Bound to the Tuscan Billionaire (15 page)

He hadn't moved. Cassandra had gone white with shock, but then her shock turned to fury and, pulling herself up in the bed, she flung at him in anger, ‘Get your court order first! Then you can have your DNA test!'

As a nurse rushed across the room to calm her, the midwife ushered him to the door. ‘Get out,' she murmured coldly.

She was right. He was a monster. He'd always known it. He was a monster who didn't deserve to love or be loved.

He stood motionless outside the door, barely aware of the concerned murmurings inside the room. He couldn't be sure whose life he was ruining—maybe all of them. He couldn't bear to overhear Cassandra making excuses for him. But now he'd said this terrible thing he had to get it over and done with. He placed a call and asked the question. The Christmas holidays had produced a backlog in the lab, but for Marco di Fivizzano, anything was possible. And, yes, the answer would be with him within hours.

They would be the longest hours of his life.

Turning up the collar of his jacket, he walked out of the building, only to find an army of paparazzi waiting for him. He pushed his way through them, hardly knowing where he was going. He wanted to be with Cassandra and the baby, but he knew that he didn't deserve to stay.

‘No comment,' he flared when the photographers chased him down the street.

‘Is it a boy?'

‘Will you make him your heir?'

‘Will you marry your gardener?'

‘What did you buy her for Christmas, Marco—or have you already given her your best?'

Normally, he would stand and fight, but he had no fight left in him, and to a chorus of cruel laughter he kept on walking. It was just past four in the afternoon and already winter dark. He walked on past his car with no idea of where he was heading. Realising they'd get no response from him, the following pack dropped away. The streets were full of last-minute shoppers carrying unwieldy packages, and while he could slip through the scrum with relative ease, the reporters with all their equipment soon got left behind. He turned his mind to practicalities. That seemed to help. He would have security put in place for Cassandra and the baby. Pulling out his phone, he made the arrangements and walked on. Store windows were ablaze with Christmas cheer, but he felt numb—until a young girl and her boyfriend danced out of a large department store and the boy flung his scarf around the girl's neck.

‘Here, take mine,' the boy insisted as they laughed happily into each other's eyes. ‘I don't want you getting cold.'

‘What about you?' the girl demanded, tightening her hold on the scarf.

The boy brought her close. ‘I don't need it. I've got my love to keep me warm.'

He couldn't believe he'd been gripped by such a cheesy display, and for a moment he couldn't understand why, but then he remembered, and tears stung his eyes as he retraced his steps back to the store. Ducking inside the brilliantly lit warmth, he bought the warmest and most colourful scarf he could find. ‘Yes. Gift-wrap it, please.' On the surface it didn't seem much, but the scarf was a vital link to him between the past and what had happened today, and some sane—or maybe it was insane—part of his brain wanted desperately for it to mean something to Cassandra. She was his life.

Cassandra was his only preoccupation as he left the store. He couldn't believe he'd walked out of that hospital ward, leaving Cassandra and her baby in the care of strangers. As he strode along he had to tell himself that she was in good hands. That fierce midwife wouldn't let anyone get past her. But leaving them still wasn't right. Dealing with the enormity of birth and the creation of life had proved him to be emotionally inadequate. Wasn't it time to do something about that? For over twenty years he had pushed the past away, but now he had the scarf and a link to the past that made sense to him. He could only hope that it would make sense to Cassandra.

It was slippery underfoot and bitterly cold. Snow was feathering down, and the wintry conditions reminded him of the night when his eight-year-old self had been thrown out into the street with his mother. He had been freezing cold, and she had stopped to take off her scarf so she could tie it around his neck. So she
had
cared for him. He tightened his hold on the package from the store, and then he remembered staring back at the house where the man who had turned out not to be his father—the man he had loved with all his heart—had turned his back on him without even saying goodbye.

Was that what he'd just done to Cassandra? The thought appalled him. Far from avoiding the past, he had invited it back and had given it a home in his cold, unfeeling heart.

He stopped walking and found himself on a bridge. Looking down at the oily water, he watched its steady progress to the sea and accepted that life moved on, and he must move with it. Tucking his hands beneath his arms for warmth, he headed back to his car.

* * *

No one stayed in hospital for long after the birth of a child unless there were complications, and Cass's experience of birth had been straightforward. Her little boy was healthy, and it seemed no time at all before Cass was in a cab on her way home with a newborn baby in her arms. Her child. Her son. Her Luca. She had given him an Italian name for the father he so closely resembled—particularly when he frowned like this—though in Luca's case it was probably wind rather than general alienation from the world and everything beautiful and gentle and remarkable in that world.

She felt so sorry for Marco—sorry that he wouldn't allow himself to feel anything, not even love for his son. Yet Marco could feel emotion. She'd seen proof of that in the delivery room when he'd cried when he'd held Luca for the first time. But Marco had very quickly retreated behind his barricades, becoming once again a cold, distant man that not even his infant son had the power to reach.

As the cab slowed outside her door, Cass wondered what Marco was doing now. He should be here to enjoy this moment. Taking their son home was such a special time. He must have been even more badly hurt than she knew to rob himself of this opportunity and then to take such trouble to hide his feelings. Even moments after holding his son in his arms, Marco had somehow managed to switch off. She felt so desperately sorry for him. Marco had no idea what he was missing, she thought as she gazed down into Luca's face. Her heart was ready to burst with love. She could only think that Marco had given his heart as a child, only to have it trampled on and destroyed for good. Maybe that was why he had never settled down, Cass reflected as she paid the fare.

‘You stay there, love. I'll help you out,' the cabbie insisted. ‘You've got someone coming to look after you for the first few days, I hope?'

‘Yes, of course,' she said quickly, seeing the cabby's concerned face. He was the type of kind-hearted man who would send his wife round to look after her if she so much as hinted that she could do with some help, and as much as she would have liked the reassurance of an experienced person to back up her scant knowledge of baby care, she was determined to do this on her own. Better to start as she meant to go on, rather than put unfair demands on other people.

But she was apprehensive, Cass accepted as the cabbie opened the front door for her. Thanking him, she said goodnight, knowing that once she stepped over the threshold she was truly on her own with her baby in the little house.

Yes, it was a tiny house, but it was tiny and snug, and she'd be fine here, and so would Luca. She gazed adoringly into his sleeping face, and silently promised her little boy all the love and care that she could give him. But whatever gloss she tried to put on her new life, her footsteps still echoed as she walked into the empty house. However cosy she'd made their tiny nest, they were still alone. She put her apprehension down to baby blues. She'd get over it, Cass told herself firmly as she carefully tucked Luca in to his Moses basket. They'd warned her in the hospital to expect a bit of a comedown. ‘It's just the hormones regulating themselves,' the midwife had told her. ‘You'll come out of it, and then you'll find that every day is a new adventure for you and your son.'

At the time she had agreed, not wanting to burst the midwife's kindly bubble, but right now alone was alone, and she had a long night ahead of her, with not much of a clue as to what to do.

Put the computer on and get some books out, do some research, prepare bottles, nappies and anything else you think you might need, and do it now, while the baby's sleeping.

She felt better now she'd got a plan. She was bone-weary and longing for her bed, but she had things to do first, and then she had plans for the future to make.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘Y
OU
'
RE
JUST
LIKE
your papa,' she murmured, leaving Luca sleeping soundly in his Moses basket upstairs as she crept downstairs to make more bottles.

And Luca would probably be every bit as demanding as his father, Cass reflected as she switched on the all the lights to make the place look cheery. She put more logs on the smouldering fire and turned up the heating. It was still dark outside and snow was falling. There were so few hours of daylight in the winter...

She backed into the shadows of the room, seeing a sleek black four-wheeler parked outside beneath a streetlamp. Did Marco have people watching her even now?

She had just turned from the window when a rap on the door made her jump. Crossing the room, she stared through the security peephole and started back.

Marco!

She hesitated. Her initial instinct was not to let him in. She couldn't face a replay of the drama in the hospital. But she loved him. How could she say no when everything inside the house was warm and cosy, and Marco was standing on her doorstep, stamping his feet, with his shoulders hunched against the driving wind and snow?

Her emotions were still in turmoil as she undid the locks and swung the door wide. ‘If this is about your DNA test—'

‘It isn't,' he assured her.

With the streetlamp behind him and his face wreathed in shadows, Marco looked more intimidating than he ever had. ‘How did you know I was home?'

‘Inside information.'

‘Your people?' She tightened her jaw.

‘Your midwife. I finally managed to convince her that I have your best interests at heart.'

‘And how did you do that?' she asked suspiciously.

‘I talked to her. Something I should maybe have tried with you.'

This admission made her soften a little. ‘I don't want any trouble, Marco.' She was still standing in his way. ‘My baby's sleeping—'

‘I'm not here to give you trouble, Cassandra. What happened in the hospital—'

‘Was unforgivable,' she said.

‘Yes,' he agreed grimly. ‘It was.'

‘So, why are you here now?'

‘To explain. I don't want to disturb you, but...'

He looked so hopeful, though she was still wary. Marco was the biological father of her child, but his appalling behaviour in the hospital had shocked her out of thinking he might change. It took a large wedge of snow, falling from the roof and landing on his shoulders, to jolt her into action. When he laughed and exclaimed, ‘Divine retribution!' she laughed too.

‘You'd better come in,' she said. ‘But let's get rid of this first.' Standing on tiptoe, she swiped the snow from one shoulder as Marco swept it from the other.

‘Ever the practical girl, Cassandra,' he said dryly, turning his dark, compelling stare on her face. The stare she had missed...the stare she had so longed to see again.

She stood back to let him into the house. ‘I'm a woman, not a girl, Marco—as I have been since the day we met.'

Cool words that she could congratulate herself for finding, but she shouldn't have touched him, because even that lightest and most innocent of touches had made her long to be in his arms again—to have him kiss her, warm her. At the end of the day it didn't matter what he did or he said, she loved him with all her heart, and she always would.

‘Why are you here?' she asked as soon as Marco had closed the door on the cold.

Why was he here? Because he couldn't stay away from her.

‘Marco?' Cassandra prompted him. ‘Let me take your jacket. Go and make yourself warm by the fire...'

His fist tightened around the envelope he was carrying, the envelope he hadn't shown her yet. It was still unopened. It contained the results of the DNA test.

‘Where's the baby?' he asked, glancing around. He was consumed by a ravening hunger to see the child he had so callously discarded in the hospital.

‘He's upstairs, sleeping. You can...'

Was she going to invite him to see the baby? He would never know. Her voice had tailed off, as if she had thought better of that suggestion after his despicable behaviour in the labour ward. ‘And you, Cassandra? How are you?' She looked ‘fine', as Cassandra would say, but was she? And shouldn't she be resting?

‘Me?' she queried with surprise. ‘I'm very well, thank you.' Her face relaxed. ‘It's early days, you know.'

He frowned. ‘Don't you have anyone to help you?'

‘Do I need anyone? I have friends who have promised to pop round, but I'm still getting used to being a mother and I'm happy with my own company for now.'

‘Shouldn't you be resting in bed?'

‘I'm not sure how much resting Luca is going to allow me. I will rest when I can.'

‘Luca?' he queried.

‘That's what I've named my son.'

A steely glint had returned to her eyes, as if she dared him to disagree, either with the name she had chosen or the fact that she had just put her stake in the ground, making it clear that she was a single parent and quite happy to go it alone without him.

‘What's that?' she demanded as he stared down at the envelope in his hand.

‘I think you know,' he said quietly.

‘The test.' She met his gaze steadily, but her eyes had turned cold. ‘You had a DNA test carried out on my son without my permission? Of course,' she murmured thoughtfully. ‘Anything is possible for Marco di Fivizzano. But that doesn't make it right, Marco. When did you get this done? Did you have someone sneak into the maternity ward to take a sample from my baby?'

‘There was nothing underhand about it,' he assured her calmly.

‘You had someone prick my baby's heel and take a sample of Luca's blood, and that's not underhand?' Her eyes were like pinpoints of fury on his face.

‘I was told that saliva does just as well.'

‘Am I supposed to be reassured by the idea of someone sticking a foreign object into my newborn baby's mouth?'

She was on fire and magnificent. If he were in a position to choose a mother for his child, who better than Cassandra?

‘Well?' she demanded, taking the tension between them to breaking point. ‘Don't you have anything to say about it?'

‘I had the midwife you trusted do it. It was all above board. She didn't like doing it, even with a court order, but for the sake of what she called a foregone conclusion she said that it was better she did it than anyone else.' Catching hold of Cassandra, he laced his fingers through her hair to bring her close. ‘Forgive me?'

With a disbelieving laugh she pulled away. ‘No. I won't forgive you.' She stared at him white-faced. ‘Well? Aren't you going to open it?' She glanced at the envelope in his hand.

Slowly and deliberately he ripped it up in front of her and let the pieces drop.

‘I don't need to look at it. I trust you, and I know our son,' he said.

As they stared at each other, a multitude of emotions flashed across her face, and then after what seemed to him like an eternity she said, ‘Are you going to clear that up?'

Breath rushed out of him as the tension in the room subsided. His shoulders relaxed and his face creased in a grin. He wanted to drag her close, but he dropped to his knees instead and thought himself the luckiest man on earth as he gathered up the unnecessary proof that the child sleeping upstairs was his. He didn't need a piece of paper to tell him what he already knew. He had known the moment the midwife had put the baby in his arms. He just hadn't wanted to admit it—not to himself, not to Cass—and not because he didn't want the child but because he so desperately did. And for the first time in his life he had wondered then, as he wondered now, if he had what it took to be a father—and not just a father but a good father. The best. Though remembering what Cass had said about babies not coming with a manual, he thought he could learn to do this...they could learn together.

* * *

By the time she came downstairs after feeding Luca and putting him back to sleep, Marco had got the fire blazing.

‘Sit,' she invited. ‘Thanks for stoking the fire.'

‘You want to talk,' he guessed.

‘Yes, I do.' Sitting down with some space between them, she turned a concerned look on Marco's face. ‘I believe childhood forms the foundation of our lives—makes us who we are.'

‘Childhood certainly teaches us what we don't want,' he said.

‘And what we do,' she countered gently.

‘We strive for some things, and do our best to avoid others,' he said with a shrug.

‘Is it that simple, Marco? It wasn't that simple for me. I look back and I see my parents differently now I'm older. But my past is well documented, while yours is equally well hidden.'

‘And you want to know why?'

‘You're the father of my son. It would be strange if I didn't, if only so I can understand you better.'

At one time she might have been surprised to see Marco's eyes darken with emotion, but not now. The birth of their baby had changed him in some deep fundamental way, unlocking some hidden part of him. ‘Tell me about your mother. Can you remember her?'

‘Of course I can.' He frowned as he thought back. ‘As you said, I see things differently now, but as a child I felt burdened by her. Now I can see that she did care for me in her way, but she was weak.'

‘You mustn't blame yourself for how you felt about her as a child. You've resolved that as an adult.'

‘Have I? I used to blame her for everything—for taking me away from the man I thought was my father, and for not staying with the man who was my father by blood. I later learned that my real father had abandoned her, and the man she married had no interest in a bastard son once he found out the truth about my parentage. I thought my mother was a drunken slut who had slept with another man and who then tried to pass me off as the true son of her marriage. I refused to see that her descent into alcoholic rages and her dependency on drugs was a result of her sickness, and that she needed help, not blame— certainly not blame from her son.'

‘And when she died?' Cass prompted gently.

‘I was scavenging in bins outside restaurants for our food by that time, and it was a chef who took pity on me. He brought me into the warmth of his kitchen, cleaned me up and taught me how to cook. When I was orphaned he introduced me to the local priest who found me a place in a children's home and made sure I was educated. Education and a safe roof over my head proved to be the key to everything I am today. And in answer to your question, I don't have anything noble to offer by way of an explanation. I hated my mother for what she had done.'

‘What happened to change your mind?'

He paused a moment and then he huffed an unsmiling laugh. ‘A scarf,' he revealed with an incredulous shrug. ‘It was when I was walking away from the hospital after you had given birth that I remembered the weather was very similar to the night my mother and I were thrown out on the street. I remembered shivering, and my mother taking off her scarf to tie it around my neck. So she did care for me...'

‘Of course she did.' Reaching out impulsively, Cass put her arms around Marco to draw him close. ‘Her life must have been a black pit of misery and she had no one to help her climb out.'

Marco lifted his dark stare to hers. ‘It took the birth of a baby for me to remember what my mother did for me that night, and then I remembered all the other little things she'd done before she became too sick to do anything.'

‘But you have remembered,' Cass pointed out. ‘Learning to love again is a slow, risky business Marco.'

‘As you should know,' he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. ‘I wish you'd rest,' he murmured. ‘You'll need all your strength to look after our son.'

Hearing Marco refer to
our
son sounded so good, but she needed more from him before she could be sure that he had put the past behind him. ‘And you, Marco? What about you?'

‘What about me?'

He would never admit to any weakness, she knew that. ‘I've always believed that admitting weakness is a sign of strength. You've helped me to understand you. And you're doing everything you can to help me and our son, which tells me that you
are
reconciled with the past, but you haven't recognised that fact yet.'

‘I can't just turn on a switch and make everything right.'

‘But you can take one step at a time—as you have already done, and as you are doing, but now I need a commitment from you, going forward, or you will have to leave.'

She paused to give that time to sink in.

‘You're throwing me out?' he demanded incredulously.

‘To a stranger this might look like the traditional family scene, with all of us snug in our tiny house, but that's all it is, Marco—a scene, and I need more from you than that. We need a plan. Luca needs security, and so do I. And before I make any plan I have to know if we're going forward together or separately as individuals. We've talked about the past, and now we have to talk about the future.'

‘What do you want me to say?'

She felt a cold chill of fear, knowing that Marco had always been able to go so far but no further, and she couldn't risk him slipping back into his cold-hearted past now they had Luca to consider. ‘You're not the only one risking your heart here. I am too, but more importantly so is our son. And if you're serious about not wanting history to repeat itself, you need to think about your place in Luca's life, because I won't allow you to step in and out of it on a whim.'

She felt desperately sorry for Marco after what he'd told her, but she had a child to think about now. ‘Luca's birth has changed you, but I need to be sure of you, Marco. Luca needs to be sure of you.'