Cinderella's Scandalous Secret

Hadn’t she been sent away too many times in her childhood to count?

‘I didn’t know what to think,’ Isla said, slowly raising her gaze back to his. ‘I wasn’t prepared to hang around long enough to risk you doing something radical like asking me to marry you or—’

‘Well, at least you do know that much about me, because that’s exactly what I plan to do.’ The stridency in his voice was matched by the glint of determination in his gaze. ‘I’m not having any child of mine grow up illegitimate. I want it to have my name and my protection. I can’t—won’t—accept any other alternative. We will be married as soon as it can be arranged.’

Isla’s mouth dropped open and her stomach turned over. ‘You can’t be serious? We’re practically strangers who—’

‘We spent two months living and sleeping together. That’s hardly what I’d call the action of strangers. We’ve made a child together. That’s not something that I can approach in a casual manner. Formalising our relationship is the next step. The only step.’ He walked over to the minibar and took out a bottle of mineral water, holding it up. ‘Drink?’

Isla nodded; her mouth was so dry it felt like she had been licking the plush carpet at her feet. ‘I can’t marry you, Rafe. I won’t marry you.’

‘You can and you will.’ His mouth had a stubborn set to it, his eyes now as hard as lichen-covered stones. ‘I am not taking no for an answer.’ He unscrewed the top of the mineral water with a loud hiss of released effervescence and poured it into two glasses and then turned back to hand her one.

Isla took the glass from him with a hand that was visibly trembling. ‘Rafe...be sensible about this. Marriage between us would never work.’

Lingerie waitress weds Sicilian hotel billionaire? How would she cope with the shame of her past splashed over every paper and news outlet?

‘We will make it work for the sake of our child.’ His jaw was set in an intractable line. ‘How far along are you? Are you feeling well?’ His tone softened a fraction, his eyes losing their hard glitter to be replaced by a shadow of concern. ‘I’m sorry, I should have asked earlier.’

Isla put her glass down on a nearby table and then placed a hand on her small baby bump. ‘I am now... I was more or less constantly sick for a couple of months. I’m five months into the pregnancy. I’m due around Christmas.’

His eyes went to where her hand was resting, his throat moving up and down over another swallow. He stepped closer, coming to stand in front of her. ‘Can you feel the baby moving?’

‘I started feeling it moving around the sixteen-week mark. Here—’ She reached for his hand and laid it on the swell of her abdomen, watching his face as their baby gave tiny kicks. ‘Can you feel it kicking? There—feel that?’

Rafe was standing so close she could see the dark and generous spray of stubble around his mouth and jaw. She could smell the sharp notes of citrus in his aftershave, redolent of sun-warmed lemons. She could feel the magnetic pull of his body making her ache to close the small distance to mesh her body to his—thigh to thigh, pelvis to pelvis. Why couldn’t she be immune to him? Why did her body have to betray her? Could he sense the storm of hungry need he caused in her flesh? A need he had awakened.

His gaze softened in wonder as the baby moved against the press of his hand. ‘That’s amazing...’ His voice became husky. ‘Do you know the sex?’

‘No. I didn’t want to find out until the birth.’

The baby quietened and Rafe removed his hand and stepped back, his expression hardening once more. ‘Were you ever going to tell me?’ The note of accusation in his voice was sobering.

Isla moved to a little distance away so he wouldn’t see how much she ached for him to hold her, to comfort her, to reassure her. I was only trying to protect you. The words were assembled like soldiers on the back of her tongue but she couldn’t give the command for them to march forward. What good would it do? The less he knew about her reasons for not telling him the better. ‘I decided it was better for both of us if I just quietly disappeared from your life.’

‘You decided.’ He spat the words out like bullets. ‘You had no right to decide for me.’ He thumped his fist against his chest for emphasis. ‘I had a right to know I was to become a father. And my child has a right to know me. To have me in its life.’ He swung away with a muttered curse, his hand scraping through the thickness of his hair so roughly she was surprised some of it didn’t come out at the roots. He turned back and glared at her. ‘For God’s sake, Isla. Do you know how it feels for me to find out like this?’

Isla bit her lip, the tension in her head now feeling like needles poking into the back of her eyeballs. ‘Look, I know it must be upsetting but—’

‘Upsetting?’ He gave a rough humourless laugh. ‘Now that’s an understatement. You denied me knowledge of my child. You planned to keep my child away from me indefinitely. Don’t you think I have the right to be a little upset?’

Isla closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to quell the stabbing pain behind her eyes. ‘I was worried you would do exactly what you’re doing. Barking commands at me as if I have no will of my own.’ She dropped her hand from her face and sent him a defiant look. ‘I will not marry you just because you insist on it. Lots of couples have babies together without marrying. And yes, even couples who are no longer together.’

His eyes clashed with hers in a battle she fought not to lose, but in the end, Isla was the first to look away. She couldn’t cope with him when she was feeling so fragile. She couldn’t cope with him, full stop. He was too commanding. Too directive. Too everything.

‘You will marry me, Isla.’ His voice had a steely thread that sent a chill rolling down her spine like a runaway ice cube. ‘For, believe me, you might not like the alternative. If there were to be a custody battle between us, I can assure you I will win it.’

The pain behind Isla’s eyes intensified to a piercing drill that felt like it was burrowing deep into her brain. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. He was threatening to take her baby off her once it was born? He would be able to do it too. It wouldn’t take too much digging into her background to cast doubt on her suitability as a mother. Those topless photos she’d stupidly been talked into doing for her ‘portfolio’, for instance. Who would ever believe she hadn’t done them willingly? That she had been duped into making those shamelessly provocative poses, never realising how they might come back to haunt her. The photos alone might not be enough in a court of law to take her baby off her, but the thought of having those lewd photos out in public, splashed over newspapers and gossip magazines, was too much to bear.

Rafe’s veiled threat only confirmed why she hadn’t told him she was pregnant in the first place. He could be coldly ruthless when he needed to be. How else had he accumulated the amount of wealth he owned?

Her vision became blurred and the room began to tilt and sway as if gravity had been removed. She reached out her hand for the nearest solid object to stabilise herself but misjudged the distance. Her hand patted at mid-air and then a tide of nausea swept over her in an icy wave that prickled her scalp and sent pins and needles to her fingertips.

‘Isla?’

She was vaguely conscious of Rafe’s concerned tone but she couldn’t get her voice to do anything much past a mumble. And then she folded like a ragdoll and slumped to the floor and everything faded to black...

Rafe rushed to Isla’s slumped figure on the floor, his heart thumping in dread. ‘Isla? Are you okay?’ He was shocked at her pallid complexion—shocked and shamed that he had caused her to drop down in a faint.

He put her in the recovery position and then took her pulse, finding it more or less normal. A tornado of guilt assailed him, hammering into him with the force of knockout blows. He brushed the hair back from her clammy forehead, willing her to open her eyes. ‘Come on, cara. Talk to me.’

What sort of man had he become in the last hour? It was unforgivable to harangue a pregnant woman into a state of collapse. Sweat broke out over his own forehead, remorse like bitter bile in his mouth. He was disgusted with himself, furious he had been so intent on communicating his ire that he hadn’t considered her mental and physical state. She was pregnant, for God’s sake—with his child.

He realised with a jolt of remorse that he hadn’t even asked her how she felt about being pregnant. Whether or not the news had pleased her or shocked her. Had she considered other options? He would not have criticised her for considering a termination. He would not have criticised her for having one because he firmly believed it was a woman’s choice what she did with her body. But there was a place deep inside his heart that felt relieved she hadn’t chosen that path. He was going to be a father. It was still hard to get his head around but the evidence had kicked against his hand only minutes ago. ‘Come on, mio piccolo. Talk to me.’

Isla slowly opened her eyes and groaned. ‘My head aches...’

Rafe gently placed his palm on her forehead. ‘I’ll call an ambulance. I need to get you to hospital.’ He reached for his phone in his trouser pocket but she placed a hand on his arm.

‘No, please don’t. It’s just a tension headache. I’ve been getting them now and again. I don’t need to go to hospital... I think it’s because my blood sugar is a bit low.’

He helped her into a sitting position, cradling her around the shoulders with his arm, his other hand gently stroking the red-gold curls of her hair off her forehead. ‘When did you last have something to eat?’

She gave a weary-sounding sigh. ‘I don’t know...a few hours ago. I skipped lunch as I was running late and—’

‘Right, well, that makes me all the more determined you’re coming back with me to Italy,’ Rafe said. ‘You have to think about the baby. You can’t go skipping meals and working long hours in a physically demanding job. Not when I can more than adequately provide for you.’

Isla gave him one of her combative looks but it didn’t have its normal heat and fire. ‘Must you be so bull-headed? I’ve told you I don’t want to marry you.’