Happy Mother’s Day!: Accidentally Pregnant, Conveniently Wed / Claiming His Pregnant Wife / Meant-To-Be Mother

But he didn’t sit down, he just drank off half a glass of wine with a speed he’d never used before and stood staring down at her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’ he demanded.

Why, indeed? Because she was frightened of his reaction? And hadn’t she been right to be—judging by the thunderous look on his face? ‘There never seemed to be a right time,’ she said.

‘So you wait until now—when it is almost over,’ he said bitterly.

She looked at him. ‘Over? It hasn’t even begun, Gianluca.’

‘Madre di Dio!’ he exclaimed, in a strangled voice as the monumental significance of what had happened really hit home and he half wanted to turn his back and to walk away from her—to erase her and this unplanned baby from his life. Yet there was part of him which wanted to go over to her, to take away her hand and to lie his own over her belly—perhaps to feel the infant kick beneath him.

He took another swallow of his wine and looked away. He must keep focussed and deal with the facts, he reminded himself. Then, and only then, would he be able to decide what action to take.

‘You planned this?’ The accusation cracked out like a pistol shot.

‘Planned it?’ Aisling looked up at him in confusion and then realised what he meant. ‘You think … you think I got pregnant on purpose?’

‘Did you?’

She balled her hands into two tiny fists, wanting to scream and shout and flail, but recognised that all these were indulgences she could ill afford—and especially not at a time like this. This was Gianluca she was dealing with. Il Tigre at his most calculated even though his bitter words were coated in anger. She needed to keep all her wits about her—because if there was one thing she could count on, it was that Gianluca was going to be keeping his.

‘No. I didn’t get pregnant on purpose. Why would I do something like that?’

He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Oh, come on! Use your imagination, cara. I happen to know you have a very good one. Any woman having a child of mine would be set up for life!’

Even in the midst of her disquiet such an audacious piece of chauvinism made her blink. ‘That’s rather an extreme method of guaranteeing financial security, isn’t it?’ she questioned drily.

She saw his eyes narrow in surprise and suddenly knew that this was the way to go. She needed to stand up to him. She must not go to pieces. Because he was a powerful man—he exuded influence and authority from every fibre. She could feel it radiating from his spectacular body as he stood there, darkly intimidating—an interloper in her home. And yet she carried that interloper’s child inside her. Biologically, at least, she was tied to this man for life.

‘Well, you needn’t worry on that account, Gianluca—I’m not asking you for anything.’

‘Then why did you bother telling me?’ he flashed out.

‘Because—strange as it may seem—I felt that, as the father, you had a right to know.’ Aisling put her empty glass down with a thud. ‘But now I’ve done the right thing, you can forget all about it. I can see from your face that this is unwanted—so why don’t you just go away and leave me alone?’

‘Go away?’ he echoed in disbelief. ‘Are you out of your mind, cara mia? Is that really what you imagine I would do?’

Suddenly she didn’t know. Tiredly, she shook her head—hating the heavy weight of her hair and thinking that if she had a nearby pair of scissors she would lop the whole lot off.

‘Didn’t you think through what the repercussions of telling me might be?’ he persisted.

It was a horrible word and she stared at him, hoping that she hid her alarm. ‘What do you mean—repercussions?’

‘You carry my child!’ he breathed fiercely. ‘You cannot deny me that child—and, what is more, I will not let you!’

For a moment Aisling stared at him in horror, the look of intent on his dark face so threatening that he looked almost capable of carrying her away with him. Why the hell had she told him? The pain in her back now seemed to be gaining momentum, spreading round to spear at her abdomen, but she choked back the little cry of pain which was gathering at the back of her throat.

‘Look, Gianluca, this was never meant to happen,’ she said desperately.

‘You mean you wish it hadn’t?’ he demanded.

Afterwards Aisling would wish that she had thought more carefully about answering that particular question, but her head was swimming and another sharp twist of pain was piercing at her middle and she just wanted everything to be as it was before. No discord. Just that fluffy pink cloud which had stopped her thinking about an unthinkable future. One which involved a baby.

‘Do you, Aisling? You wish it hadn’t happened?’

‘Of course I do!’ she burst out, in the grip of some terrible hormonal rush. All those old childhood insecurities came rushing back in a terrifying dark wave which was threatening to swamp her. ‘Don’t you think this threatens everything I stand for, everything I’ve worked for?’

There was a deadly silence and when he looked at her the expression in his eyes had changed. Even their colour looked different. Suddenly black seemed like the coldest colour in the world.

‘Then there’s no problem. We won’t let it affect you,’ he said icily.

Aisling’s nails dug into the palm of her hand. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘None of this need affect anything,’ he chipped out. ‘You can keep your precious job and everything which goes with it—and I will keep the baby. A perfect solution to an unwanted pregnancy.’

All she could see was the narrowed jet eyes, the lips curled with cruel intent—like a tiger about to attack. She might have protested—answered him back—but by then his words seemed as inconsequential as whether or not it remained sunny outside. Because now there was no world outside—it was all in here. Here and now. The pain was twisting sharper—as if someone were turning a meat skewer inside her—and she gasped and tumbled forward, the weight of the baby seeming to make her topple, like a giant clown.

She saw Gianluca start and then it was as if everything were happening in slow motion—so that while she sensed he was rushing to her side, he seemed to be moving through water. But maybe that was because all the external things seemed blurred—put out of focus by the intensity of what was happening inside her.

He caught her in his arms before she fell—the warm and unfamiliarly heavy weight of her—and he carried her over to a sofa and laid her down on it, his eyes scanning over her, fearful of what he might see.

‘What is it, Aisling? What is happening? Tell me. Tell me!’

She had no idea, and yet she knew—as women must have known since they’d lived in caves.

‘I’m having a … baby!’ she gasped. ‘Just call me an ambulance, will you?’

‘There’s no need for an ambulance,’ he grated as he bent down and scooped her up into his arms. ‘My car’s outside.’

‘I’m booked in at the local hospital down the road,’ she gasped.

‘Not any more you’re not—I’ll get you into the best clinic in London,’ he snapped.

Even through her pain, Aisling felt a wave of indignation. ‘It’s a fantastic hospital,’ she gritted out. ‘And I’m going there. Besides, there’s no time for messing around.’

He raked his eyes over her and recognised that she spoke the truth. ‘Where are your keys?’

‘On the hook,’ she gasped as he plucked them off and pocketed them and proceeded to carry her towards the car. Her face was pressed against his chest, the scent of him invading her—as if one invasion of her wasn’t enough. Moving her head away, she half-heartedly tried to pummel against him, but his chest was as solid as a brick wall. ‘Put me down!’

‘Save your energy, Aisling,’ he urged, his face and his voice becoming suddenly serious. ‘I demand that you conserve your strength—because you are going to need it!’

To the chauffeur’s credit he said nothing when Gianluca emerged from the villa with a heavily pregnant woman in his arms—just leapt out of the driver’s seat and pulled the door open.

Gianluca settled Aisling in the back seat and gave the driver the address. ‘Drive!'he commanded. ‘Quickly—but lievemente—gently.’ He saw the man shoot them an anxious glance and who could blame him? Because Aisling was now moaning every few minutes, her face tightening with tension as she gripped onto him.

‘Is it the contraction?’ he demanded.

‘Of course it’s the wretched contraction!’ she half sobbed. ‘What else do you think it is?’

‘Do you want me to call anyone for you?’ He realised how little he knew about her—this woman who carried his child. ‘Your mother?’