought that maybe she’d dreamed his effect on her, that after a night away from him, the force of his presence wouldn’t be so intense, but she was wrong.
The impact of him was almost physical.
Her heartbeat sped up, nervousness coiling and tangling inside her. Then his blue gaze locked with hers and a flood of heat washed through her.
All she could remember were those moments on the plane, sitting naked in his lap. His mouth on hers, his fingers clenched tight in her hair. Of him inside her, moving deep and slow, and the intense pleasure uncurling inside her...
‘ Buongiorno , little bird,’ he said in his deep, rich voice, his eyes glittering as if he was remembering the same thing. Then his attention shifted, the pressure of it releasing almost making her gasp aloud, and he stared at Maya instead.
He went very still, utterly transfixed by the sight of her, and Lark was overcome with an urge to shield her daughter from the intensity of his gaze. And she might have if Maya hadn’t been gazing back, studying him with the same intentness.
There was a moment’s silence.
‘May I hold her?’ Cesare asked unexpectedly, his voice hoarse, still not taking his eyes off Maya.
Lark’s first instinct was to refuse. Then again, he’d asked her politely enough and she knew he wouldn’t hurt Maya. He’d promised he wouldn’t take her away either, and while she didn’t trust him, she was starting to think he might actually be a man of his word. He’d had that agreement drawn up, after all, and given his power, he didn’t have to do that.
She glanced down at Maya. She wasn’t a clingy child, though she had a certain reserve, and usually it took a little while for her to warm to someone. ‘If she wants to go,’ Lark said.
But it seemed that Maya didn’t mind, going to him without a protest, seemingly as fascinated by Cesare as he was by her. In fact, she stared up at him as if she’d never seen anything so incredible in her life.
Then Lark saw the look on Cesare’s face as he stared down at the child in his arms. Undisguised awe. Wonder. Amazement. He murmured something in Italian, not making a single protest as the little girl clutched at his suit with a hand covered in mashed banana.
And Lark’s heart ached in response. Because she knew how he felt. She’d felt all those emotions too, the moment she’d first cradled her daughter in her arms.
Cesare settled Maya on his hip as if he’d been carrying babies all his life and glanced at Lark. ‘Shall we go?’
Lark’s stomach clenched. ‘Go? Go where?’
‘I thought it would better if we conducted this at my residence here in London. I want to spend a little more time with her and there is more privacy from the press there.’
A thread of panic wound through her and she took a half step towards him. ‘No, what? Wait, I didn’t agree to you taking her anywhere.’
He frowned, his blue gaze searching hers. ‘I told you I would never take her from you and I meant it,’ he said quietly. ‘You will be coming with me. We’ll go to my residence where some of Maya’s genetic material will be taken and there we’ll wait for the results. If the result is negative then you’ll take her home. If the result is positive, we’ll talk.’
He sounded so reasonable and yet the panic inside her refused to ease. All she could think about was how difficult would it be to run with her daughter, to go somewhere he couldn’t find them, to hide Maya from him.
Do you really want your daughter to have the same upbringing you did?
Lark swallowed. Her childhood hadn’t been the best, but Grace had done what she could. Yet Lark didn’t want Maya growing up with the same fear. Growing up without friends or a safe space. Of never being able to put down roots because you never knew when you’d have to move on.
Maya reached up to Cesare’s tie with one grubby hand and pulled on it. He paid absolutely zero notice, letting her ruin the silk as if it didn’t matter. ‘Come with me, Lark,’ he said. ‘Please. It’ll be all right, I promise.’
Please...
He meant it, she heard the promise in his voice. And there it was again, the understanding in his eyes. The understanding she’d seen on the plane when she’d told him why she couldn’t sleep with him again and how he affected her.
He knew her history, because she’d told him, and he knew why she was afraid. And for some reason he was trying to ease her fears.
‘Okay,’ she said, her jangling nerves settling, soothed by the quiet honesty in his voice, and then before she knew what was happening, she found herself walking down the path after him, to the limo that waited in the street.
His driver had already opened the door and Lark could see a child’s car seat already in place. The driver said something to Cesare but Cesare shook his head, placing Maya in the car seat himself. Then he glanced back at Lark. ‘Will you check she’s secure, please? I think it was installed correctly, but I’d like to have you look at it just in case.’
She wasn’t sure how he did that. He said he was a selfish man and yet here he was, finding those little threads of panic inside her and easing them with a please and some genuine reassurance, and by asking her opinion on the safety of her child, something that mattered a great deal to her.
A selfish man wouldn’t have cared about her feelings. A selfish man wouldn’t have even known she was afraid.
‘You mean you don’t automatically know everything?’ she muttered as she leaned in, checking that Maya was belted in properly.
Cesare was standing beside her, his delicious cedar scent and the heat of his body winding around her, clouding her senses. Making her pulse race and her heart beat loud in her ears.
‘...if you change your mind, you only have to ask...’
His words from the plane the night before drifted through her head, taunting her, her body’s response to him making a mockery of her insistence that she wasn’t going to sleep with him again.
But she couldn’t give in to her desire, not when there were so many good reasons why she shouldn’t, Maya and her future being the most important ones.
Annoyingly, Maya’s seat was all good and he’d buckled her in correctly too. Though, being annoyed by that was stupid. She should be pleased, especially where her daughter’s safety was concerned.
With an effort, she shoved her anger away and straightened, glancing at him. ‘She’s secure,’ she forced out. ‘Thank you for remembering the seat.’
He lifted one powerful shoulder. ‘I consulted the nanny from the night before about what Maya might need. She’s going to come here to collect some of Maya’s important things if you’ll allow it. That way we can get to my residence and take the test as soon as possible.’
It seemed ridiculous to be pleased that he’d asked her if she minded the nanny coming to get Maya’s things, when he’d swept in and organised it all already. Nevertheless, she was pleased.
‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘But do you ever get tired of upending people’s lives to suit yourself?’
There was unexpected humour in his eyes and it suited him. It suited him far too well. ‘Honestly? No.’
She snorted. ‘Thought so.’
A soft, deep laugh escaped him, the sound moving over her like a caress. ‘Did you really expect me to give you a different answer, little bird?’
But she didn’t want to stand there watching the blue glints of amusement dance in his eyes or listen to that unbelievably sexy laugh again, so she only gave him a disdainful look and got into the limo without a word.
Sometime later, the limo pulled up outside a stately house in Kensington. Clearly old and eye-wateringly expensive, it was white, with a black wrought iron paling fence in front and ivy covering the walls.
As Cesare showed her and Maya inside, she caught a glimpse down the wide hallway of a lovely garden out the back, with trees and green lawns. But there was no time to look properly because then he settled her and Maya in one of the huge front rooms. New baby toys were scattered on the pale carpet and Maya squealed delightedly at the sight of them.
Cesare seemed to have vanished, so Lark wiped her daughter’s banana-covered hands clean, then set her down, watching as she toddled happily over to a large plastic truck—she loved trucks—and banged it enthusiastically on the floor. She was still banging it when a woman in a white lab coat came in and asked Lark if she could take a swab from Maya’s mouth.
Lark nodded and it was over painlessly, Maya going back to her truck as the woman left.
Lark watched her, trying to ignore the slow creep of dread.
You already know he’s her father and continuing to deny it is only going to make things worse.
It was true. In which case she needed a plan, because she was sure Cesare already had one.
Upstairs, Cesare paced around in his study, gripped by a strange restlessness he couldn’t quite describe. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be with Maya, watching her play with the toys he’d bought her. Watching her play full stop.
She was amazing. Perfect in every way.
His daughter.
You don’t know that for certain.
Oh, he was certain. He’d been certain since the moment he’d seen her photo on Lark’s phone, and meeting her in person had only solidified that certainty.
She was a Donati from her curling rose-gold hair to the tips of her tiny toes.
He’d never held a child before and never wanted to, yet as soon as he’d seen her in Lark’s arms, he knew his life wouldn’t be complete unless she was in his too. And when Lark had given her to him and he’d held her, so small and fragile, he’d looked down into her blue eyes and known in an instant that he’d give his life for hers. Without hesitation. In a heartbeat.
Then he’d had the strangest thought. Had his parents ever felt that way about him? Had they ever experienced this moment of instant connection? He didn’t want to call it love because love was a terrible, toxic thing and there was nothing toxic about Maya.
Perhaps it was protectiveness then, this feeling. A fierce, burning need to keep her from harm even to his own detriment.
No. Your parents never felt that way about you.
They couldn’t have, could they? Otherwise they wouldn’t have done what they had to him. His mother wouldn’t have accused him of loving his father more than her, and his father wouldn’t have punished him for being good for his mother.
He didn’t care. They were gone now and good riddance to them.
What was important was her. She was the clean slate, the little innocent. Untouched by his family’s toxicity, nothing but pure joy. She’d ruined his suit and his tie by grabbing at them with her little banana-covered hands, but he didn’t care about that either. He’d wanted to keep holding her, his suit be damned.
Cesare paced around a bit more then reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone and called Aristophanes. His friend answered immediately, as he always did whenever Cesare called him since neither of them liked waiting for the other.
‘I gather from this call that you’re waiting for the paternity test results?’ Aristophanes asked. His Italian was perfect, though there was the faintest hint of his native Athens in his voice.
‘Yes,’ Cesare said.
‘Is that nervousness I hear?’
‘Absolutely not.’ Cesare reached the door of his study, turned and paced back to his desk. ‘I know the outcome already.’
‘I see,’ Aristophanes said. ‘So what is this call in aid of?’
Cesare let out a breath. ‘I want to bring her back to Italy. She’s a Donati and she needs to be with me. However...’ He paused. ‘Her mother will have something to say about it.’
And Lark would have something to say about it. And it probably wouldn’t be good.
Still, he’d decided what he wanted and what he wanted he got. Also, he hadn’t seen the inside of Lark’s little flat, but he’d seen the outside and while it seemed decent enough, if small, it wasn’t a suitable place for his child to grow up in. There was no garden for a start, nowhere for a little girl to run around in and play.
And you know all about how a child should grow up?
He knew enough. A child shouldn’t grow up in the shadow of his parents’ brutal war of a marriage. A pawn to be used to punish and undermine each other. A weapon to be used in a war caused by love turned into toxic obsession.
It was his father Giovanni’s cheating that had started it. Cesare had been about five then, and his mother, Bianca, had then demanded a divorce after she’d found out. But Giovanni had refused. He wouldn’t be the first Donati in history to divorce and anyway, Bianca had to stay and care for her child. Cesare needed a mother.
Bianca had been furious, but she’d stayed and things had been all right for a little while. Back then Cesare had loved his mother and had tried to be good for her in case his behaviour set off one of her rapid mood swings. She’d told him he was her good boy, her most loving son. That they needed to leave, to escape his father, who didn’t love him the way she loved him. He’d believed her and so when she’d packed him a bag and held out a hand, he’d taken it and together they’d escaped.
It had seemed an exciting adventure, a chance to be with his lovely mother who’d sworn she’d protect him from his terrible father.
Then Giovanni had caught up with them, and he’d been furious. He’d dragged Cesare away by force, while his mother had screamed in rage, and taken him back to the palazzo. The next day Giovanni had told his son that he’d been worried for him, afraid for his safety, because his mother was sick. That she’d lied to him, that she didn’t care about him. But Giovanni did. He loved Cesare. He was his heir after all. Oh, and he wasn’t allowed to see Bianca again.
If Bianca had known what was good for her, she should have left then, but she couldn’t stand that Giovanni had won this particular battle. Forgiveness had never been part of her makeup and so she’d stayed at the palazzo, living in a separate wing like a ghost, haunting her husband every chance she got.
She would leave little notes around the palazzo for Cesare, telling him that she was staying there for him, that she could never leave him, that Giovanni was intent on punishing her by keeping Cesare from her. But they couldn’t let him win, she’d said. Cesare should be ready, because one day she would come for him and they’d finally leave for good.
Giovanni found one of the notes and told Cesare furiously that he was to burn them. That his mother was only telling him these things to hurt him, that the only thing she cared about was punishing Giovanni.
His father had been a proud man, arrogant and stiff-necked, and rigid. And he’d expected his son to be the same, and Cesare had tried. He’d hated the fight between his parents and he’d thought that if he was good enough for both of them, then somehow this terrible war would finally end.
But it didn’t. It only escalated.
Giovanni tried to get Bianca removed from the house, but she refused to go. One day she turned up after one of Cesare’s riding lessons at the stables, and he’d been so pleased to see her. When she said she’d brought them a little picnic, he’d gone with her without hesitation.
She’d taken him to one of his favourite spots on the grassy bank beside the river that ran through the palazzo’s ground, and poured him a cup of some special drink she had in a thermos. ‘Drink it all, my darling,’ she’d told him, drinking some herself. ‘Drink it all and you can be with Mama for ever and ever.’
There had been a feverish light in her eyes and she’d seemed jumpy and tense, but he’d wanted to be a good boy for her, so he’d swallowed the whole cup. Then the world seemed to spin and he’d started feeling horribly sick.
His last memories of that day were of lying on the blanket Bianca had laid out and hearing his father’s voice shouting angrily and his mother screaming back.
Then he’d blacked out and woken in hospital, where doctors stood around his bed, looking grim. He’d had no idea what happened, other than that he’d been very sick, and still was.
A day later, a stern-looking woman had appeared at his bedside. She was his aunt and she was there to look after him, because his parents had died.
Later, he’d found out that his mother had tried to poison him and herself that day beside the river, because she’d wanted to punish his father once and for all. The only reason he was alive was due to his father discovering that Bianca had taken him from his riding lesson and so he’d gone to find her. No one knew exactly what had happened then, but the facts were that his mother had died from a gunshot wound and his father the same.
The theory was, he’d killed her before shooting himself.
He certainly hadn’t cared that his son had been poisoned and only saved by one of the stable hands who’d come to investigate the gunshots.
They’d told him they cared about him, that they loved him, but he knew then that his only importance was as a way to hurt each other. That no matter how good a son he’d been to both of them, hoping it would help them, it hadn’t. Nothing he’d done had mattered at all. And if that was the case, then what was the point of being good? Of caring about other people, when no one had cared about him?
No, he had only himself to answer to and why not? Why not accept the legacy his parents had left him? They were dead and gone, leaving him alone, and so why shouldn’t he rip his father’s precious legacy apart? Erase the memory of his mother?
That the best thing he could do with a family like his was to raze it then salt the earth, so that nothing ever grew from its poisoned soil again.
Except now there was Maya, who wasn’t poisonous or toxic. Who’d been brought up by a mother who’d loved her and that was all she’d ever known. It had to stay that way.
‘Cesare?’ Aristophanes asked in bored tones. ‘You’ve been quiet for an awfully long time. What were you saying about the mother?’
A jolt went through him. Why was he thinking about his parents? They had nothing to do with this.
‘Maya’s mother will not be pleased,’ he said, trying to get his thoughts back in order. ‘But I’m sure we can work something out.’
‘Take her to bed,’ Aristophanes said. ‘I’m sure that will make her more conducive. Either that or offer to marry her.’
Cesare scowled. ‘I assume you know why marriage is the last thing I would offer?’
Aristophanes, who knew Cesare’s past, only sighed as if the topic was of the most utter disinterest to him. ‘It would give her some legal protection and also money, which I’m sure she’d like. Also, I’m sure you’d like Maya to have your name.’
Cesare came to halt in the middle of his study, thinking.
He hadn’t thought about marriage. Why would he? Marriage had never been something he wanted, not after the battleground it had become for his parents. Marriage seemed like a glass case, a trap where two people who couldn’t get out turned on each other and destroyed each other, not caring if they took other people down with them.
‘I didn’t know you cared about my name,’ Cesare growled.
‘I don’t, but you do. You being a Donati and all.’ Aristophanes was a self-made man and had a healthy disdain for such things as family history and legacy. He’d long told Cesare that it was his considerable financial acumen that Aristophanes respected, not his name, and certainly not his history.
Cesare couldn’t blame him. He didn’t respect his own history either.
Still, now that Aristophanes had mentioned marriage, he couldn’t let go of the idea. Marriage to Lark... There would be benefits to it, he had to admit. She’d obviously live with him and that would be useful. Maya should have her mother close and if Lark lived at the palazzo with him then they wouldn’t need any messy custody arrangements. Also, yes, then Maya would take his name and legally be a Donati.
If he really thought about it, it wasn’t marriage that was the trap, it was love. Love that could turn to hate in the blink of an eye, love that could make people do the most terrible things. He wanted nothing whatsoever to do with love. The good thing about his relationship with Lark was that he didn’t love her. She certainly didn’t love him, which meant they’d be spared that hideousness. Of course there was the issue of sex and how that would work between them since she’d told him she wasn’t going to sleep with him again. Perhaps marriage might change her mind?
Then again, if it didn’t, it was no problem. They could each have discreet lovers.
Really? You’re saying you wouldn’t mind Lark having a lover?
Something hot tightened in his gut at the thought, but he shoved it away before he could name it. Lark could have a lover. It wouldn’t be an issue.
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘It is important that Maya be a Donati.’
‘I thought as much.’ Aristophanes was clearly not interested in further discussion. ‘Well, it’s your funeral, my friend. Let me know when the happy occasion is and I’ll make sure I have time in my schedule.’
Aristophanes lived or died by his schedule, Cesare knew. If it wasn’t in the schedule it didn’t happen. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as I have a date.’
He disconnected the call and then paced around a bit more, going over a myriad of plans.
Then the door opened and one of his assistants came in with the results of the test.
It was as he’d thought. Maya was his child.
He stared down at the piece of paper and the satisfaction that had settled down inside him became solid rock. There would be no more argument. No more discussion. Maya was a Donati and she would be raised one. She would be his hope for the future, a new generation rising out of the ashes of the old, and he had the opportunity to provide a better legacy for her than what his parents had left for him.
Are you sure she’s not better off without you? Your parents certainly would have been.
The voice in his head was snide, taunting, but he shoved it away before the doubt had time to take root. No, she wasn’t better off. She was heir to a difficult history and someone needed to help her come to terms with it. Someone would also need to teach her how to deal with her considerable inheritance, and he was the best person to do that.
He was her father, and although he didn’t know how to be a good one, he’d certainly had experience of a bad one. He’d never be like his own father, never ever.
Cesare left his study and went down the stairs to the front room, pausing in the doorway.
Lark was on her knees next to Maya, both of them playing with the large plastic truck he’d bought. Lark was pretending to drive it around while Maya squealed with delight as she tried to grab it. And a peculiar sensation caught at him as he watched them.
His daughter playing with her mother, full of laughter and joy. Lark smiling at her child, her face shining. They were both enjoying themselves, clearly happy.
He’d never had that, he realised. Not in his own life. His childhood had been nothing but tension and hatred, a cold war with him in the middle. His childhood had been stolen from him by his parents and he wouldn’t do the same to Maya.
His child would have a different childhood. He would give her joy and laughter and happiness, and he knew that the best way to do that was to make sure Lark was at his side.
That wasn’t just important. That was vital.
Sensing his presence, Lark looked up, her pretty green eyes locking with his. She went still. Maya, taking no notice of her parents, grabbed at the truck, babbling happily.
‘Oh,’ Lark breathed, searching his face. ‘So...it’s true then?’
He didn’t move. ‘Yes. Do you want to see the results for yourself?’
A complicated expression passed over her features. All the happiness disappeared, leaving disappointment, he thought, and fear, and also despair. She looked away sharply, hiding it from him. ‘No,’ she said in a curiously blank voice. ‘I believe you.’
Cesare did not bother himself with other people’s emotions or opinions. He didn’t care about them, not a single iota. But he didn’t like that expression on Lark’s face. Not the disappointment or despair, and definitely not the fear. That wasn’t what he wanted for her and he didn’t want that for Maya either.
Lark’s happiness was vital to his daughter’s, he could see that now, which meant it was now going to be vital to him.
‘We need to talk, little bird,’ Cesare said quietly.