The Italian's Unexpected Love-Child

Still, he didn’t have to wait in here, at his desk, pretending to work. Jumping up, he decided to get himself some coffee, bypassing his PA’s offer to get it for him with the excuse that he needed some air.

Leonardo needed some air a lot. He’d described himself as a businessman to Miss Hanson. But whilst Leonardo had quite enjoyed setting up his top-of-the-range sportswear company—and making a huge success of it—being just a businessman was not the way Leonardo ever saw himself. He was a sportsman, a man of action. A doer, not a pencil pusher. He actually hated offices and desks. Loathed meetings of any kind. And despised sitting for too long.

His spirits lifted once he was outside the building and into the fresh air. The sun was shining and a mild breeze was blowing. Milan in late August was glorious, though too busy, of course, the streets filled with tourists.

Leonardo breathed in deeply and headed for his favourite cafe, which was tucked away down a cobbled side street and never too crowded. There, his espresso was already waiting for him by the time he reached the counter, the female barista having spotted him as he strode into their establishment. He drank the strong black liquid down in one gulp, as was his habit. She smiled at him as he smacked his lips in appreciation, her big brown eyes flashing flirtatiously. She was a very attractive girl, with the kind of dark eyes and hair which Leonardo especially liked.

‘Grazie,’ he said, then placed the empty cup back on the counter, keeping his own smile very brief and not in any way flirtatious. Best not to encourage the girl. She might think he wanted more from her than good service.

There was a time in his younger years when he would have jumped into bed with her weeks ago. But he had more control over his hormones these days. And he was miles more careful, having narrowly escaped being trapped into marriage by a fortune-hunting female a few years back, shuddering whenever he thought of how close he’d come to being shackled for life to a girl he didn’t love.

Leonardo shuddered anew as he strode from the cafe and headed back to his office.

Of course, he could have refused to marry the girl, even if she had been pregnant. Which it had turned out she wasn’t. But Leonardo hadn’t been brought up that way, having it drummed into him as a young man that, if he ever fathered a child, he’d better marry the mother pronto. Because if he didn’t do the honourable thing then he wasn’t ever to bother coming home again.

Such an outcome would have been untenable to Leonardo. His parents meant the world to him. So, yes, he would have married the girl. And loved his child. But his life would not have been the life he’d planned for himself, which was no marriage and children until he was ready to settle down. Which he certainly hadn’t been back then.

Thank God his uncle had stepped in and demanded another pregnancy test by an independent doctor. Leonardo’s relief at the news there was no baby had been a lesson well learned. After that he never believed a girl when she said she was on the pill. And he always used a condom. Always!

As an added precaution, he only dated women these days who were less likely to be looking at him as a meal ticket for life. Women with careers of their own. Money of their own. And minds of their own.

On Leonardo’s part, he had no intention of marrying until he met the love of his life. Which he hadn’t so far. Strange, given all the clever and attractive girlfriends he’d had. But none had captured his heart. None had inspired the kind of wild passion he’d always imagined being truly in love would engender. Yes, sex with them was satisfying. But not mind-blowing. It never compared to the thrill of hurtling down a snowy mountain, knowing that he was going faster than any of his competitors.

Leonardo sighed. Ah, those were the days. Days which would never be repeated, his many falls and injuries having caught up with him by the time he’d turned twenty-five, forcing his retirement from the sport. Yes, he’d been a famous skier, as Miss Hanson had pointed out. But fame was fleeting and life moved on. Seven years had passed since then; seven successful but, perversely, frustrating years. He should have been satisfied with his life. Fabrizzi Sport, Snow & Ski was doing very well, with stores in all the major cities in Europe. He’d become a wealthy man in his own right, not just the spoiled only grandson of a billionaire.

But Leonardo wasn’t satisfied. Sometimes he was consumed with the most awful emptiness, the result perhaps of not having been able to fulfil his ambitions on the ski slopes, injury always having got in the way of success in major championships. There was a restlessness living inside him, a manic energy at times which refused to be quelled, no matter what he did.

And he did plenty. He still skied in the winter, though not competitively. He went yachting and waterskiing in the summer, along with mountain climbing and abseiling. Recently, he’d gained his pilot’s licence for both small planes and helicopters. His frequent holidays were hectic with activity, but he inevitably returned to work still burning with a fire undimmed.

The only time Leonardo had really relaxed was when he’d been on Capri, sitting on Laurence’s terrace, looking out at the sparkling blue sea and sipping one of his friend’s excellent wines.

Thinking of Capri sent his mind back to Laurence’s mystery heiress. Hopefully she would ring him soon and tell him that he could buy the villa. Because he not only wanted it, he needed it. Life without Laurence’s company would be bad enough. Life without the calming influence of his friend’s beautiful home would be a bitter disappointment.

Leonardo glanced at his Rolex once more, then headed back to his office, not wanting to take Miss Hanson’s call in the street.

CHAPTER THREE (#u1fb875c8-6713-5890-9303-ec164a92ab67)

VERONICA LAY ON her bed, her head whirling with what she’d discovered. She found it almost impossible to process her feelings. Was she still angry or just terribly sad? What her mother had told her had sort of made sense, and was much better than her mother having slept with a married man. And, yes, she understood why her mother had promised to keep her father’s identity a secret, even if it still upset her.

What puzzled her the most, however, was the will. Now, that didn’t make sense. Why leave her anything at all? Her father must have known it would stir up trouble and leave so many questions unanswered.

Her father...

Tears filled Veronica’s eyes. She’d had a father. A real father, not some unnamed sperm donor. He hadn’t been a nobody, either. He’d been a famous scientist, a groundbreaking geneticist with a brilliant brain. Oh, how she wished her mother had told her years ago.

But of course she hadn’t been able to. She’d given her word. Down deep, Veronica understood that. Good people honoured their promises. And her mother was a good woman. But, dear God, her father was dead now. Dead and gone. She could never see him or talk to him. Never know what he was like.

‘Are you all right, love?’ her mother asked tentatively from the doorway.

Veronica blinked away her tears then turned her head to smile softly at her very stressed-looking mother. She was well aware that her mother had suffered a big shock too. She had to be worried that her much-loved daughter might never forgive her.

Whilst Veronica still harboured some natural resentment at the situation, she could not blame her mother for what she’d done. If anyone was to blame, it was Laurence Hargraves. The stupid man should have gone to his grave with his secret intact and not left her anything at all! Then she could have gone on being blissfully unaware of having a father whom she would now never have the opportunity to know.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said with feigned composure. ‘It’s just a shock, that’s all.’

‘I know. And I’m so sorry. I don’t know what possessed Laurence to put you in his will. I truly don’t. It was sweet of him, in a way, but he must have known that the truth would come out, and that then you’d be upset.’

‘People do strange things when they’re dying,’ Veronica said with a degree of understanding. She’d seen it time and time again in her work. Once, when she’d been treating an old lady, the woman had confessed she was dying and on impulse had wanted to give Veronica a beautiful ring she was wearing. Veronica had declined, knowing that the woman had a daughter who would have been most hurt by such a gesture. But the old lady hadn’t thought of that. Maybe this Laurence hadn’t thought through the consequences of his will.

Or maybe he’d known exactly what he doing.

The trouble was she would never really know either way. Because she didn’t know the man.

‘Would you like me to make you some coffee, love?’ her mother asked.

‘Yes, that would be nice,’ she replied politely, thinking what she really wanted was to be left alone. She needed to think.

Her mother disappeared, leaving Veronica to ponder the reason why her father had chosen to make his identity known at this late stage, when he could no longer be a living presence in her life. What she wouldn’t have given to have a real father when she’d been growing up, when she’d been at school, when her bitchy so-called friends would tease her about having come out of a test tube. She’d laughed at the time. But she hadn’t found their jibes funny at all. The hurt had struck deep. Teenage girls, she’d found, had a very mean streak. It was no wonder she’d always gravitated to boys when making close friends.

Thinking of boys reminded Veronica that there was one very grown-up boy she would have to ring back shortly.

Leonardo Fabrizzi.

She wasn’t looking forward to telling him that Laurence Hargraves was her biological father. He was sure to ask her lots of questions.

Still, she had lots of questions she wanted to ask him. After all, if he was close enough to her father to have been made executor of his will, then he had to have known him very well. Maybe he had a photo or two that he could send her. She would dearly love to know what this Laurence looked like.

Veronica was nothing like her mother in looks. Nora Hanson was quite short with brown hair, grey eyes and a rather forgettable face and figure. In truth, she was on the plain side. Veronica had always assumed she’d inherited her striking looks from her biological father. Maybe now she’d have the opportunity to see the evidence for herself.

This last thought propelled an idea into Veronica’s brain which had her sitting up abruptly then scrambling off the bed. She raced out into the hallway and bolted down to the kitchen, where she snatched up her phone which she’d left lying on the counter.

‘Goodness!’ her mother said, startled perhaps by her sudden exuberance. ‘Who are you ringing?’

‘The Italian I told you about. Leonardo Fabrizzi. I promised to ring him back once I’d talked to you.’

‘Oh,’ Nora said, looking pained. ‘You’re not going to tell him everything, are you? I mean, does he have to know about your being Laurence’s daughter? Can’t you just sell him the villa and leave it at that?’

‘No, Mum,’ Veronica said firmly. ‘I can’t just leave it at that. And I am going to tell him I’m Laurence’s daughter. For one thing, it makes a difference to the inheritances taxes if I’m a relative. On top of that, I won’t be selling Mr Fabrizzi the villa straight away. There’s something else I have to do first.’

‘What?’

Veronica told her.

CHAPTER FOUR (#u1fb875c8-6713-5890-9303-ec164a92ab67)

LEONARDO’S HEART JUMPED when his phone finally rang, then began to race when he saw it was her at last. Why was he suddenly nervous? He wasn’t a nervous person. On the ski slopes, he’d been known for his nerve, not his nervousness. The press had called him Leo the Lion because of his lack of fear. When he’d retired, he’d chosen the image of a lion as the logo for his sportswear company.

‘Thank you for calling me back, Miss Hanson,’ he answered, putting the phone on speaker as he leant back in his leather chair and did his best to act cool and businesslike. ‘Was your mother able to tell you anything enlightening?’