An Heir to Make a Marriage

by Abby Green

  She was exhausted. Relieved, but exhausted. And, as much as she didn’t feel like it, she needed to eat. Ever since the other night her appetite had disappeared, but she resolutely turned her mind away from going back down that road.

  She’d already set off down the corridor when she remembered she’d left her purse in her father’s room. She turned around to go back—and walked straight into a wall. A wall that had its hands on her arms, steadying her. A wall that had a very familiar scent. A wall that wasn’t really a wall.

  She looked up and her head swam. The wall was Zac Valenti.

  She blinked. He was still there. She was very afraid she was on the verge of fainting for the first time in her life and she sucked in a breath.

  Zac gripped her tighter. ‘Rose? Are you okay?’

  She pulled herself together, but she knew she was way too light-headed to deal with Zac right now—if she wasn’t, in fact, hallucinating. ‘I’m just hungry. I need to eat something.’

  With typical Zac-like efficiency Rose found herself sitting at a table under the unforgiving fluorescent lighting of the clinic’s canteen within minutes. He had put a bowl of admittedly dubious-looking spaghetti bolognese in front of her and was looking at her.

  Tightly he said, ‘It was the most edible-looking thing there. Eat some.’

  Too exhausted to deal with the reality that he was there, she dutifully ate some of the rubbery pasta and washed it down with water. When she felt a little more fortified she said warily, ‘Why are you here, Zac?’

  He sat back in the chair, his body huge against the functional furniture. ‘I wanted to make sure that your father was doing okay.’

  Rose felt heat climb into her face and she said, ‘Thank you. The clinic told me that you’d taken over the bills from your grandmother. You really don’t know what this—’

  ‘Stop,’ he said, cutting her off and sitting up straight. He looked a little angry. ‘You don’t have to say thank you. My grandmother had no right to take such advantage of you. Your father had been her employee—the least he deserved was help in his time of need.’

  Rose had to stop her jaw from dropping. She wanted to pinch herself. Because she had to be dreaming.

  As if Zac could read her thoughts, he grimaced slightly. ‘Look, the other night...at that function...it was hard for me to trust that you were telling the truth.’

  Rose’s heart thudded painfully. ‘And you do now?’

  He nodded, and Rose’s insides swooped.

  ‘What happened?’

  Zac sighed. ‘I was beginning to suspect I’d got it all wrong, and then my grandmother came to see me. She told me that you’d ripped up the contract in front of her and declared your intention to have this child be a Valenti. When I came back from Italy and you explained everything, I didn’t know that you’d already been to her. You’d burnt your bridges and I didn’t realise it. Why didn’t you tell me?’ He sounded almost accusing now.

  Rose said weakly, ‘I went to see her first because I needed you to know that I’d put my trust in you even before I’d had a chance to put forward my case. But when you came back I was nervous...scared of how you’d react. It didn’t seem relevant to mention your grandmother once you’d agreed to help my father.’

  Zac’s voice had a bleak tone to it. ‘No, your first thought wasn’t to maximise your own defence—it was for your father.’ Then he asked curiously, ‘What would you have done if I’d said no?’

  Rose shrugged minutely, ashamed now of this evidence that she’d trusted him so implicitly. ‘I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.’

  Zac just looked at her for an unnervingly long moment, and then he said, ‘When we first met...you blew me away. I’d never met anyone like you. I believed you were who you said you were. And then...I felt like a fool. It merely confirmed for me that nothing so pure could exist.’

  Rose felt emotion rising. ‘But it did—I did—as messed up as it was. And I couldn’t say anything because I was terrified of what your grandmother could do to my father.’ Rose stopped when she said that, a familiar worry coming back to her. ‘Is she going to take me to court?’

  Zac looked fierce. ‘No, of course not. The threat of my revealing the truth of my parentage was enough to make her contemplate emigration.’

  Rose’s eyes widened. ‘You’d do that?’

  Zac’s mouth compressed. ‘It’s time to tell my parents’ story. I’m not ashamed of it.’

  She felt even more emotional now. ‘I think you’re right—their memories don’t deserve to be locked away forever, as if they did something wrong.’

  Suddenly Rose felt very vulnerable as the shock of seeing Zac wore off and she had to contemplate why he had come—now that he knew she hadn’t set out to ruin him in league with his grandmother.

  He was obviously remorseful, and Rose was still getting her head around that, but he also now seemed to believe what she’d told him the other night—that she loved him. And he obviously pitied her. The mother of his child...in love with him...how tragic. He must feel doubly responsible now, and the thought of that made her feel almost breathless with excruciating humiliation.

  She stood up. ‘Look, thank you for coming all the way up here, but I really need to focus on my father now. And I’m grateful for your help with the operation, but I have every intention of paying you back. I know it’ll take years, but I’ll do it.’

  Now Zac looked angry, and he stood up too. ‘I’m not here to demand payment. I’m here because—’

  Rose held up her hand, stopping him, because she didn’t want to hear him say anything about responsibility, and quickly lowered it again when she noticed it was shaking. ‘Just go—please. I’m sure you’re busy, and we can talk about arrangements for the baby another time, okay?’

  She started to walk out of the canteen and heard from behind her, ‘Rose—dammit.’ But she kept going. If she stopped he’d see how close to the edge she was.

  When she got to her father’s floor she looked behind her and let out a shaky breath when she didn’t see Zac. She felt a mixture of relief and disappointment.

  After she’d gone in and checked on her father one of the nurses came in and handed her a note, saying with a knowing wink, ‘Honey, if that guy comes in again please send him my way.’

  Rose forced a smile and opened the note, which was curt.

  I’m not leaving. I’ll be at the local hotel, so if you need anything call me. Zac.

  She scowled, even as her heart lurched betrayingly. She wouldn’t be calling him. She didn’t need anything from Zac Valenti—certainly not his sense of obvious obligation.

  But just then, as if to remind her that she did actually need something from him—a lifetime of support—she felt a little kick in her belly. Tears of emotion came to her eyes. She’d been feeling definite movements for the past week, but trust Junior to make his or her presence known now—right when the autocratic father turned up.

  * * *

  ‘This is where she’s been sleeping?’

  The angry voice woke Rose, and she opened her eyes to see Zac towering over her small cot bed in the tiny family room on her father’s floor at the clinic. A young male nurse was fairly cowering in front of Zac.

  ‘Does this really look like suitable accommodation for a pregnant woman?’

  The nurse went red.

  Rose sat up and put a hand to her head when it swam. She hadn’t slept that well, and fatigue washed over her.

  Zac was down on his haunches in front of her. ‘Are you okay?’

  Before she could say anything he cursed and stood again. He was on his phone in seconds, issuing instructions, and Rose saw the nurse take his chance to escape further censure.

  She forced herself to stand as Zac was putting his phone away.

  He took her arm. ‘When was
the last time you ate a decent meal or slept properly?’

  Rose blinked. She couldn’t actually remember.

  Zac cursed again and said ominously, ‘Right—that’s it.’

  He led her out of the tiny room and stood in front of her. She wanted to scowl at him for being so dominant and gorgeous first thing in the morning.

  ‘My car is downstairs. My driver is going to take you back to my hotel, where you are going to—’ He held up a hand when Rose opened her mouth, and waited till she’d shut it again before continuing, ‘Where you are going to eat breakfast and then go to bed in my room for a few hours. After that I’ll have a room arranged for you.’

  ‘But I can’t just leave! My father—’

  ‘Your father will be fine. I’ll stay with him.’

  Rose’s belly swooped. ‘But you’re busy...’

  Zac held up his phone, which admittedly looked as if it could launch a nuclear missile. ‘Nothing I can’t handle from here. Now, go—or I’ll put you over my shoulder.’

  The thought of Zac touching her and seeing how much she still wanted him was enough to galvanise her into moving. She checked on her still sleeping father and then Zac accompanied her downstairs.

  He said sternly, ‘I don’t want to see you until after you’ve slept and had lunch.’

  Feeling thoroughly bemused, Rose did as she was told, and had to admit that being looked after was seductive enough to be dangerous.

  When she did return to the hospital later, feeling much more herself again after some sleep, followed by a long hot shower and food, she stopped in her father’s doorway and took in the sight. Zac was sitting by the bed talking to her father, who was laughing weakly at whatever Zac had just said.

  They both looked up and saw her at the same time, and her father put out his hand. He already looked so much better.

  ‘Roisín, look who it is! Zachary Lyndon-Holt—’ Her father stopped and flushed and looked at Zac. ‘Sorry, son, it’s hard to remember you’re not—’

  Zac smiled, ‘It’s fine, Mr O’Malley.’

  Her father went red. ‘Stop that. It’s Séamus to you.’

  Rose’s heart swelled so much she thought it might burst. Danger. Because what would happen when Zac got bored with this responsibility and went again?

  She came into the room and said pointedly to Zac, ‘I’m here now. I’m sure you have things to attend to...’

  His eyes flashed, but he uncoiled his big body from the chair and stretched—which didn’t help her hormone levels. Then he said pointedly, ‘A word, Rose? Before I go?’

  She nodded and went out with him after he’d said goodbye to her father.

  She faced him. ‘Look, Zac—’

  ‘No, you look. I’m not going anywhere, and this is how it’s going to happen. There’s a room for you at the hotel. We are going to take it in turns to visit your father until he’s ready to go home, and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

  Rose’s mouth stayed open and Zac’s gaze dropped there for a moment. Electricity zinged between them.

  His gaze came up again. ‘I’ll see you later, Rose.’

  And then he turned and sauntered off and left her feeling frustrated, irritated, grateful...and generally in turmoil.

  * * *

  Over the following week they developed a routine. Zac would do the mornings, until after lunch, and then Rose would stay with her father until late and go to the hotel to sleep. She and Zac passed each other like relay runners in a race. They didn’t have any more conversations, but she knew the time would come when they would have to sit down and talk things through. Discuss what would happen once the baby was born.

  She felt the attraction between them, but all she could think about was Zac’s rejection after that night in Italy. Even if his eyes did linger on her, it didn’t mean anything, she was only projecting her own pathetic desire onto him.

  Her father had guessed that Zac was the baby’s father, but thankfully seemed inclined to let Rose and Zac off the hook for now. She felt his shrewd blue gaze on them, though, whenever they were together.

  When the time came for her father to be sent home Zac had it organised with military precision. They were driven home in a luxurious people carrier—with a nurse from the hospital who was going to spend a couple of days at the house, making sure everything was set up properly for her father’s recovery.

  The house had been modified in Rose’s absence, to accommodate her father’s medical requirements, and Zac had also arranged for twenty-four-seven nursing care. When she’d opened her mouth to protest, he’d just looked at her explicitly. He’d also arranged for a local woman who knew Rose and her father well to come and cook for them, and generally keep house.

  Sometimes Rose didn’t know which was worse—Zac’s suffocating taking over of the situation or his animosity. She thought she’d nearly prefer it if she was struggling on her own, because she knew how to do that, but then she looked at her father in his bed, in his own home, so relaxed, and she felt churlish.

  * * *

  A week later Zac had more or less returned full-time to the city, but he was calling about five times a day to check in. Rose’s nerves were strung so tight that she jumped a mile high when the doorbell rang.

  She went to answer it and a courier was on the other side of the door, with a big box and an envelope. When she took them from him he looked a little embarrassed and said, ‘I’m supposed to wait for a return note.’

  Rose let him come in and help himself to a drink in the kitchen while she went into the quiet living room to open the box. She peeled back the tissue paper to see horribly familiar shimmering black material. She pulled out the black dress...and quickly let it drop from her hands when a wave of fresh mortification washed through her.

  She remembered how it had felt to stand in front of Zac and tell him she loved him so earnestly...and the way he’d taken his hand out from under hers over her belly. As if he’d been burnt.

  She picked up the envelope reluctantly and a card fell out. She could read it without touching it.

  Please meet me at my apartment this evening. A car will be waiting for you. Come when you’re ready...

  Zac

  Rose felt sick. This was what it had come to? He had helped them—beyond anything Rose had ever expected—and now he would take his due? There was some final humiliation to be had?

  She felt angry, disappointed...but resigned. She owed Zac. And if he wanted her to come to him like some kind of sacrificial lamb...in this dress that symbolised so much...then what choice did she have? But she would hold her head high and he would never know what it cost her.

  She quickly scrawled a note on the other side of the card and went out and handed it to the courier, who left again.

  * * *

  It was late when Rose was finally crossing over the bridge into Manhattan. The car had been waiting for her for hours. She wasn’t playing a game, but the nurse had been a little worried about her father’s temperature being raised and Rose had wanted to make sure he was okay. She’d only left once he was asleep and the nurse had been sure there was nothing to worry about.

  Her gut was a tight ball of nerves. She was wearing the dress and she’d put up her hair and made an effort with her make-up.

  The car pulled up outside Zac’s building far too soon, and the doorman opened her door with a polite, ‘Good evening, Miss O’Malley. Mr Valenti is waiting for you in his apartment. You’re to go straight up.’

  She forced a smile and went into the lobby, where the concierge had Zac’s private lift ready and waiting. As it ascended her stomach felt as if it was going in the other direction. It didn’t help to recall going down in the same lift that first night, and how she’d felt as if she was returning to where she belonged.

  She was unbelievably nervous
. Her palms were clammy.

  The doors opened and she stepped into the foyer of Zac’s apartment. Her heels seemed to make a ridiculous amount of noise as she walked through on the marble floor. The living area was quiet. No sound. He wasn’t in the kitchen. She looked quickly into the bedrooms. No sign.

  The baby kicked then, as if urging her to keep looking.

  She went back towards the living room and spotted an open door, recognising it as the door that led from the apartment up to the garden. Her pulse quickened. She picked up the dress so it wouldn’t catch, and went up the circular stone steps.

  The door at the top was open and she walked outside. The sense of déjà vu almost knocked her off her feet. The air was balmy. The lights glittered. The garden was as magical as she remembered.

  She walked along the path and it hit her why Zac had built this garden—obviously for his parents. Her heart ached, but she kept going.

  And then a familiar voice broke the silence. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’

  She looked up to see Zac, dressed in a tuxedo, standing on the small terrace above the garden. She instantly felt dizzy, and her pulse-rate tripled. The baby kicked again.

  She put a hand on her belly. ‘My father’s temperature was raised. I wanted to make sure he was okay.’

  Zac frowned. ‘Is he?’

  She nodded. ‘He’s fine, thank you.’

  Zac didn’t make a move, so Rose kept going. His eyes were on her, unnervingly intense all the way. She walked up the steps, feeling acutely self-conscious. The dress hadn’t been made to accommodate a growing baby bump, so the material was stretched across her belly even more than it had been the last time.

  When she got within a couple of feet of Zac she stopped. She’d thought she could do this—hold her head up high and give him whatever he wanted and then walk away again. But now, in front of him, it wasn’t so easy. Past and present were meshing painfully. That first night whispered around them like a mocking echo of what Rose had yearned for so much, knowing she could never have it.

  Standing here in front of him with a pregnant belly was the biggest mockery of all.