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Would he? Would he really?
Confused—angry—she turned from him and glared out the window. “I don’t expect anything from anyone.”
“I like your independent spirit but that’s taking autonomy a little too far.”
“Because I’m a woman?” The weaker sex?
“Because that statement makes you sound cold and you’re the furthermost thing from an ice queen I know.”
She pressed her lips together as regret stung behind her nose.
She was saying goodbye for Alex’s own good. Yes, for her sake, too. Two years ago a Sydney specialist had confirmed what the Constance Plains doctor predicted. Although the severity of the condition she’d acquired, Asherman’s Syndrome, was mild, he advised she not attempt to fall pregnant. If she happened to conceive, the risks to a foetus were grave and many.
She didn’t want to see anyone hurt, including Bridget’s unborn babe. She refused to stand in the way. Refused to hang on to silly Cinderella dreams that had zip chance of coming true.
An image of a tiny newborn’s hand flashed into her mind, and the light outside smudged as moisture blurred her vision.
Holding her roiling stomach, she concentrated to school her features and summon a level tone. “I would like to be dropped at my apartment, please.”
“No, carino. We’ll spend the night together at my home.”
Her fingers strangled her clutch purse. She wanted to scream at him, tell him she wasn’t worth the trouble. She wanted to jump out of this car and run as fast and as far as she could.
Instead she sent a thin smile. “Don’t you get it? It’s over, Alex. The boat’s already sailed.”
His dark eyes searched hers before narrowing almost imperceptibly. As the trip-wire tension tightened more, she quivered inside but didn’t back down. For everyone’s sake, she couldn’t.
Finally he sat back against the black leather seat. A muscle in his jaw twitched before he nodded and exhaled. “You’re right. Of course you shouldn’t be dragged into this. Forgive me.”
She gaped at him. Was he purposely trying to guilt her out? He’d said he needed her support. She’d flatly refused and still he forgave her.
Her fingers itched to touch his hard thigh. To let him know that she did care, and too much. Instead she clenched her hand into the cool silk of her dress. If Alex was the father of that baby, he didn’t need distractions. He would need to focus on priorities. She only wished she could explain.
She wasn’t the woman he thought her to be.
Dropping her head, she bit her lip.
“Alex, I—”
He found her gaze then wrapped an arm around her. His cheek pressed against her crown, he tugged her close.
“We’re both upset. Too upset to talk. Be still now and let me hold you for a while.”
Alex asked Paul to head for her address and when the car pulled up in front of her apartment building five minutes later, he slid out and opened her door.
“I’ll tell Paul to come back in the morning,” he told her, extending his hand.
She accepted his hand, so warm and big folded around hers, but she couldn’t accept the offer, no matter how safe and adored he made her feel. If she could hold on, be strong a moment longer…
“I’d rather say good-night here.” She managed a trite smile while her heart—her icy, barren heart—steadied itself not to break. “It’s been nice.”
Not listening, he cupped her nape, lowered his head to kiss her. But she turned her face and his warm lips grazed her temple.
“Good night, Alexander.”
He stepped away, stood stock still. Then, like an unleashed hurricane, he swung back toward the Bentley, his gravelled words trailing behind.
“I’ll say good-night, Natalie. But not goodbye.”
The next morning, Alex scowled at the page five headline.
Playboy to Marry Outsider. Socialite Girlfriend Pregnant.
Cursing, he hurled the paper at his kitchen counter.
His girl had left him, he’d been publicly hailed as a two-timing bastard and, as a side order, Dai Zhang must be wondering if Alexander Ramirez wasn’t a chip off his amoral grandfather’s block.
Every one of his ventures was run above reproach. Zhang’s money was destined for a sound project, one into which Alex had invested a fair stake of his own capital. He believed these research studies would make a difference, not only to his personal worth but also to the medical community who would benefit from improvements made to vascular tolerance of dialysis-dependent patients.
After reading that headline, however, it would be no surprise if Zhang, a respected businessman known for his high standard of principles, pulled out. Alex had worked hard to convince Zhang that these studies would succeed where others had failed, but this publicity made Alexander Ramirez look like a man who couldn’t be trusted. Particularly if this so called engagement was called off the same week it was announced.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
Unfortunately after last night’s events, Natalie had pulled the pin on their affair. This morning’s headlines would have her back up all the more. But Alex wasn’t prepared to have it end there.
The living room extension pealed.
Alex strode over, grabbed the receiver and growled, “Call back.”
“Mr. Ramirez?”
Unease rippled up his spine. “Who is this?” The voice sounded familiar. The next second he knew why.
“Mr. Ramirez, when are your nuptials taking place?”
His teeth clenched. “How did you get this number?”
“Natalie Wilder is unavailable for comment,” the reporter continued. “Does this mean the engagement’s off? Can you confirm that the party last night was a double celebration?”
Imagining the phone was the reporter’s head, Alex slammed the receiver down. Throwing up his hands, he strode away.
How to go forward.
What to do to save this mess from disintegrating more.
Then his faculties doubled back and swooped upon a phrase. Natalie was unavailable for comment? That reporter must’ve put her through the wringer already this morning.
He speed-dialled Natalie’s cell phone. Message bank. He got voice mail at her home number. Only one other place she would be.
When Natalie answered her office extension on the second ring, Alex sank into a nearby chair.
He smiled. “Good morning, carino.”
“Alex?” Two beats of silence. “I’m at the office.”
“We need to talk.”
“I’m not talking to anyone today unless they want to buy a property. I—I’m sorry but I have to go.”
She disconnected and he hung up, drummed his fingers on the desk and glared at the phone. “Stubborn woman.” Which was one of the reasons he liked her so much.
Alex stopped midthought.
What if, rather than a brash invention, his statement to that reporter had merely been a little premature? Now that the claim was out, perhaps he ought to make use of it, and in more ways than one.
Zhang was a man of principle, as was Alex. At the moment, nothing could be done about the paternity accusation. But perhaps he should stand by his engagement announcement. To retract now would only make him appear even less honorable in Zhang’s eyes, and when the paternity test came back, his name would be cleared.
And then there was Natalie.
When he married, he wanted a solid union: a calm, safe harbour for his children to grow up and excel in. Natalie seemed to possess all the qualities he admired—independence, charm, intelligence. And he couldn’t downplay how good they were together in the bedroom. Surely he could never tire of holding such a warm, giving body close to his. It stood to reason that kind of sexual compatibility would be a significant asset to any marriage.
No doubt Bridget would make some other man extremely happy. Her pedigree as A1 and she was sweet natured as well as attractive. But, even if it was proven that he had indeed fathered her child, Alex couldn’t contemplate sharing his life with Bridget Davidson. Natalie, on the other hand, would make a perfect wife. A wonderful mother.
Perhaps it was time.
He pushed up out the chair, entered his study and dialled open the sequenced lock on his desk’s drawer safe. A moment later he held the doubloon, a near priceless heirloom handed down from generation to generation. He’d respected its history, had every intention of following tradition. But now, as never before, he understood its true worth. He would do what was needed to carry on its proper succession.
And that meant winning Natalie Wilder back.
Chapter Four
Mateo Celeca swung open his harbor-side residence front door and gripped his friend’s hand. After a brief brotherly hug, he waved Alex through to the parquet entry.
“There’s a lot to be said for success,” Mateo closed the heavy door. “Finding time to catch up unfortunately isn’t one of them.” He folded his arms and slanted his head. “You look well, my friend.”
Alex took in Mateo’s olive complexion, striking today against his billowy white shirt and calico trousers. “You look better than well.”
“It’s the Mediterranean sun. When I visit home, I don’t want to return. Then Mama starts with her matchmaking, setting up chance meetings with ‘nice girls’, and I’m reminded why I need to get back.”
Alex joined in Mateo’s hearty chuckle. He’d visited “home” with Mateo one summer in their university days. Mama Celeca, Mateo’s grandmother, was a small lady with a big heart who believed every good man deserved a good woman. That summer he and Mateo had barely escaped Italy with their bachelorhood intact.
“You’ll find your Miss Right one day, Mat.”
“Perhaps you can give me some pointers.”
Alex cocked a brow. “You’ve read this morning’s paper, then.”
His hand resting on his friend’s back, Mateo ushered Alex through, past the polished honeywood staircase and down a wide hall, which boasted countless heirlooms and antiques, some dating back many centuries. Alex’s three-story Vaucluse residence was outstanding by anyone’s standards, but it still fell short of this kind of grandeur.
Mateo strolled with Alex toward the rear of his immaculate home. “From this morning’s story, your situation sounds…complicated.”
Alex exhaled. “I’ve heard that before.”
“From the expectant mother?”
“From the woman I’m sleeping with.”
“I take it you’re not happy with the father-to-be situation.”
“I could think of better scenarios.” Like Natalie being the woman pregnant with his child. That he could handle.
They entered the kitchen, an enormous sparkling affair, made all the more inviting by the faint scent of citrus and freshly grilled bacon.
Mateo retrieved two demitasses from an overhead cupboard and set the cups next to the espresso pot. “How are the women in your life coping?”
Alex gripped the back of a Chippendale chair. “One I haven’t spoken with in over six months. The other doesn’t want to see me again.”
Reaching for the pot handle, Mateo paused. “Perhaps I should offer you something stronger.”
Alex grinned. “Coffee’s good.”
Drinks poured, they moved out into the cobblestone courtyard. On the expansive back lawn, giant topiaries were pruned into animal shapes…a lion, a bull, two rams locking horns. A Mediterranean style water feature provided the perfect backdrop.
After setting his cup on the table, Alex lowered into cushioned wrought iron chair and Mateo did the same then asked, “How can I help?”
“I need to find out if I’m the father of that baby, and I need to find out fast.”
“Estimated dates?”
“If I am the father, twenty-four weeks.” He’d checked his PDA calendar late last night.
“Gestational age would be twenty-six.” Mateo’s pensive look cleared. “To get a more accurate estimate, we need an ultrasound. Scans are routine. Her GP or OB would likely have scheduled at least one. There’s no risk to mother or unborn child.” Elbows on the chair arms, he laced his fingers, index fingers steepled. “Now for some good news regarding prenatal paternity tests.”
Alex rubbed his brow. He could use all the good news he could get.
“Nowadays they’re easy to perform and results are available within days,” Mateo told him. “We need a blood sample from the mother and a simple mouth swab from you. The results are one hundred percent accurate on negative identification and ninety-nine point nine percent accurate on positive.”
“So if I’m not the father of the baby we’ll know conclusively.”
Mateo nodded and reached for his cup. “If you’d like the lady to see me, I’ll happily fit her in and arrange for the tests to be performed.”
Sounded good. “I’ll speak with Bridget…though I’ll need to get past her father first.”
“As I recall, you’re not Joe Davidson’s favourite person.”
Mateo knew about the hydraulics contract affair. “After last night I’ve officially hit the bottom of his Christmas card list.”
Mateo sipped, shrugged. “You have better things to worry about.”
