The Italian's Unwilling Wife

‘You can’t stay here!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because…I don’t want you here.’

He stepped past her and into the house. ‘Tough.’

The door slammed closed behind him.

CHAPTER THREE

FOR one horrible moment she thought he was going to turn the key in the lock, leaving her stranded outside in the dark in her dressing gown. But to her relief the door opened easily as she turned the handle.

With a mixture of trepidation and fury, she glanced around. His bag was at the base of the stairs and she could hear him opening and closing cupboard doors in the kitchen.

She followed the sounds and watched from the doorway as he found a bottle of vodka and poured himself a drink. ‘What are you playing at?’

‘I think I just told you.’ He lifted the glass in a mocking salute.

With difficulty she reined in her temper. This situation was not going to be resolved by losing her cool.

‘Damon, you can’t stay here. It’s not appropriate.’

He laughed at that. ‘As if you’d know anything about appropriate behaviour! I have to say, all those years mixing with the aristocracy at those English boarding schools weren’t wasted, were they? You’ve certainly learnt the art of pretending to be genteel.’

With difficulty she ignored the insult. ‘This isn’t solving anything. Why don’t you go and check into a hotel for tonight and then come back tomorrow? We can talk properly when we have both calmed down and are thinking rationally.’

‘I am calm.’ He took a sip of his drink and regarded her levelly over the rim of the crystal glass. ‘And I’m thinking very rationally. It’s one in the morning, there’s a storm coming in, and I have no intention of going to a hotel now—especially as I own a perfectly good house here.’

‘Damon this is ridiculous!’ Her voice rose in panic. ‘You are not being at all reasonable.’

One dark eyebrow rose. ‘Really? I think given the circumstances I’m being extremely reasonable. Let’s look at the facts, shall we? You don’t actually own this property. In fact, you are heavily in debt and behind with rent—’

‘I am no such thing!’

‘Plus you’ve hidden my child away from me, depriving me of precious time with him,’ Damon continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I don’t think any court is going to look too kindly on you at all. In fact, I think you will be the one who is judged unreasonable.’

‘You’re twisting the facts!’ She pushed a distraught hand through her blonde hair. ‘I didn’t know I was pregnant until after you’d gone. I didn’t hide anything. And will you stop pretending that you give a damn about having a child? We both know that you would still have walked away from him even if I’d told you I was pregnant.’

‘Do we?’ Damon’s voice grated with sarcasm. ‘You don’t know the first thing about what I would have done, because you don’t really know the first thing about me.’

‘I know that you are a playboy who likes to roam the pleasure fields.’

‘Certainly.’ He inclined his head. ‘And I never planned on having children of my own. But you’ve changed that.’

Damon looked at her pointedly. ‘Enlighten me, Abbie. What were you planning on telling my son when he gets older? That his father is dead? Or that his father didn’t want to know him?’

Abbie hesitated. ‘I wouldn’t have lied to him. I’d have handled it.’

‘Believe me, no matter how you handled it, it still wouldn’t have been right.’ Damon’s voice was heavy. He remembered all too well what it was like growing up without a parent. His mother had walked out of the family home when he was eight. It was so easy to screw up a child’s life. Maybe that was why he had avoided settling down and having children. The responsibility was awesome, and he believed implacably that a child deserved two parents and a stable home.

‘You had no right to keep Mario a secret from me.’ Damon’s eyes burnt into hers. ‘Any court will tell you that.’

‘He wasn’t a secret. And will you stop talking about courts and judgements!’

He shrugged and took another sip of his drink. ‘Courts and judgements are very much the reality; you better get used to it.’

‘Why are you being like this?’ The question sprang from her lips with anguish.

‘Like what?’

‘So…brutal…as if you want to punish me.’

He looked at her then, and gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘Why do you think?’

The sardonic question tore at her. ‘My father was right—this is all about revenge, isn’t it?’ She made herself say the words, her voice trembling with emotion.

He took another sip of his drink, and then threw the remaining contents of the glass down the sink.

‘You’re angry about what my father did, and I understand that.’ Abbie tried very hard to remain calm. ‘And I’m sorry for my part in it. But as I tried to explain long ago, it wasn’t my fault I—’

‘Of course not. But then shallow, spoilt socialites like you don’t believe in taking responsibility for your actions, do you? You think you can do what you want, and sorry is just a word.’ His voice grated with sarcasm. ‘But let me assure you that angry is a bit of an understatement for how I’m feeling right now.’

Abbie glared at him furiously. ‘I am none of the things you have accused me of being.’

‘And Father Christmas really does slide down chimneys on Christmas Eve.’

The scorn in his voice made Abbie’s temper soar. But, as much as she would have loved him to know the truth about the past, she knew she could never tell him about her mother now. She had tried to explain her actions to him at their last meeting. She had braved the contempt in his eyes, and had haltingly started to open up to him, only to have him laugh scornfully in her face and cut her off. She couldn’t go through that again. The pain of trying to tell him something so raw, so deeply personal, was beyond endurance. And why should she put herself through that when it was clear his opinion of her hadn’t changed? He thought she was a liar, and he wouldn’t listen to any explanation—wouldn’t believe her, anyway. It all hurt far too much.

Some things were best left in the past, she told herself firmly. What mattered now was her child’s welfare.

That fact made her swallow her fury and keep her cool. ‘So you want to punish me,’ she forced herself to continue. ‘I can handle that. But going to a court to get access to a child you don’t want—that isn’t going to make this right. Please don’t take this out on Mario.’

‘How do you know I don’t want him? You’re making sweeping assumptions.’ Damon’s voice was cool. ‘What did you think was going to happen when your father told me I had a child? Did you think I’d just throw money at you and disappear? If that’s what you want, then you are dreaming. Because, believe it or not, I’m thinking about what is best for my son now. Something you seem incapable of.’

‘I have always put my son first,’ Abbie told him fiercely. ‘And I don’t want anything from you.’

He fixed her with a look that told her in no uncertain terms that he didn’t believe her.

She swept an unsteady hand through her hair. Obviously he was never going to believe that she was anything other than a scheming witch. ‘So what are you going to do?’ she asked quietly. ‘What do you consider best for Mario?’

Damon didn’t answer her immediately. He appeared to be thinking about his options. Abbie could feel her nerves twisting and stretching. Was he deliberately trying to torment her? Was this part of his revenge? Maybe she should be flinging herself on his mercy instead of being confrontational.

But on the other hand maybe that was what he wanted. Her father used to enjoy controlling her through fear. When she’d tried to rebel, he’d reminded her of what he could do, and she would be yanked quickly back into line.

The memory made her angle her chin up defiantly to meet Damon’s cool gaze. She had sworn that no one would ever have that power over her again. ‘If you go for custody, I’ll fight you every step of the way.’

‘That’s your prerogative.’ He shook his head. ‘I admire your spirit—but of course I will break it.’