Luca looked up and pressed the mute button on the remote control. ‘I can’t find a DVD with Ella as a newborn. Do you have one?’ he asked.
Bronte went through the bag, feeling self-conscious about how disorganised this was making her appear. Was he criticising her for being a bad mother? Was he thinking a devoted mother would have everything filed in neat, beautifully scrapbooked albums, or DVD cases in chronological order, not stashed haphazardly in a green shopping bag? No doubt his mother would have her sons’ locks of hair in priceless heirloom velvet boxes with the family name inscribed on the outside, not in a run-of-the-mill matchbox. She chewed at her lip as she hunted through the bag, the stretching silence shredding at her already overwrought nerves.
‘Can’t find it?’ he asked.
She sat back on her heels. ‘I must have missed it when I gathered the others up from Mum’s place.’
‘I would like to see it,’ he said. ‘I will come around and get it tomorrow, that is if you can find it by then.’
Bronte got to her feet and glared at him. ‘I know what you are implying, so why don’t you come right out and say it?’
He didn’t rise from the sofa; instead, he sat back and returned her look with the elevation of one of his midnight-black brows. ‘And what would I be implying?’ he asked.
She hissed out a breath. ‘You think I’m doing a bad job of being Ella’s mother. I can see it in your eyes. You think because I haven’t got all this stuff organised properly I can’t possibly be a good mother to her.’
This time he did rise from where he was sitting. His increase in height made the room shrink, irrespective of its commodious proportions. ‘I think you are projecting your own insecurities on to me,’ he said. ‘You are the one who thinks you are an inadequate mother, not me.’
Bronte felt her back come up at his too close to the truth summation of what she felt a lot of the time. ‘You don’t know anything about parenting,’ she threw back. ‘You don’t know what it’s like trying to earn a living and bring up a baby. You don’t know what it’s like to be so tired at the end of the day or sick and overwrought and still have to get up half the night, if not all the night, to see to a baby’s needs. You live in a cotton wool world, Luca, you always have. You don’t even have to make your own bed, for God’s sake.’
His mouth tensed as if he was holding back a stinging retort, the silence going on and on and on until the air felt thick and too heavy to breathe.
Bronte wondered if she had revealed a little too much of her struggles and if he would go on to use it against her in a custody battle. She was making things so much worse by losing control of her emotions. Like last night, falling so readily into his arms, demonstrating so conclusively how much she still wanted him. She bit her lip and moved to the other side of the room, staring down at the view below rather than see the light of victory shining in his dark eyes. She needed to get away to garner her self-control. She needed to regroup. Her feelings were getting the better of her. Next thing, she would be on her knees begging him to take her back, marriage or no marriage.
‘I admit I have a lot to learn,’ Luca said. ‘But at least I am willing to do so. A lot of men simply walk away from their responsibilities. But I will not. I want to be involved in every way possible with Ella.’
Bronte spun around. ‘Well, why don’t you start right here and now?’
He frowned as she stalked towards the door, only stopping long enough to take out her purse from the change bag she had brought for Ella. She practically shoved the bag against his abdomen, her eyes flashing at him in frustration and fury. ‘Have the rest of the evening with her,’ she said. ‘You can feed her and change her and try and settle her when she won’t be settled. I will be back in a couple of hours.’
Luca flinched as the door swung shut on her exit. He let out a long breath and sent his hand through his hair. He heard a little whimper coming from his bedroom and went through to see if Ella was waking.
She was sitting up in the middle of his bed, surrounded by pillows, two big fat tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Mummy?’ She scrubbed at her blue eyes and looked so forlorn Luca felt his heart tighten to the point of pain. ‘Mummy gone?’
‘Mummy’s gone out for a while, mio piccolo,’ he said and gently lifted her off the bed. ‘But Papà is here. Papà is always going to be here. You will never be alone, my little one.’
Ella smiled at him through her tears and batted at his face with a dimpled hand. ‘Papà.’
Luca cuddled her close, her little legs wrapping around him like a monkey’s. She smelt…actually, she didn’t smell so good. He looked at the wet patch on his bed and grimaced as he felt the dampness soaking through her candy-pink leggings to his hands. ‘I don’t suppose you can give me any hints on this process,’ he said wryly as he carried her out to the lounge area where the change bag was. He picked it up with his spare hand and took Ella to the bathroom. He put her on her feet on the floor but, before he could even unzip the bag or remove her leggings, she was off. ‘Ella, wait,’ he said, missing her by millimetres as she giggled and toddled out, her sodden and loaded nappy seeming to mock him as she went.
Luca went in pursuit and captured her just as she knocked an ornament off one of the coffee tables in her effort to hide beneath it. Thankfully, the ornament just thudded to the carpeted floor without breaking and without hurting her. ‘You little minx,’ he said with a smile as he tugged her gently out by the ankles before he scooped her up in his arms.
Ella giggled and patted his face again. ‘Papà finded me.’
Luca smiled, even though his chest ached at the irony of his little girl’s words. ‘Yes, Ella, Papà found you.’
He took her back to the bathroom and this time held on to her with one hand while he tried to open the change bag with the other. Ella wriggled and squirmed but somehow he managed to get a new nappy out as well as a change of clothes.
He decided upon inspection that it was a bath job, not a simple change of nappy. He ran a warm bath, carefully checking the temperature before he put Ella in. She laughed and kicked her legs under the water, splashing him in the process. He wished he had thought to buy some bath toys. He remembered having a rubber duck as a child and some little cups and a jug to play with. He made a mental note to get some the next day, as well as some baby bath instead of the heavily perfumed hotel bath foam in case it was too strong for her skin.
He thought of all the times Bronte must have done this, bathed and changed Ella, while juggling all the other things she had to do. No wonder she hadn’t had time to sort out photos and albums.
‘Out now?’ Ella said, holding her arms up.
‘Er… Right,’ Luca said, reaching for a fluffy white towel. He wrapped it around her and lifted her out and carefully dried her. She fussed over getting dressed again, seeming to want to run around naked, but he somehow managed to convince her to wear a new nappy and another pair of leggings and matching dress.
‘I’m hungy,’ Ella announced matter-of-factly.
Luca wondered if room service catered for kids this young. What did kids of this age eat, anyway? He knew she had teeth; he had seen them shining like little pearls when she grinned so cheekily at him. He just hoped she didn’t have any allergies he should know about. But surely Bronte would have told him. Mind you, Bronte hadn’t told him much. She had stormed out and left him to it, no doubt to drive home her point about him knowing zilch about being a parent. It annoyed him that she was right. He didn’t have a clue and was still running on instinct and doing a pretty poor job of it if the current position of Ella’s nappy was any indication.
He adjusted it as well as he could and carried her back to the lounge. She sat on the floor and played with his phone while he used the hotel phone to dial room service. Within a very short time indeed a waiter came up to the suite with a suitable meal for a toddler, which Luca then proceeded to offer to Ella.
More food ended up on the floor than in her mouth, and he seriously consid
ered giving her another bath as she had smeared yoghurt all over the front of her dress, not to mention her face and hands.
Luca wondered what to do next. Was she too young to be read to? Not that he had any children’s books. He made another mental note about getting some tomorrow.
He sat her on his knee and made up a story to keep her occupied. She looked up at him with a big smile and then settled her dark little head against his chest, right where his heart was beating. One of her thumbs crept up into her bee-stung mouth but he decided against pulling it out. He continued with his story until she finally fell asleep in his arms.
He held her for a long time, just sitting there feeling her slight weight on his lap, wishing he had been there for her birth, for every single moment of her life. How could he make it up to her? How could he make it up to Bronte? Would Bronte ever forgive him for cutting her from his life the way he had? He had thought he was doing the right thing at the time, but now he had to face the fact that a simple phone call would have changed everything. If anyone was to blame, it was him, not Bronte. She had done what she could do to reach him but he had made it impossible for her to get through. Even if she had written to him, he knew he would not have opened it. He had made a pact with himself and it had come back to bite him in the most devastating way.
Ella sighed and gave her tiny thumb another couple of substantial sucks before she settled back down to a deep and peaceful slumber.
Luca stroked his hand over her little silky head, his eyes misting as he thought of how much he had missed. He would do whatever it took to put things as right as they could be.
Whatever it took…
Bronte came back to the hotel feeling a little foolish for her outburst. She had worried the whole time she was away, thinking of Ella waking up disoriented and confused. What had she been thinking, rushing off in a tantrum like that? It surely wouldn’t help Luca see her as a responsible and sensible young mother.
She got to the penthouse floor and, rather than use the swipe key, gave the door a soft knock so as not to wake Ella if she happened to still be asleep.
There was no answer.
She waited for another minute and then used the key. She walked into the lounge area to see Luca soundly asleep, with Ella, also out for the count, snuggled up against his chest. The penthouse looked as if a whirlwind had gone through it. There were toys and clothes strewn about the place and the remains of Ella’s supper were still on one of the coffee tables.
Luca suddenly opened his eyes and, with his free hand, he quickly rubbed his face. ‘How long have you been back?’ he asked.
‘Not long,’ Bronte said, shifting her weight. ‘Look, I’m sorry about storming out like that.’
He gave her a crooked smile. ‘You did me a favour, Bronte. It’s what I believe they call quality time, sì?’
She chewed at her bottom lip as she looked at what seemed to be smears of yoghurt all over the front of his designer business shirt. ‘I hope it wasn’t too steep a learning curve,’ she said. ‘Ella can have a mind of her own at times.’
‘She’s a Sabbatini,’ he said with the same lopsided smile. ‘We’re all a little bit stubborn about getting our own way.’
‘Yes, well, I’m not going to argue with you about that,’ Bronte said, folding her arms.
Luca looked down at the sleeping child. ‘She’s a great little kid,’ he said. ‘I just wish I could have known about her from the start.’
‘It was your choice to cut all contact.’
He raised his gaze back to hers. ‘Yes, it was and I take full responsibility for it.’
Bronte frowned at him. ‘So you’re…you’re apologising?’
He gave a small shrug. ‘Would it help if I did?’
She drew in a tight little breath. ‘Maybe, maybe not.’
Luca gently eased Ella off his lap and settled her onto the sofa, bunching up a couple of scatter cushions to keep her from rolling off the edge. Then he rose to his feet and came over to where Bronte was standing. ‘About last night—’ he began.
Bronte felt hot colour shoot to her cheeks. ‘I’d rather not talk about it,’ she said and took a step backwards but he caught her by the arm and held her in place.
‘I think we do need to talk about it,’ he said.
‘It doesn’t mean anything, you know,’ she said, throwing him a cutting look. ‘It was just sex.’
His eyes smouldered darkly as his thumb began to gently caress the underside of her wrist where her pulse was skyrocketing. ‘It is never just sex with you, Bronte.’
She put her chin up. ‘Maybe I’ve changed in the time we’ve been apart.’
He brought her wrist up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin, his eyes holding hers mesmerised. ‘Then if you have changed you will have no problem with our marriage being a real one,’ he said. ‘It will just be sex, nothing more, nothing less.’
Bronte felt the discomfort of being hoisted on one’s own petard. ‘I know what you’re trying to do,’ she said, pulling her hand away. ‘You’re trying to make me fall in love with you again.’
‘I am trying to make you see how we can have a wonderful life together,’ he said. ‘I know there are hurts to deal with. I know you don’t trust me not to walk out on you again. But, Bronte, I am not the same man I was two years ago.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘People don’t change that much, Luca. You’ll have to do a whole lot more than talk if you want me to consider staying with you.’
A flinty look came into his eyes. ‘Don’t forget who you are dealing with, Bronte,’ he said. ‘I can still make things very difficult for you if you don’t agree to marry me and move to Italy.’
Ella chose that moment to whimper. Bronte went to her and picked her up from the sofa, holding her close, as if daring Luca to take her from him. ‘You can make me marry you, Luca,’ she said bitterly. ‘You can even make me live in a foreign country and make me play the role of the devoted wife. But you need to remember one thing: you can’t—no matter what you do or say—make me love you again.’
Luca watched as she gathered Ella’s things together, her stiff angry movements communicating her hatred of him. ‘I would like to see Ella each day until we leave,’ he said through tight lips.
‘Fine,’ she said, throwing him a filthy look over her shoulder as she stalked to the door.
‘Bronte?’
She drew in a harsh breath and faced him with an irritated look on her face. ‘Yes?’
His eyes bored into hers. ‘Last night wasn’t just sex. Not for me.’
Her expression faltered for a moment, her small perfect white teeth sinking into her full bottom lip. But just as quickly she reset her features into a tight little mask of indifference. ‘I bet you say that to all your lovers,’ she said and, without another word, left him with just the lingering fragrance of her perfume for company.
CHAPTER NINE
THE next three weeks passed in a blur of activity. Bronte’s head was still spinning from the arguments she’d had with her mother over her acceptance of Luca’s proposal. But in the end Bronte had refused to budge, knowing that if she said no to Luca she would not see Ella again.
He had made it perfectly clear: she was to marry him or suffer the consequences. It wasn’t much of a choice, but then a secret part of her couldn’t help but think of what life would be like married to him. That passionate interlude, which had left her body still smouldering in its wake all this time later, made her realise their marriage was not going to be the sterile paper agreement she had first thought. Even that evening at his hotel, even though he had only pressed his mouth to her wrist, she had felt every sensory nerve in her body stirring to throbbing, aching life.
However, since that night Luca had kept his distance physically. He kept their conversations brief and businesslike. He didn’t touch Bronte once, not even to give her a kiss of greeting or goodbye. With Ella he was tender and attentive. He spent what time he could with her between appointme
nts while Bronte watched in the background. It made her heart tighten every time she saw Ella’s big blue eyes looking up at Luca so trustingly. His relationship with her was developing so rapidly, making Bronte feel as if Ella preferred her father now to her. Her little hands reached up to touch his stubbly face and her tinkling bell-like giggles brought a smile to his face, softening his features so much it made Bronte feel all the more wretched about how she had handled things.
Luca had organised an account at a high street wedding designer. Within moments of stepping into the smart boutique, Bronte found herself zipped into an exquisite gown that didn’t just cost the earth but quite possibly half of the universe too. Other things were delivered to the studio or the granny flat: designer clothes, lacy lingerie, toys and clothes for Ella.
Two days before they were due to leave, Luca arranged to come to the flat for dinner. He wanted to be there in time to bathe and feed Ella, as he had done the night at the hotel, as he had been unable to do since due to business commitments.
He arrived just as Bronte’s mother was leaving. Tina gave him a death stare as she began to pass by him on the doorstep but he stalled her by holding out an envelope to her.
‘What is this?’ Tina asked suspiciously.
‘It is an all expenses paid trip to Italy for your daughter’s wedding,’ Luca said. ‘I hope it will be the first of many visits to my homeland.’
Tina’s mouth pursed, her gaze eyeing the envelope as if it was going to burst into flames as soon as she touched it.
‘I want you to continue to be involved in Ella’s life,’ Luca said. ‘You are her maternal grandmother. You have been a big influence in her life so far. I don’t want that to change.’
Bronte watched from the sidelines as her mother’s eyes moistened. Tina took the envelope with a grudging murmur of thanks and left.
The Unclaimed Baby Page 11
