Her Sicilian Baby Revelation / The Greek's One-Night Heir

Cheeks flaming with humiliation, Orla removed Finn from his car seat. She was halfway up the steps of the medical centre for his physiotherapy appointment when she realised she’d failed to put him in his wheelchair and still had him in her arms.

Tonino, Orla decided, was some kind of mind guru. For the third time in two days he’d steamrollered her into doing something she’d thought she would never agree to, in this case, leaving Finn with the duty nurse and letting him take her out to dinner.

He’d had those powers over her from the beginning. When he’d knocked on her hotel door four years ago and asked if he could take her out for coffee the next morning, the automatic refusal that had formed on her tongue had turned into a beaming, ‘I would like that.’

She hated that the same excitement thrummed through her veins as it had then. She hated that she’d found herself trying over and over to capture the memories of them making love. And she hated that whenever she caught Tonino’s gaze, his knowing glimmer suggested he knew exactly what she was thinking.

She especially hated that she’d spent an age getting ready. This was not a date. This was dinner. A chance for them to talk with privacy about how they were going to manage the future. She’d still spent an inordinate amount of time dithering over what to wear. In the end she’d settled on a pretty long-sleeved rust-coloured blouse and smart, fitted navy trousers, the two items separated by a chunky belt. She’d forgone her usual flat shoes for a pair of black heels. Outfit decided on, she’d then spent an even longer amount of time dithering over how to wear her hair and how much make-up to apply. She’d ended up leaving her hair loose and applying a little eyeliner and mascara, a touch of blusher and a nude lipstick. Dressed up but not overdone. There was no way Tonino could look at her and think she was dressing to attract him.

And yet, the appreciation in his eyes when she’d greeted him at the front door had almost had her running back up the stairs to change into a nun’s habit. Only the fact that she didn’t actually possess a nun’s habit had stopped her.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked when she realised they’d left the city and were driving through Ireland’s beautiful countryside. That was one thing she missed about her old home in Kerry—the scenery. The home she’d spent her life in had backed onto forest. They had awoken every morning to the sound of birds chirruping. Now she awoke to the sounds of cars hooting impatiently at each other.

‘You will see.’

Soon they’d turned up a narrow road lined with woodland. A mile later, the trees thinned and somehow curved into an arch to reveal a sprawling stone structure and immaculately kept sweeping gardens artfully filled with stone and marble benches and ornaments, a vast beautiful pond filled with waterlilies and with a wooden bridge traversing it. Dotted around the main structure were small cottages…

Her heart fluttered with excitement as she asked the question she already knew the answer to. ‘Is this Bally House?’ The pictures she had seen did not do it justice. It was like driving into a magical fairy tale.

His answering smile was definitely smug. ‘Sì.’

The driver pulled up in the large courtyard. As she climbed out, Orla noticed with a pang the young couple holding hands as they walked slowly over a meandering path, oblivious to anyone but each other under the setting sun.

Her fingers felt as if they’d had magnets inserted into the tips, pulling them towards Tonino’s hands. She folded her arms across her chest and rammed her hands between her sides and her arms.

They stepped into a large reception area. Three people working at the desk clocked their entrance and, in unison, straightened. The shortest of them, a middle-aged woman, hurried over to greet them.

‘Would you like a drink in the bar or to go straight to your table?’ she asked.