Chapter Eight
‘CONGRATULATIONS, THE BABY’S undoubtedly yours.’
Another DNA result this time delivered by the doctor, and Rocco’s life had once again irrevocably changed. Lily said the baby couldn’t be anyone else’s. She’d been right.
A spike of adrenaline surged through him.
He didn’t know what to do. He could count the number of times he’d felt so lost on one hand.
The first had been as a stupid young man, falling in love with the wrong woman and having her reject him in the cruellest and most humiliating of ways.
The second, with Leo and the revelation regarding his parents. Now this.
It hadn’t truly hit him until this moment: He was having a baby. He’d be a father.
It meant thinking about what he wanted for a child.
About what had happened to his own brother.
If Leo was to be believed and the story wasn’t simply one created for promotional purposes, his life had been a hard one after their father left.
Lived on the streets in poverty and deprivation, until his mother had died one late, icy night, and he’d lost everything.
Even if Zanetti’s story had been embellished the man had grown up full of vengeance and enmity, which suggested a truth to it.
By contrast, Rocco’s life had been easy, one of comparative leisure rather than deprivation. What would he prefer for his child? To grow up in poverty, hating the man who’d rejected them? Or in comfort and security?
The choice was simple.
He hadn’t seen much of Lily over the past few days. She’d reported to Carmella not feeling well and taking to her room, but Rocco had suspected it was more his challenge to her than any effects of her pregnancy.
‘I never pretend to be anything other than a human with a full suite of frailties and flaws. What about you, Rocco?’
She’d humbled him with those words because he was a man replete with flaws and yet he’d been judging her.
Guilt pricked at him. So much was broken he had to put back together.
Now it had been revealed she’d been telling the truth, he was left having to repair the hurt he may have caused to the mother of his baby, together with the work to atone for past failings, mostly of his father’s.
Though, whilst Lily may have been keeping her distance that didn’t mean that his constant awareness of her wasn’t palpable, like she was haunting his house.
Everywhere he walked, the subtle scent of fruit and flowers hinted at ripeness and abundance.
A pulse struck up low and hard, of desire and need.
Rocco had experienced that abundance once before and craved it again.
An inconvenient and conflicting attraction. Delicious yet unwise …
Though his most important duty was to tell her of the DNA result. To begin planning for how they’d move forwards with the baby they’d created. He left his study and jogged up the stairs to Lily’s room, knocking on the door.
No answer.
His heart rate kicked up a little. Rocco knocked again, waited. Still no response. He cracked the door open.
‘Lily?’
The room lay empty, only the tantalising scent of her remaining.
He had the overwhelming desire to stand in the centre of that room, simply to breathe her in.
Instead, Rocco stepped out, closing the door behind him.
It was her place whilst she lived in his home, and he was determined to honour the sanctity of the space whilst she stayed there.
Rocco jogged down the stairs, thoughts running through his head as to how he’d announce the news.
Of course, it wouldn’t come as a surprise to her, but an apology was called for.
He’d never really been required to apologise for anything.
Growing up in a privileged position, believing he was an only child, the sole heir to the Silvestri family business and fortune, lent him a certainty about his life till recently.
He’d always believed he was on solid and unassailable ground, about everything.
No longer. Saying sorry was something he needed to learn how to do, and quickly.
Lily wasn’t in any areas of his home he might have intuitively guessed in his search for her, and the house seemed unusually lacking that sense of her presence today.
Although he began to suspect she was avoiding the places he frequented.
The person she had most contact with was Carmella, so he sought out his housekeeper.
She smiled when he found her, looking happier since Lily had come into the home.
Rocco believed she enjoyed having Lily here, someone to care for who needed it.
Whilst she hadn’t asked too many questions about a beautiful pregnant woman turning up on his doorstep, Carmella was an intelligent woman.
No doubt she’d guessed what was going on here.
‘Signor Silvestri.’
He’d tried to get her to call him Rocco. In his mind, Signor Silvestri was his father, but Carmella wouldn’t relent so he’d decided to wisely pick his battles. Though, why hadn’t he been so wise with Lily …?
‘Do you know where Lily is?’
‘She’s not in her room?’
Rocco shook his head.
‘Signora Rutherford enjoys the small living room. The one with the murals of the country. Or the patio overlooking the garden. Of course, growing her bambino she needs food, so could be in the kitchen.’
His heart missed a beat then started up again, faster than before. ‘She’s in none of those places.’
Carmella frowned. ‘She enjoys the garden. Often sits on the chair under the pine tree. Says the jonquils in the lawn remind her of home.’
There was something poignant about that statement, that Lily was searching for familiarity in a foreign place. But Rocco couldn’t concentrate on that or really delve into its meaning, because he’d glimpsed the garden lounge from the patio whilst looking for Lily and she wasn’t there either.
The hair prickled uncomfortably at the back of his neck. ‘She’s not there. So where is she?’
Had she …just left? Taken herself and their baby and disappeared?
Sure, he’d engaged an investigator to look into her, but if she left, how easy would it be to find her again?
Would she be able to look after herself as well as here?
They’d discussed nothing about arrangements for the future, because there’d been no need, no certainty about the child being his.
In his mind at least.
Thoughts swirled in his head, heart pounding a sickening rhythm. Replaying his words in the days before. His tone. Had it been wrong of him to investigate her?
‘Call it due diligence …’
What man in his position wouldn’t? But still, what he’d said now taunted him because his implication had been clear.
She wasn’t a woman to be trusted. He was driven to check Lily’s room again.
Rocco left Carmella and sprinted up the stairs, opened the bedroom door without knocking.
Stalked inside and flung open her wardrobe.
Clothes.
His shoulders dropped. He took a moment, and a few steadying breaths.
She hadn’t left him. But she wasn’t here. He needed to find her. What if she was hurt?
Rocco jogged back down the stairs. Where the hell would she go?
Carmella met him. ‘I’ve spoken to your driver, but he knows nothing either. The gardener said he saw her at the back fence earlier, looking out at the Baths.’
‘You have ruins, in your backyard.’
Rocco raked his hands through his hair. Could it be as simple as that?
She’d seemed interested, intrigued by the history here.
Rocco strode out of the house, through the garden, to the back fence of his property.
Down here he’d asked that it be left a bit overgrown, like a woodland.
It reminded him a little of Boscoincittà, a park in Milan with its own woodland area where his mother took him as a child and he’d run through the trees, trying to lure turtles to him from the pond.
Rocco rubbed at his chest, a strange ache there at the distant memory.
He ignored it, reaching the fence where he noticed the back gate ajar.
Whilst electronically locked, it was there to prevent people coming in, not residents leaving easily.
He pulled it open, ready to mount a search when in the distance he glimpsed a figure who was etched into his consciousness.
The elegant way she moved. Dressed in a T-shirt, loose-looking linen pants.
A floppy-looking hat on her head against the sun.
Lily.
Everything in him stilled. All the tension inside seemed to uncoil.
His heartbeat slowed, muscles loosened as the stress bled away.
She was here, he still had time. But what if she wanted to go?
She’d agreed to stay, until at least the DNA result was available.
That day was today. What if she was catching up on some sightseeing before deciding to leave?
The thought was like a hand gripping his throat and squeezing.
No child of his would grow up in poverty or deprivation.
No child of his would suffer bitterness or be anything other than sure their father loved them.
He would not impose a lifetime of hatred and rejection on any child he bore, no matter the circumstances.
Here in Italy his son or daughter would be protected.
The babe would have everything a child could ever want or desire.
Ideas began to coalesce. Tonight, he’d be striking up a different kind of conversation with Lily. Apriamo le danze. Open the dance. Or get the ball rolling, as an English speaker might say.
He liked the idea of a dance better. Wasn’t dancing the precursor to making love? A spike of desire, potent and hot, sliced through him. There was one thing that couldn’t be faked between them. The blistering attraction they’d experienced in Venice.
Relationships had been built on less.