Escape for Easter: The Brunelli Baby Bargain / The Italian Boss's Secret Child / The Midwife's Miracle Baby

‘It’s not too late,’ she told her pale reflection. But it was and she knew she was committed. This was the best thing for the baby. The best thing for her wasn’t going to happen—it couldn’t. Cesare didn’t love her.

The discovery that she loved him had not come to her in a blinding flash.

She wasn’t even sure at what point during the last week she had actually realised the truth.

When he had slid the big sapphire on her finger and she had had to turn away to hide the rush of hot emotional tears?

When she had come across the snapshot of him clinging to a vertical rock wall above a dizzying drop and realised that it was only one of the things that had been snatched from him? That he faced every day with a bravery and lack of self-pity that filled her with admiration?

She thought of the day she had walked into a room an hour before he was flying off to Rome and he had been sitting at a desk staring into space, looking so remote as he’d turned his head in her direction that a shiver of apprehension had chased its way down her spine.

What did you expect? the voice in her head had asked. The man doesn’t love you, he isn’t going to tell you he’s counting the minutes until he sees you again. He isn’t going to say he will feel lonely when you’re not there… But she would. Had it been then that she’d realised her love for him?

It was all of those times and none of them because she knew that deep down it was something she had always known but had denied to herself. She was in love. Cesare Brunelli, brave, stubborn, and totally impossible, was the love of her life.

Today should have been the happiest of her life but instead as the car arrived at her destination all she felt was a profound sadness. The sadness that hung about her like a dark cloud had nothing to do with the fact there were no guests—it had been Sam’s decision not to tell her family or friends.

Her misery arose, not from the absence of guests or an elaborate wedding, but because of the absence of the one thing her heart craved—to have her love returned. But it just wasn’t going to happen.

Cesare didn’t love her. He would care for her and he would, she believed, respect the vows he made because she had learnt that, unlike the person portrayed in the tabloids, he was actually a deeply honourable man. But she would never have that place in his heart she so longed for.

Was she greedy, Sam wondered, to want it so badly when she had so much?

And what would happen if one day he met someone he did love the way he had loved Candice? Did he still love the beautiful blonde? Sam couldn’t stop torturing herself with the thoughts that he might have been thinking of the other woman when they made love.

The thoughts, when they intruded, made her feel sick to her stomach and they had spoilt more than one perfect moment for her, and Cesare, with his uncanny perception, always seemed to pick up on her unease.

When he asked her what was wrong, she never told him, of course. She said nothing, but he knew she was lying and the lie lay like a wall between them. It dissolved when their passions flared and ignited, but later when they cooled it was still there.

Sam knew that if this marriage was going to stand any chance of working she had to overcome her insecurities and accept that Cesare could not give her what she wanted—what he did give her was more than most women ever had.

She would make it work, she said to herself as she lifted her skirts and left the car.

Tim, looking nervous as though he were the groom, was waiting for her in the foyer of the old town hall building.

‘You look beautiful,’ he gasped, his eyes widening in shock when he saw Sam.

Sam touched the white skirt of her oyster satin gown with a self-conscious hand. ‘You don’t think it’s a bit over the top?’

Sam’s original intention had been to wear the suit she had worn for her brother’s wedding. It had after all cost a small fortune and only been worn once.

It was not a suggestion that had found favour with Cesare, who, ignoring her protest that she hated posh shops, had rung ahead to some exclusive store and arranged for it to open out of hours for her to choose something suitably fitting for the bride of a billionaire.

She had not entered the place with any intention of purchasing anything approaching a traditional wedding gown. A suit or something simple had been her vague instruction to the helpful assistant—people became very helpful when unlimited funds were involved, Sam had realised cynically.

Maybe she hadn’t been very specific because the first thing they had produced had been a dress, the one she was now wearing.

It was the simplicity that had immediately attracted her. Cut in simple strapless sheath design, the shimmering fabric kicked out slightly at the calf-length hem, but hugged her waist and hips.

She had been a little unsure about baring her shoulders and revealing so much cleavage—the boned bodice had an uplifting quality, but the staff had reassured her it was perfect.

Of course, the way they had raved might have had something to do with the cost—this was not the sort of store that had anything as tasteless as price tags—but, seeing her reflection in the mirror-lined cubicle, Sam had had to admit she didn’t look too bad.

Once she had said yes to the dress the entire thing had snowballed into some sort of mad retail-therapy frenzy! An hour later a stunned Sam had ended up being escorted back to the chauffeur-driven limo the proud owner of some sinfully sexy decadent underclothes, shoes, and most extravagantly a simply gorgeous antique Brussels lace veil.

‘This is a wedding—you can’t be too over the top,’ Tim said as he watched the sparkle fade from her violet eyes. She looked so sad that, even though he wasn’t a man into tactile displays, he wanted to hug her.

‘It’s not that sort of wedding.’ Sam bit her lip as she heard her carefully neutral tone ruined by the emotional vibrato quiver in her response.

Tim’s eyes fell from her direct gaze, but he did not directly respond to her comment or, to her relief, lie. Instead he surprised her by producing a posy from behind his back like a conjuror.

‘I hope you don’t mind? It is a wedding and you should have flowers.’ Tim pressed the posy of violets into Sam’s hands, adding gruffly. ‘The colour reminded me of your eyes.’

Sam was incredibly touched by the unexpected gesture. She lifted the posy to her face and inhaled. ‘Thank you, you’re very kind.’

‘You can’t have a wedding without flowers. I know—I offered to pay for the flowers for my sister’s wedding.’ He let out a silent whistle. ‘I had no idea at the time how much they could cost in a real wedding.’ He stopped and looked embarrassed. ‘Not that this isn’t a real wedding,’ he added hastily.

‘There’s no need to pretend—we both know that it isn’t,’ Sam replied, her outward composure a stark contrast to the misery churning in her stomach.

Tim’s expression grew earnest as he studied her pale face. ‘Are you sure about this, Sam?’

Sam, who wasn’t sure about anything except the fact Cesare was the love of her life and the father of her child, managed a teasing smile. ‘Are you suggesting I run?’

‘If Cesare wants this I doubt you could run fast or far enough to escape him…’ Tim’s eyes widened with dismay. ‘God, I make him sound sinister. I didn’t mean it that way, I just meant…’

That he wants this baby at any cost and I come as part of the package.

Sam sighed. She supposed she ought to be grateful that Cesare had not tried to deceive her. He had not pretended to love her. Recognising that part of her wished he had filled Sam with self-disgust.

‘I know what you meant, Tim, he’s…implacable. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing…’

Tim didn’t look as though he believed that claim any more than she did.

‘And if I don’t, well, there is a perfectly easy solution,’ she mused, recalling Cesare’s comments on the subject.

‘Divorce?’

Sam could understand Tim’s shocked expression. After all, it wasn’t customary for a bride to be discussing the subject just before she took her vows.

Her slender shoulder lifted. ‘Well…it happens. Don’t worry, I’ll try and make it work,’ she added.

It occurred to Cesare as he stood in the small anonymous room that this was not the sort of wedding that most girls dreamed of.

What sort of wedding had Samantha dreamed about?

Had she dreamed?

He didn’t know because he hadn’t asked her, he hadn’t given her time to think. It had been obvious that she was still in a state of shock over the unplanned pregnancy and he had ruthlessly exploited the situation to coerce her into marriage. What she wanted or needed had not come into the equation. He had been totally focused on being there for his child, on being a full-time father. That focus had allowed him to ignore one simple fact—he needed her.