Bound to the Tuscan Billionaire (12 page)

She decided to stay up until he came home, and try, for Marco's sake, to coax him into telling her more.

CHAPTER TWELVE

H
E
ARRIVED
BACK
at the penthouse after midnight, having stayed out deliberately in an attempt to analyse his feelings. Cassandra would be asleep when he got back. He didn't want to talk to her, brain-weary after work, having felt the baby kick back at him. It had shaken him too much for that. Feeling that little life beneath his hands had made it all too real. In a few months' time Cassandra would be a mother, and he...

He couldn't be sure of anything yet. Denied the certainty of parenthood, he was condemned to wait in limbo. And he wasn't sure he wanted to be a father, much less sure that he was equal to the task. He didn't have time for a child. He wasn't programmed to enjoy a traditional family life. What sort of example could he draw on? And what made him think he could do any better than the man who had disowned him, or the blood father who had never wanted to know him in the first place? He wasn't such an egotist that he imagined he'd got everything covered, including parenthood. And he couldn't treat Cassandra as if she were just another business deal to be dealt with and then a line drawn under her. He needed more time.

‘Marco?'

‘You're still up?'

‘I waited up for you.'

She was propped up on the bed, where she had been dozing with her head on a cushion. She looked very young, very pregnant and very vulnerable. He crossed the room and dropped a kiss on her cheek. ‘You should have gone to sleep,
carissima
.'

‘I couldn't sleep. I had to talk to you.'

‘What about?' He frowned and straightened up.

‘Your past,' she said frankly. ‘I want to understand you, and I can't do that unless you open up.'

Standing up, he put distance between them. All the warmth that had been so briefly between them had evaporated, as far as he was concerned. No one intruded into his past.

‘The baby,' she said quietly. ‘Our child gives me the right to know more about you.' She paused when he huffed. ‘If you'd explain why feelings frighten you—'

He spun around on his heel to pierce her with a stare. ‘I have no fear.'

‘Believe me Marco, I understand—'

‘You understand nothing.'

She remained silent for a moment and then, completely undaunted by his harsh tone, she said, ‘Tell me about your father.'

‘Which one?' he flashed, incapable of caring if he hurt her now. She had found his wound and had twisted a knife in it.

The expression on his face must have frightened her, as she pressed back on her seat, but he couldn't stop now. ‘The man I called father disowned me, along with my mother. He threw us both out on the street when he discovered that I wasn't his child. He did that on Christmas Eve,' he added bitterly.

Cassandra had turned ashen and looked horrified.

He should have known she wouldn't leave it there.

‘And your mother?' she pressed. ‘What happened to her?'

The look he gave her would have warned anyone else to back off, but not Cassandra.

‘You mother, Marco,' she pressed him again.

‘She died when I was a boy,' he said quickly, wanting to gloss over it. His mother's death in poverty and squalor was something he preferred not to dwell on. He could never think back without feeling guilty, as if an eight-year-old boy could have somehow saved the situation.

‘And you?' Cassandra queried. ‘What happened to you when your mother died?'

His lips felt wooden as he thought back. ‘I went to live in an orphanage.'

She was silent and then she said, ‘What about your real father?'

He laughed bitterly. ‘My
real
father? He had no interest in me. When the money tree shrivelled and died, he was gone.'

Cass was shocked into silence. What Marco had told her made her heart ache for a small child who had grown up thinking that he could never hold onto love. But she knew there was more, and even a tiny seed of bitter memory could grow if she didn't root it out.

‘Why did the man you called father disown you? Didn't he love you?'

‘Who knows?' Marco's keen stare grew unfocused as he stared blindly into the middle distance. ‘Maybe he did love me at one time. I thought he did, but once he knew the truth of my parentage he changed towards me. The child went with the mother, he said, and that's all I know. That was how he insisted it must be. Paolo told me that he never forgave himself, that he was a changed man after that, and that it was the shock of my mother's adultery that had unbalanced him that night—that and the way she had tried all those years to pass me off as his child. He regretted what he'd done to the day he died, Paolo said, but he was too proud to go back on his word.'

‘Oh, Marco.' There were no words to console him; only love over a long period of time could do that, and now they had to talk about the future, and Marco's child with her.

For the first time she put her hands flat against his chest when he tried to sweep her into his arms. ‘No, Marco. We have to talk.'

‘Talk?' He frowned. ‘What about?'

‘About the future, of course.'

‘What future,
cara
?'

His words cut her to the heart, but she carried on. ‘I can't stay in Rome for ever.'

‘For another three months?' Marco shrugged. ‘I thought you were happy.'

‘I am happy, and I love my job at the embassy, but I have to look forward to when the baby's born.'

Marco's lips pressed down as he shook his head, as if he couldn't understand her concern. ‘You've got nothing to worry about,' he said as he shrugged out of his shirt. ‘Not tonight, at least,' he insisted when she shifted position fretfully on the bed. ‘You're tired. I'm tired—'

‘But we can't just let things continue,' she said. Sitting up, she searched his eyes for some flicker of reaction to this, but all she could see was heat.

‘Why can't we?' Marco demanded, smiling darkly as he move to drop kisses on her lips. ‘Everything's perfect, Cassandra.'

‘Perfect?' she said.

‘Sleep now,' he soothed. ‘I'm going to take a shower and then I'll join you in bed.'

He closed the bathroom door with relief. He didn't want this conversation about the future until the baby was born and he could be sure he was the father. Talking about the past had brought everything back to him, and he would never subject a child to the experience he'd had. Yes, he had brought Cass to Rome to keep an eye on what might well turn out to be his unborn heir. He would claim the child if it was his, and he would provide for it financially. But emotionally? That was a step too far for him.

He came back after his shower to find Cassandra still propped up on the pillows, still waiting to talk to him. He might have known she wouldn't give up, but while he admired her perseverance, his answer hadn't changed.

‘After what you told me tonight, Marco, I know how hard this must be for you.'

‘You don't know anything,' he said, tossing his towel on a chair.

He hadn't meant to shout at her, but the past was his alone to deal with. It was a wound he showed no one, and he'd been careless tonight.

He felt guiltier than ever as Cassandra, pregnancy-heavy and clumsy, struggled off the bed. ‘No,' she said, shaking her head at him. ‘You can't avoid the past, Marco. It's made us both what we are, and you and I have to face up to that. I can't even imagine how terrible it must have been for you to be thrown out by the man you thought was your father. To be rejected like that on top of everything else must have been terrible for you, but if you keep on pushing people away because you're worried they might do the same to you you'll barely live...you'll only exist. You'll never know the pleasure of true friendship, let alone love. We're in this together, Marco, whether you like it or not.' She drew his glance down as she cradled her stomach. ‘This is your baby as much as mine, and I have to know what I'm getting into—what the future holds for all three of us. This isn't all about you,' she said angrily, when he shook his head and turned away.

‘I never thought it was all about me,' he said as he turned back to face her. ‘I just can't see how my past affects you, or any of this—'

‘Then you're blind,' she flashed. ‘This is a baby, Marco, a precious life, so don't you ever refer to our child again in such a dismissive way. Your past has
everything
to do with the way you're reacting. Your past is the reason you can't trust me—it's the reason you keep backing away from believing that I'm carrying your child. You're horrified by the prospect of a rerun of your own childhood. Even when the child is proved to be yours, you're still going to wonder if you can be any better than the man you called father—the man who deserted you, and your blood father who never cared about you.

‘Well, here's some news for you—I don't know what kind of mother I'm going to be. I didn't exactly have the best of starts, but unlike you I'm not running away from my feelings. I'm going to do the best I can for my child—and if that's not up to your high standards, tough! If it's not good enough for my child, I'll up my game—and I won't stop upping my game until I get it right.'

‘You don't understand—'

‘Oh, yes I do,' she argued firmly. ‘I know you care. I know that, however hard you try to hide it, you care for me, and for our baby, and I know you'll do anything you can to protect our child from the type of rejection that you experienced. I know you're a good man—'

‘Don't make me out to be some sort of saint, because I'm not. Even if the baby is mine, I don't have the capacity to love a child.'

‘The capacity?' she queried incredulously. ‘This is the first time I've ever heard of love having limits, or a heart having boundaries. Your heart will expand to include the new baby, and your love will grow.'

Angry and frustrated at a situation he had no control over, he thumped his chest. ‘How can I do any of those things when I feel nothing?' Cassandra had asked him for reassurance he was unable to give her.

‘I do know this,' she insisted fiercely. ‘We can't go on as we are.'

‘Why? What's so bad about it?' he demanded. ‘You've got a great job that you love, and you live in one of the most beautiful apartments in Rome—'

‘My prison cell, with a man who feels nothing?'

Her sad laugh chilled him. He was suddenly conscious of how close he'd come to destroying the vigorous, spirited girl.

‘My life here isn't real,' she said in a quiet voice that disturbed him more than Cassandra's anger ever could. ‘It's play-acting.'

‘It seems real to me.'

‘That's because nothing's changed for you, Marco.'

He forced out a short laugh, but Cassandra had distanced herself from emotion and was calmly evaluating things as she saw them. ‘Yes, I live here in your fabulous penthouse, and I challenge you with difficult questions you don't want to answer, but we're not close—not really. It takes two people to be close, Marco, and I am more of a convenience for you than anything else. You have sex on tap,' she explained with a small grimace.

‘I haven't noticed you complaining. What's your point, Cassandra?'

‘That I'm in a holding pattern here until the baby's born.'

‘Like every other woman who's expecting a baby,' he pointed out.

‘Every other pregnant woman can make plans for when her baby's born, but I can't,' she explained. ‘This isn't real life and I'm not living in a real home. I'm living in someone else's home—your home, your penthouse, which is more like a luxury hotel.' She glanced around. ‘You keep nothing personal here. There's no clutter, no mess. What happens when I bring the baby home? Where will you hold your grand receptions then?'

‘That should be the least of your worries.'

She wasn't listening. ‘Or will I come back here at all?' she said frowning. ‘Where
will
I go when I've had the baby?' Her troubled gaze met his. ‘What's going to happen, Marco? If I don't take control I'll never know. We haven't even talked about it. You've just blanked out the future, as if it will never come.'

‘Stop,' he murmured, drawing her into his arms. ‘You're upsetting yourself and the baby...'

‘Yes. You're right,' she agreed, moving out of his embrace. ‘I should rest—for the baby, not for you.'

* * *

Swinging out of bed the next morning, Cass threw back the curtains on another glorious Roman day...the day when she finally came to her senses. However much she wanted to be with Marco, it was time to face the truth: their affair was going nowhere. The light bulb hadn't just gone on in her head, it had dazzled her. There was no more time left to waste on daydreams. She had to make firm plans. If Marco didn't want to be part of them, so be it. If she wanted change, she had to change things. If Marco wouldn't make time to talk to her about the future when they were together at the penthouse, then she would just have to chase him down and make him have that face-to-face talk.

Picking up the phone, she called him at the office. Predictably, he was in a meeting. She left a message, asking for him to call her back, but when she heard nothing in the next hour she firmed up her plans to make her next move.

It wasn't easy to make this decision. She had never pretended to be the bravest person on earth, but Marco had to listen to her.

Dressing discreetly, she called Paolo to ask him for a lift to Marco's office. She wasn't setting out to deliberately embarrass Marco in front of his staff, but as their affair was hardly a secret, her appearance surely wouldn't cause much of a stir.

She lost a little bit of her confidence when the car drew up and she gazed at Marco's gleaming white office building. Her mouth dried when she saw the discreet sign for Fivizzano Industries. It didn't have to be a big sign when Marco's impressive building took up half the block.