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“You don’t understand.”
“No,” he said, his voice cutting through the relative silence of the grand antechamber. “I don’t. You practically burst into my home telling my housekeeper you had to see me, and now here you are, having pushed your way in.”
“I didn’t push my way in. Luciana was more than happy to let me in.”
He would never fire his housekeeper. And the unfortunate thing was, the older woman knew it. So when she had let a hysterical girl into his home, he had a feeling she considered it punishment for his notorious behavior with the opposite sex.
Which was not fair. This little creature—who looked as though she would be most at home sitting on a sidewalk in the vicinity of Haight-Ashbury, playing an acoustic guitar for coins—might well be some man’s unholy punishment. But she wasn’t his.
“Regardless, you’re not drawing this out and making a show, and I have no patience for either.”
“It’s your baby.”
He laughed. There was absolutely no other response for such an outrageous statement. And there was no other way to remove the strange weight, the strange tension that gripped him when she spoke the words.
He knew why it affected him. But it should not.
He could imagine no circumstance under which he would touch such a ridiculous little hippie. And even so, he had just spent the past six months devoted to the world’s most obscene farce of a marriage.
And though Ashley had been devoted to the pleasure of both herself—and other men—during their union, he had been faithful.
A woman with a small baby bump, barely showing beneath that skin-tight top, claiming to be carrying his child could be absolutely nothing but ridiculous to him.
He’d had nothing at all but six months of fights, dodging vases flung in a rage by his crazy wife—who seemed to do her best to demolish the stereotype that Canadians were a nice and polite people—and then days on end of ridiculous cooing like he was some kind of pet she was trying to tame again after a sound beating.
Little realizing that he was not a man to be tamed, and never had been. He had married Ashley to make a point to his parents, and for no other reason. As of yesterday, he was divorced and free again.
Free to take this little backpacker in any way he wanted to, if he so chose.
Though, she would find the only place he wanted to take her was out the front door, and back onto the streets she had come from.
“That, you will find, is impossible, cara mia.” Her eyes went round, liquid, shock and pain visible. What had she imagined would happen? That he would fall for this ruse? That she would find her salvation in him? “I can see how you would build some strange fantasy around the idea I might be your best bet for help,” he said, attempting to keep his tone calm. “I have a reputation with women. But I have also been married for the past six months. So whatever man is responsible for knocking you up in a bar crawling with tourists and never calling again? He is not me, nor will you ever con me into believing it is. I am divorced now, but in the time I was married I was faithful to my wife.”
“Ashley,” she said, blinking rapidly. “Ashley Bettencourt.”
He was stunned, but only momentarily, by her usage of his wife’s name. It was common knowledge, so of course if she knew about him, she would know about Ashley. But if she knew he was married, why not choose an easier target?
“Yes. Very good,” he said. “You’re up on your tabloid reading, I see.”
“No, I know Ashley. She’s actually the person I met in a bar crawling with tourists. She’s the one who knocked me up.”
Renzo felt like he’d been punched in the chest. “Excuse me? None of what you’re saying makes sense.”
The little woman growled, lifting her hands and gripping her head for a moment before throwing them back down at her sides, curling her fingers into fists. “I am... I am trying. But I thought you would know who I was!”
“Why would I know who you are?” he asked, feeling at a loss.
“I just... Oh, I should never have listened to her. But I was... I am just as stupid as my dad thinks I am!” She was practically wailing now, and he had to admit, this farce was inventive even if it was damned disruptive to his day.
“Right at this moment I’m on your father’s side, cara, and I will remain so until you have offered me an explanation that falls somewhere short of being as stupid as my ex-wife getting you pregnant.”
“Ashley hired me. I was working at a bar down by the Colosseum, and she and I started talking. She was telling me about the issues in your marriage and the trouble you were having conceiving...”
The words made his gut twist. He and Ashley had never attempted to conceive. By the time they’d gotten to a place where they might discuss giving him an heir to his empire, he’d already decided that no amount of shock value made her worth it as a wife.
“I thought it was weird, her talking to me like that. But she came back the next night, and the next. We talked about how I ended up in Italy and how I had no money...” She blinked. “And then she asked me if I would consider being her surrogate.”
Pressure built in Renzo’s chest until it exploded. English deserted him entirely, a string of vulgar Italian flowing from his lips like a foul river. “I don’t believe it. This is some trick that bitch has put you up to.”
“It’s not. I promise you it isn’t. I had no idea that you didn’t know. No idea at all. It was all very... What she said... It made sense. And...and she said it would be easy. Just a quick trip to Santa Firenze, where the procedure is legal, and then I just have to...be the oven. I was supposed to get paid to make the bread, so to speak, and then...well, give it to the person I...baked it for. Someone who wanted the baby desperately enough to ask for help from a stranger.”
Panic tore through Renzo like a wild beast, savaging his chest, his throat. Making it impossible to breathe. What she was saying was impossible. It had to be. Mostly.
Ashley was...unpredictable. And God knew how that might manifest. Especially since she’d been enraged by the divorce—made simple because of their marriage in Canada, which she had felt was calculated on his part. It was, of course.
But she wouldn’t have done this. She couldn’t have. Still, he pressed.
“It made sense to you that a woman pursued surrogacy, and claimed to have a husband whom you never saw?”
“She said that it would be impossible for you to come to the clinic. She could only do it because she wore large sunglasses and a hat. She said that you were far too recognizable. She said you were very tall.” She swept her hand up and down. “You are. Obviously. You don’t blend. Not even sunglasses would disguise... You know what I mean.”
“I know nothing. It has become apparent to me over the past few minutes that I know less than I thought. That snake talked you into this. How much did she pay you?”
“Well, she hasn’t given me everything yet.”
He laughed, the sound bitter. “Is that so? I hope that final price is a high one.”
“Well, the problem is that Ashley said she doesn’t want the baby anymore. Because of the problems that you’re having.”
“Problems?” The question was incredulous. “Does she mean our divorce?”
“I...I guess.”
“So, you did some cursory research on us, and then no more?”
“I don’t have internet at the hostel,” she said flatly.
“You live in a hostel?”
“Yes,” she said, her cheeks turning a darker shade of pink. “I was just passing through. And I ran out of money. Took a job at a bar, and I’ve been here longer than I anticipated. Then I met Ashley about three months ago.”
“How far along are you?”
“Only about eight weeks. I just... Ashley decided she didn’t want the baby anymore. And I don’t want to... I don’t want to end the pregnancy. And I thought that even though she said you didn’t want to handle any of this, because it damaged your view of the whole thing... I wanted to come to you. I needed to make sure.”
“Why is that? Because you fancy that you will raise the baby if I don’t want it?”
It was her turn to laugh. There was no humor in it, only hysteria. “No! I’m not going to raise a baby. Not now. Not ever. I don’t want children. I don’t want a husband. But I was involved in this. I agreed to it. And I feel like... I don’t know. How can I not feel responsible? She became a friend to me almost. I mean, she was one of the first people in forever who talked to me, told me about her life. She made sure I knew how much she wanted this baby and...now she doesn’t. She might have changed her mind, but I can’t change my feelings about it.”
“What will you do?” he asked. “What will you do if I tell you I don’t want the baby?”
“I’ll give it up for adoption,” she said, as though it were the most obvious thing. “I was going to give birth anyway. That was part of the agreement.”
“I see.” His thoughts were racing, trying to catch up with everything that the woman in front of him—the woman whose name he still didn’t know—was saying to him. “And was Ashley planning on paying you the rest of the fee if you continued with the pregnancy?”
The woman looked down. “No.”
“So, you had to make sure that you could still collect your fee? Is that why you came to speak to me?”
“No. I came to speak to you because it seemed like the right thing to do. Because I was becoming concerned about your lack of involvement in the whole thing.”
Anger built inside him, reaching its boiling point and bubbling over. “Allow me to paint a clear picture for you of what exactly happened. My ex-wife went behind my back to hire you. I still don’t understand how this happened. I don’t understand how she was able to manipulate both you and the doctor. I don’t understand how she was able to accomplish this without my knowing. I don’t understand what her endgame was, as she is now clearly backing out. Perhaps now that she has seen she will get no money from me, and I’m not worth the effort anyway, she does not wish to be saddled with my child for the rest of her shallow existence. Or, perhaps it is simply Ashley. Who decided to do something on a whim, thinking that something of this magnitude would be a delightful surprise she would drop in my lap like the purchase of a new handbag. And much like my ex feels about handbags, she has decided she is bored of this one and moved on to the next shiny thing. Regardless of her motivation, the end result is the same. I didn’t know. I did not want this baby.”
At that, she seemed to deflate. Her shoulders shrunk inward, some of her defiant posture diminishing. “Okay.” She blinked rapidly, lifting her chin and staring him down. “If you change your mind, I’m at the hostel Americana. You can find me there. Unless I’m working at the bar across the street.” She turned on her heel and began to walk away from him, toward the front door. Then she paused. “You claim you’ve been in the dark this whole time. I just didn’t want you to have that excuse anymore.”
Then she walked out of his house. And just like his ex-wife, he determined that he would think about her no more.
* * *
It nagged at him. There was no escaping it. For three days he’d attempted to ignore and dismiss the events that had occurred earlier. He did not know the woman’s name. He didn’t even really know if she was telling the truth. Or if she was another of his ex-wife’s games.
Knowing Ashley, that was it. Just a game. A weird attempt to try to draw him back into her web. She had been far too content with the dissolution of their union. Particularly after she had been so bitter about it in the first place. She had claimed he had always known it would end this way. Which was why they had sought marriage outside the country. Divorce in Italy was far too complicated. And, he supposed, the fact that he had covered his bases in such a manner was in some ways indicative of his commitment. Or at least, his faith in the mercurial Ashley.
But then, he imagined Ashley had gotten her revenge. Surrogacy was not legal in Italy. Undoubtedly why she had sought to have the procedure done in neighboring Santa Firenze.
More the pity that his sister, Allegra, had dissolved her agreement with the prince of that country and married Renzo’s friend—Spanish duke Cristian Acosta, who would be no help to him in this situation—instead.
He should let it go. Likely the woman was lying. Even if she weren’t...what should it matter to him?
A sharp pang in the vicinity of his heart told him he clearly hadn’t had enough to drink. So, he set out to remedy that. But for some reason, grabbing a hold of the bottle of Scotch reminded him of what the stranger had said before she’d left.
She worked at a bar. She worked at a bar near the Colosseum, and if he wanted to find her he could look there.
He took the stopper out of the Scotch bottle. That would all be very well and good if he in fact wanted to find her. He did not. There was no point in searching for a woman who was—in point of fact—probably only attempting to scam money out of him.
But the possibility lingered. It lingered inside him like an acrid smell that he couldn’t shake. One that remained long after the source of the odor was removed. He couldn’t let it go because of Jillian. Because of everything that had happened with her.
He gritted his teeth, setting the bottle back down. Then, he strode toward his closet, grabbing a pair of shoes and putting them on quickly. He would get his car, he would go down to the bar, and he would confront this woman. Then, he would be able to come back home and go to bed, sleeping well, knowing with full confidence that she was a liar and that there was no baby.
He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. Perhaps he was being overly cautious. But given his history, he felt he had to be. He had lost one child, and he would not lose another one.
CHAPTER TWO (#u633deefd-4c0e-5d93-98af-310e7f0fd309)
ESTHER ABBOTT TOOK a deep breath as she cleared off the last table of her shift. Hopefully, she would have a decent amount of money in tips when she counted everything up, then, she would finally be able to rest easy. Her feet hurt. And she imagined that as early on as she was in the pregnancy, she couldn’t exactly blame it on that.
It was just the fact that she had been working for ten hours. But what other choice did she have? Renzo Valenti had sent her away. Ashley Bettencourt wanted nothing to do with her or the baby. And if Esther had any sense in her head she would probably have complied with the other woman’s wishes and pursued a termination. But she just couldn’t do it.
Apparently, she had no sense in her head. She had a lot of feelings inside her chest, though. Feelings that made all of this seem impossible, and painful, and just a bit too much.
She had come to Europe to pursue independence. To see something of the world. To try to gain perspective on life away from the iron fist of her father. That brick wall that she could no more reason with than she could break apart.
In her father’s world, a woman didn’t need an education that extended beyond homemaking. In her father’s world, a woman didn’t need to drive, not when her husband should accompany her everywhere at all times. In her father’s world a woman could have no free thought or independence. Esther had always longed for both.
And it was that longing that had gotten her into trouble. That had caused her father to kick her out of the commune. Oh, she’d had options, she supposed. To give up the “sinful” items she’d been collecting. Books, music. But she’d refused.
It had been so hard. To make that choice to leave. In many ways it had been her choice, even if it was an ultimatum. But the commune had been home, even if it had been oppressive.
A place filled with like-minded people who clung to their version of old ways and traditions they had twisted to suit them. If she had stayed any longer, her family would have married her off. Actually, they would have done it a long time ago if she hadn’t been such a problem. The kind of daughter nobody wanted their son to marry.
The kind of daughter her father eventually had to excommunicate to set an example to the others. His version of love. Which was really just control.
She huffed out a laugh. If they could see her now. Pregnant, alone, working in a den of sin and wearing a tank top that exposed a slim stretch of midriff whenever she bent over. All of those things would be deeply frowned upon.
She wasn’t sure if she approved of her situation either. But it was what it was.
Why had she ever listened to Ashley? Well, she knew why. Because she had been tempted by the money. Because she wanted to go to college. Because she wanted to extend her time in Europe, and because she found that waiting tables really was kind of awful.
There was nothing all that romantic about backpacking. About staying in grimy hostels.
It was more than that, though. Ashley had seemed so vulnerable when they’d met. And she had painted a picture of a desperate couple in a rocky place in their marriage, who needed a child to ease the pain that was slowly breaking them apart.
The child would be so loved. Ashley had been adamant about that. She had told Esther about all her plans for the baby. Esther hadn’t been loved like that. Not a day in her life.
She had wanted to be part of that. Even in just a small way.
Finding out that was a lie—the happy-family picture Ashley had painted—was the most wrenching part of it all.
She laughed and shook her head. Her father would say this was her punishment for being greedy. For being disobedient and headstrong.
Of course, he would probably also expect this would send her running back home. She wouldn’t do that. Not ever.
She looked up, looked at the view in front of her. Looked around her at the incredible clash of chaos that was Rome. How could she be regretful? It might be difficult to carry the baby to term with no help. But she would. And then after that she would make sure that the child found a suitable home.
Not one with her. But then, it wasn’t her baby, after all. It was Renzo’s. Renzo and Ashley’s. Her responsibilities did not extend beyond gestation. She felt pretty strongly about that.
The hair on the back of her neck seemed to stand on end, a rush of prickles moving down her spine. She straightened, then slowly turned. And through the crowd, across the bar that was teeming with people, tables crammed together, the dark lighting providing a sense of anonymity, he seemed to stand out like a beacon.
Tall, his dark hair combed back off his forehead, custom suit tailored perfectly to his physique. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his dark eyes searching. Renzo Valenti.
The father of this baby. The man who had so callously sent her away three days earlier. She hadn’t expected to see him again. Not when he had been so adamant about the fact that he would have nothing to do with the child. That he didn’t even believe her story.
But here he was.
A surge of hope went through her. Hope for the child. And—she had to confess internally, with no small amount of guilt—hope for her. Hope that she would be compensated for the surrogacy, as she had been promised.
She wiped her hands on her apron, stuffing a bar towel in the front pocket and striding across the room. She waved a hand, and the quick movement must have caught his attention, because just then, his gaze locked on to hers.
And everything slowed.
