The Secret Kept from the Italian

by Kate Hewitt

  ‘I cannot imagine what, since we’ve never met.’

  She stared at him for a moment, something hardening in her eyes and face. She straightened, dropping her hand from his sleeve. ‘You’re absolutely right,’ she said, her voice touched with both bitterness and wonder. ‘You’re absolutely right. I have nothing to say to you. Nothing.’ She spat the last word, shaking her head as she took a step back. For some reason Antonio found he couldn’t move.

  Maisie shook her head again. ‘Someone once told me I was the most loving and generous person he knew.’ She laughed, the sound harsh. ‘At least now I know that person doesn’t exist.’ Antonio watched, still frozen, as she turned on her heel and walked quickly out of the building.

  Antonio stood there, unable to move, his mind whirling. He took a quick, steadying breath and straightened his suit jacket. That could have gone better, but at least it was over. And if Maisie had, for a moment, filled him with doubt and regret, well, those inconvenient emotions were gone now, replaced by his usual resolve.

  Perhaps he shouldn’t have pretended he didn’t know her, but the alternative would have been such a crushing blow that she might have fallen to pieces. Surely this was better, even if it didn’t feel like it. And at least he wouldn’t ever have to see her again.

  He stepped into the waiting limo and leaned his head back against the luxurious leather seat, telling himself that that was a good thing. A very good thing. Even if it didn’t feel like it at this moment.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  One year later

  ‘TABLE FOUR NEEDS more wine.’

  ‘I’ll be right there.’

  Maisie rolled her shoulders to ease the ache between them and reached for another bottle of wine from the crate by the kitchen door. Waitressing at high-end dinner parties wasn’t where she’d seen herself ending up, but she was glad of the money. She needed it.

  A lot had changed in the year since she’d looked down at those two pink lines. She had her daughter, for one. Ella was the most precious and wonderful thing that had ever happened to her. Maisie’s pregnancy had been difficult, first with morning sickness and then with the onset of pre-eclampsia. She’d been bedridden for the last two months, and Max, her amazing brother, had stepped right up to help take care of her.

  Maisie cringed to think of how she’d once felt undervalued and unappreciated by her brother. Max had been a star since she’d discovered she was pregnant. He’d taken time off work and insisted on moving in with her, leaving his friends and flatmates behind, so he could help her through her pregnancy and then with a fractious newborn.

  He was babysitting Ella tonight, so she could work, and had even volunteered to bring her to the hotel during her break so that Maisie could feed her. At three months old, Ella refused to take a bottle, and in any case Maisie didn’t want to give up the delight of feeding her herself.

  In fact, Max was due in another fifteen minutes or so, which meant she needed to deal with Table Four and make sure everyone was happy before taking a much-needed break. She’d been on her feet for the last three hours, and Ella had been up throughout the night before. Maisie had forgotten what a good night’s sleep felt like.

  She moved around the table of corpulent, smug businessmen—the dinner hosted in the hotel’s ballroom was for some CEO or other—topping up their wine glasses and evading the occasional groping hand. She’d been waitressing for the last two months, a few nights a week, just to bring in some money. In that time she’d discovered that some privileged men tended to see waitresses as one step removed from prostitutes.

  Maisie hardly thought she looked appealing, considering the extra ten pounds she was still carrying, as well as the dark circles under her eyes and the spit-up stain on her shoulder, but apparently millionaires, along with beggars, weren’t choosers.

  She was pouring a glass of wine when she heard a sudden, quick, indrawn breath. She looked up and the whole room fell away as she found herself staring into the bright blue eyes that had haunted her dreams as well as a good deal of her waking hours for the past year.

  ‘Watch what you’re doing!’

  With a jolt Maisie looked down and saw she’d overfilled the wine glass. There was now a growing crimson stain on the pristine white tablecloth.

  ‘I’m so sorry—’

  ‘You’re an idiot, is what you are,’ the man snapped. His face was red, his expression furious. ‘You’ll pay for my dry-cleaning bill.’

  A single drop of wine had splashed onto his suit cuff, and Maisie’s stomach hollowed out. She couldn’t afford a hefty dry-cleaning bill. It would take up most of her wages for waitressing that night.

  ‘I’m really very sorry...’

  ‘And so you should be.’ The man was bristling, spoiling for a fight. With a sinking sensation Maisie realised he was one of the men who had attempted to touch her knee while she’d been serving dinner; she’d moved away smartly, and he’d noticed and glowered. ‘I should call the manager over,’ he added, his indignation rising. ‘See that you’re fired. A place like this shouldn’t have sloppy waitresses.’

  ‘I think that would be a touch excessive.’ Antonio’s voice was light and charming, yet underneath there was a layer of steel that no one could mistake. The sound of it caused shivers to roll down Maisie’s spine. Antonio. Here. He hadn’t been here when she’d last served this table; surely she would have noticed.

  ‘Especially,’ he continued silkily, ‘considering you have already been excessive.’ He nodded towards the over-full glass. ‘You’re on your fourth, are you not, Bryson?’

  The man puffed up, blustering. ‘How dare you—?’

  ‘Actually, there’s no daring involved,’ Antonio drawled. ‘But I suppose it must seem audacious to you, a man who would bully a mere waitress.’

  The man glowered while Maisie remained rooted to the spot, shocked beyond all bearing. It was mind-blowing enough to see Antonio here, but to have him defend her...

  But then, he didn’t know who she was. Did he? He was just being nice to a stranger, a mere waitress. Somehow, on top of everything else, that stung.

  ‘I’ll get you a new napkin,’ Maisie murmured. She walked away blindly, her mind blank and buzzing. What was Antonio doing in New York? She’d read in a gossip magazine that he was back in Milan, where his business was based. Had he come here to wreck another company, to ruin more people’s lives? According to one stinging editorial she’d read, that was his speciality.

  ‘Maisie.’

  She froze halfway to the kitchen, Antonio’s voice a low, insistent throb behind her. Then realisation flashed through her and she turned slowly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking, ‘but do I know you?’

  Antonio’s jaw tightened and he gave a terse nod. ‘I suppose I deserve that.’

  ‘You pretended you couldn’t remember me.’ Maisie had to choke out the words. ‘You’re even more of a bastard than I thought you were, which is saying something.’

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘What do you think it means?’ Her voice rose, and a few diners looked their way, rubbernecking in the hope of witnessing a big argument. Maisie wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. She wouldn’t give Antonio the satisfaction either, of seeing how much he’d affected her. How he’d devastated her, all those months ago.

  She spun away, marching to the kitchen, and Antonio followed. In a narrow hallway off the ballroom he caught her arm.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she threw back, shaking off his arm. ‘I live in New York. You don’t.’

  ‘I have business.’

  ‘So do I.’ She nodded towards the kitchen. ‘So why don’t you just go back to pretending you don’t know me?’ Hurt pulsed through her as she said the words. He’d pretended, and why? Because he cou
ldn’t be bothered to hear her out? One night and he’d already tired of her. Fury warred with hurt, and she chose anger because it felt stronger. She’d confessed to Antonio of feeling like a doormat, but she wouldn’t be one now. ‘I’m serious, Antonio. I don’t want anything from you now. And if you think for a second that you can cash in a second night while you’re in New York, forget it.’

  He looked affronted, his eyes flashing icy fire. ‘I wasn’t thinking that.’

  ‘Good.’ She turned towards the kitchen, relieved that he didn’t follow her. Relieved, and only the teeniest, tiniest bit disappointed, which she knew was stupid, of course she did, but she felt it anyway. Stubborn heart. Stubborn, stupid, foolish heart.

  With shaking hands Maisie fetched a clean napkin and went back to Table Four, staring straight ahead, determined not to catch anyone’s eye and certainly not Antonio’s. In any case, he hadn’t returned to the table, and the intoxicated guest who had made such a fuss had reduced his complaints to mere mutterings, which Maisie managed to ignore.

  The job done, she retreated to the kitchen, her heart still thumping from her entirely unexpected encounter with Antonio. Why had he sought her out? Why ignore her in such a horrible manner a year ago, only to spring to her defence tonight? He’d always known who she was. Except of course he didn’t know her at all. And she didn’t know him.

  And he couldn’t know her... With a lurch of fear Maisie remembered that her brother was coming with Ella so she could feed her before her shift ended. He was due to arrive at the hotel in a few minutes. While Maisie doubted Antonio would barge into the kitchens in search of her, she still felt panicky at the thought of him being so near to Ella.

  She’d made her decision not to tell him about their baby when he’d claimed he didn’t know her. It was a decision that a year of tabloid coverage had validated over and over again. Antonio Rossi, with his cold-hearted business deals and his string of bimbo lovers, was not the kind of father she wanted for her child. And, since he had claimed not to know her, he wouldn’t know his daughter either.

  ‘Maisie?’ one of the waiting staff called. ‘Your brother’s here.’

  With something close to relief, Maisie rushed to her brother and prised her three-month-old daughter from his arms.

  ‘Maise? You all right?’ Max frowned at her from underneath a shock of strawberry-blond hair, his hazel eyes narrowing in concern.

  ‘I’m fine now.’ Maisie pressed her cheek against Ella’s as she breathed in that delicious scent of baby powder and sleepy softness.

  ‘Did something happen?’

  ‘No.’ Max had become something of a guard dog since Maisie had fallen pregnant, her little brother often acting as if he were older than her. After she had taken care of him for so long, it felt both nice and strange to be looked after, but Maisie knew she couldn’t burden Max with this. He was only twenty-three, just starting out in life. He didn’t need to be saddled with a sister and a baby niece, even if he insisted he didn’t mind.

  ‘I’ll feed her and then you can take her back home,’ Maisie said. ‘Thanks for bringing her out, Max. You’re amazing.’

  ‘So you keep telling me.’ He gave her a crooked smile, concern still shadowing his eyes. ‘I’ll meet you out in the lobby, then?’

  ‘Yes, in about twenty minutes.’ Maisie smiled at her brother and then went to the women’s bathroom of the hotel, which had a private nook with a comfy chair, perfect for nursing.

  She felt herself calming down as Ella began to feed, one chubby hand resting possessively on Maisie’s chest. She stroked her daughter’s soft hair, her baby curls midnight-dark, the same colour as Antonio’s. She had the same startling blue eyes as her father, as well; the deep indigo of the newborn stage had brightened to the piercing blue Maisie still saw in her dreams. If Antonio saw Ella, there could be no question of whose daughter she was.

  A tremor of fear and, worse, uncertainty racked her at that realisation. Was it fair to keep Antonio from his own child? Part of her insisted yes, of course it was. All she knew about Antonio Rossi made her sure he would never be a good father and, more importantly, didn’t care about being one. But she could not silence the small, treacherous whisper that protested against her unilateral decision, that Antonio deserved at least to know that he had a daughter...

  Instinctively Maisie clutched Ella closer to her, and her daughter protested, squirming as she sought to latch on again.

  ‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ Maisie whispered, and made herself relax. In ten minutes Ella would have finished feeding and she’d give her back to Max, who would take her back to their apartment. Antonio would never know he had a child. That was the decision she had made a year ago, and she was sticking to it now. Nothing Antonio had done or said had made her want to reconsider.

  * * *

  Antonio paced the ballroom and lobby and even the kitchen of the hotel, looking for Maisie. Why he was looking for her, he couldn’t articulate, even in the privacy of his own mind. Surely he should have let sleeping dogs lie—lie being the operative word. He’d blown his cover, calling her by her name, and that would hardly endear him to Maisie. What he didn’t know was why he cared.

  He hadn’t spared her a thought this last year, or at least not much of one. Admittedly, he hadn’t spared women much of a thought, in general. Work had taken over, as he sought to expand his empire further into America, and the few dates he’d gone on had been unsatisfactory in the extreme. Women, at least the women he dated, had started to bore and irritate him, and that was when he tended to think about Maisie. To remember their night together, in all its glory and shame.

  But why was he looking for her now? He didn’t want to rekindle their romance, not that Maisie would even be interested. He didn’t want anything from her. He wanted to forget that that night, incredible as it had been, ever happened. Because he couldn’t stand the thought of Maisie, or anyone, knowing his weakness. Seeing him exposed and needy and in pain as she had.

  Antonio stood in the centre of the lobby, his mind spinning as he realised how foolish he was being. He should return to the table and the tedious dinner he’d been suffering through. And then he should stop by the bar and find a sexy, willing woman to help him forget about Maisie Dobson. Of course that was what he should do. It was what he always did.

  Instead he just stood there, silently fuming at his own idiotic inability.

  ‘Maisie.’

  Antonio looked up at the sound of her name on another man’s lips. The man was standing by the entrance to the hotel, a smile on his face as he held out his arms. Slowly Antonio turned and saw Maisie walking towards the man, a tremulous smile curving her lush lips, a baby nestled in her arms.

  A baby.

  Antonio stared as the man took the baby from her, cuddling the little bundle as he cooed down at it.

  ‘Hey, sweetie.’

  Jealousy fired through Antonio, although he couldn’t even say why. So Maisie had moved on, found a boyfriend or husband, and had a baby pretty darn quick. That was fine. Of course it was. Except...

  They’d spent the night together a year ago, and although Antonio wasn’t an expert on babies by any means, the child nestled in the man’s arms looked to be at least a few months old. Which meant...

  Either Maisie had been pregnant when she’d slept with him, or had fallen pregnant immediately after. Or, he realised with a sickening rush, had become pregnant by him.

  He hadn’t used birth control. He’d been too drunk and emotional even to think of it at the time, and later he’d assumed Maisie must have been on the pill, since she hadn’t seemed concerned. But now he remembered how she’d come to see him—how many weeks later? Two, three? She’d wanted to talk to him. She’d looked distraught. What if she’d been pregnant?

  Why had he not considered such a possibility? Antonio retrained his shocked gaze on the man and baby, only to realise they’d already gone. M
aisie had turned around and was walking back towards the ballroom, and presumably her waitressing duties. And his child might have just been hustled out of the door.

  ‘Maisie.’ His voice came out in a bark of command, and Maisie turned, her jade-green eyes widening as she caught sight of him. Then her face drained of colour, so quickly and dramatically that Antonio felt another rush of conviction. Why would she react like that if the child wasn’t his?

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked in a low voice.

  ‘I’m a guest at the dinner.’

  ‘Yes, but...what do you want from me, Antonio?’ She looked wretched, and more than once her gaze darted towards the doors and then back again.

  ‘Let’s talk in private.’

  ‘You weren’t so interested in doing that the last time we met,’ Maisie snapped, summoning some spirit.

  ‘Yes, I know, but things are different now.’

  ‘They’re different for me too.’ She took a step backwards, her chin raised at a proud, determined angle. ‘You didn’t want to know me a year ago, Antonio, and now I don’t want to know you. Doesn’t feel very good, does it?’ She gave a hollow laugh.

  ‘This is not the time to be petty,’ Antonio returned evenly. ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘No, we don’t—’

  ‘Maisie.’ He cut her off, making her flinch. ‘Is the baby mine?’

  She opened her mouth and no words came out. It was all the confirmation Antonio needed. He took her by the arm and steered her away from the lobby, towards the lifts.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Maisie gasped as he stabbed the button for the lift.

  The doors opened and Antonio stepped inside with Maisie. ‘To my suite,’ he informed her as the doors whooshed closed.

  Maisie spun to face him, jerking her arm from his grasp. ‘What? I’m not going anywhere with you—’

  ‘You already are.’

  ‘I’m meant to be back in the dining room! I’ll lose my job—’