Her Forgotten Lover's Heir

by Annie West

  ‘I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. I wasn’t sure if that crowd would be a good idea after what you’ve been through.’

  ‘The accident?’ Molly shrugged. ‘That was weeks ago. I’m not an invalid.’ Even if her past was still a blank, black wall. A tremor ran through her at the thought but she ignored it. ‘It’s good to get out and meet people. Thank you so much for inviting us. And for your friendship, Chiara. It means a lot.’

  She and Chiara had clicked from that first quiet dinner they’d shared with Pietro last week. A few days later the two women had met for coffee and cemented the budding friendship.

  Chiara reached out and closed her hand around Molly’s. ‘It’s absolutely my pleasure. You have no idea what a relief it is to see Pietro finally settling down with a nice woman. After Elizabetta I wondered if he ever would. He spent the last few years pretending to be a playboy, which just isn’t him. At heart he’s a family guy.’

  Molly felt something shift inside, like a gear thrust out of place with a jarring crunch.

  ‘Who’s Elizabetta? An old girlfriend?’ It shouldn’t surprise her. Pietro was in his early thirties and he hadn’t got that sensual knowledge of a woman’s body and desires living like a monk.

  Chiara’s eyes widened in such patent surprise Molly felt a tingle shiver across her nape. A whisper of premonition.

  ‘Pietro hasn’t mentioned her?’

  Molly shook her head.

  Chiara cast a glance past Molly’s shoulder towards the crowded apartment. ‘Maybe it would be better to speak to Pietro about her.’

  Which sounded like a cop out. That shiver across Molly’s nape now felt like jabs from tiny needles.

  ‘Is she a secret?’

  ‘No...it’s just...’

  Molly folded her arms. ‘Come on, Chiara. How would you feel in my position? You can’t just mention her name then back off.’

  Chiara twisted one chunky silver earring then nodded. ‘You’re right. Pietro probably hasn’t mentioned her because she’s history. He’s well rid of her. I never did like her.’

  ‘But who was she? A lover? A business partner?’

  ‘No.’ Chiara’s mouth tightened. ‘She was his wife.’

  * * *

  ‘You’re very quiet. Maybe we should have left the party earlier.’ As ever, Pietro was solicitous, observing her keenly as he ushered her into their penthouse apartment.

  ‘I’m fine. I enjoyed myself.’ Molly walked into the sitting room and stopped abruptly. She was too wired even to sit. All through the goodbyes and the drive home she’d been unable to relax, but had been determined to wait for the privacy of the apartment before raising the subject of Elizabetta.

  Why hadn’t he told her? He’d already begun talking about their wedding. Surely it was natural to mention he’d been married before?

  Molly told herself there’d be a good reason Pietro hadn’t talked to her about it, but that didn’t banish the raw ache because he’d withheld something so important.

  A pang of distress hollowed her stomach and she teetered on her high heels.

  ‘You’re tired.’ A warm hand closed around her elbow. ‘Come on, Molly. You and the baby both need rest.’

  Pietro sounded so reasonable, so sure he knew how she felt, that suddenly Molly found herself on the brink of anger. It was stupid. He hadn’t done anything wrong. This had to be pregnancy hormones playing havoc with her emotions. Yet...

  Gently but deliberately she disengaged her arm and stepped away.

  ‘Molly?’ Pietro’s brow corrugated with concern. She realised it was the first time she’d ever walked away from him. Usually she revelled in their intimacy. It wasn’t just the wonderful sex. Pietro was tactile, often reaching for her hand, wrapping his arm around her waist or nuzzling her hair, and Molly loved those caresses.

  He’s just trying to look after you.

  But for some reason now Pietro’s attentiveness made her feel ever so slightly claustrophobic.

  How could that be? He’d only have to smile at her, stroke a hand along her flesh, and she’d melt.

  Because this is about more than sex.

  ‘I’m not tired, Pietro. I need to talk with you.’

  He didn’t move, nor did his expression alter, yet she sensed a waiting stillness that projected a heavy tension in the air.

  ‘About what?’ He gestured to a nearby lounge chair, but Molly didn’t sit.

  ‘Elizabetta.’ She waited, watching for some reaction, but saw nothing. It was that impenetrable look again, rare these days, but still effective in blocking attempts to read his thoughts. ‘Why didn’t you mention her to me?’

  Pietro shrugged and spread his hands, palm up. ‘She’s long gone, and good riddance, that’s why.’

  Molly frowned. ‘Surely I had the right to know you’d been married before?’

  ‘Of course!’ He stood straighter, as if she’d accused him of something dreadful. ‘But does she make a difference to us? To our plans?’

  Molly opened her mouth then snapped it shut. Baffled, she realised he’d somehow put her on the back foot. ‘No.’ Her feelings for Pietro were as strong as ever. She wanted a future with him, bringing up their child together.

  She didn’t even notice she’d skimmed her hand protectively across her abdomen till his gaze dropped to the gesture. Instantly she let her hand fall. Still he said nothing and Molly felt a weight settle around her shoulders, like a clammy cloak, chilly and uncomfortable. She spun on her foot and strode to the door that led onto the terrace. She needed air.

  ‘She was nothing like you.’

  Pietro’s words stopped her on the threshold, her hand on the handle of the open sliding door.

  ‘In what way?’ Molly didn’t turn. It was easier to focus on the lights threaded through the garden, turning it into a romantic retreat.

  ‘She was pretty on the outside but ugly inside.’ His voice came from nearer, just behind her. ‘Whereas you’re lovely inside and out.’

  Molly blinked. Silly, how his words stole her breath. But he did that to her regularly, didn’t he? She cared for him so deeply, he was so ingrained in her psyche, her need for him transcended the gaps in her memory.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And Elizabetta never loved me.’ His voice was so close it burred the bare skin of her neck and shoulders, making her shiver. ‘Not like you do.’

  Molly pressed a hand to the place where her heart battered her ribs. Her feelings for Pietro had been obvious for weeks, as obvious as his for her. Yet they’d never actually said the words out loud.

  A tide of emotion swelled, cramming her lungs so tightly she could barely breathe.

  ‘You do, don’t you, Molly?’ His voice was calm but with an urgent edge that spoke of... Could it be anxiety?

  ‘Yes, I do.’ The words sounded loud in the thick silence.

  Warm air puffed across her hair as he exhaled. His hand skimmed her arm, up over her shoulder and past the narrow straps of her dress to settle in that sensitive hollow where shoulder and neck met. A delicious shimmy of sensation radiated out from his touch, corkscrewing down to her heart and her womb.

  ‘I really am the luckiest man in the world to have you.’ His touch slid away, down to her belly, where he splayed his hand in a proprietorial gesture that thrilled her. He leaned down and kissed her neck, sending her body into overdrive. That felt so good, of course she craved more.

  But she fought her way out of the sensual fog. ‘You’re distracting me. Tell me more about Elizabetta.’ Molly hated the sour tang on her tongue as she said the name. ‘Did you love her?’ She didn’t care if that made her sound desperately needy. She had to know.

  ‘No! I told you, she wasn’t like you.’

  Molly felt relief seep into her bones. ‘Go on.’

  ‘We had an affair. I was actually on the ver
ge of ending it when she announced she was pregnant.’

  The floor dropped away beneath Molly’s feet, but Pietro was there, supporting her, holding her close.

  ‘She had your child?’ Molly knew how excited Pietro was about the baby she carried, yet he’d never mentioned already being a father. This didn’t make sense. Whatever his disagreement with his ex-wife, he’d be a devoted father.

  ‘No, she didn’t.’

  Molly swung round, staring up into stark features. Instinctively she reached for him, clutching his arms. ‘I’m so sorry, Pietro.’ She could barely bring herself to consider what it would be like, losing a child. Everything inside her rebelled at the idea.

  He shook his head. ‘You don’t understand. She didn’t lose the baby.’ He drew a slow breath. ‘She was never pregnant.’

  Molly frowned, trying to make sense of what he said. ‘She lied?’

  His mouth pulled tight at one corner. ‘I told you, she wasn’t like you. She was beguiling and sexy and, it turned out, a conniving gold-digger.’ He reached out and rubbed at Molly’s forehead, as if to erase her frown. ‘Elizabetta had her mind set on a life of luxury and decided I could provide it. She knew I wanted kids one day, even though we’d agreed on a short, no-strings affair. So she lied, told me she was pregnant and that she wanted to have the baby.’

  He lifted his head, as if searching the night sky. ‘I was stunned. We’d taken precautions, but at the same time I was thrilled that they appeared to have failed.’ He looked down at Molly and this time there was no guard on his emotions. She read his feelings, raw and real.

  ‘I told you I lost my parents when I was young. What I didn’t tell you was that I lost my whole family on one day.’

  Molly sucked in a shocked breath.

  ‘My parents and little sister were skiing in the Alps when an avalanche hit. I was supposed to be there too but I’d persuaded them to let me spend the weekend with my best friend while he celebrated his birthday.’

  ‘Oh, Pietro!’ Molly’s eyes widened and her stomach plummeted into nothingness. How unbelievably tragic!

  She clung to him. A trauma like that could change a child’s life. More than most she understood what it was to feel utterly alone in a scary, baffling world.

  ‘It’s all right, Molly. It was a long time ago.’

  Despite his words, she sensed the dragging sense of loss deep within Pietro. Was that why he was so very protective? Because early grief had taught him happiness could be transient?

  ‘I know what it is not to have anyone close, anyone special in your life who loves you with that unconditional bond.’ His mouth pulled up in a tight smile. ‘I always wanted to have children and a family of my own, so I was delighted, despite my surprise at Elizabetta’s news. Somehow she’d worked out that family was my Achilles’ heel.’ His shoulders lifted in a self-deprecating shrug. ‘As a businessman, I’m not usually gullible. But the thought that she carried my own flesh and blood...’ He sighed. ‘I should have known better, particularly when she said she didn’t want to wait for a big wedding.’

  Pain pierced Molly’s chest. ‘You shouldn’t have to expect people are lying.’ It was an aspect of Pietro’s wealth that she hadn’t considered. Were there many people who lied to get his cash? ‘When did you discover the truth?’

  ‘Too late.’ He grimaced. ‘She tried to pretend she’d had a miscarriage while I was away on business, but her story didn’t add up. Then she tried to convince me she’d been mistaken about the pregnancy and afraid to disappoint me. That she expected to fall pregnant soon anyway. But after a while she barely even tried to keep up that fiction. She didn’t want a baby at all, as it would interfere with her lavish lifestyle. Instead she concentrated on spending as much of my money as she could get her hands on.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Pietro.’

  He looked down at her, his cloudy gaze focusing slowly, as if it took an effort to drag himself from the murky depths of the past.

  ‘It’s done. We parted, acrimoniously and at considerable cost, and I learned my lesson.’ He lifted his hand to stroke Molly’s cheek. ‘You can see why I wasn’t in a hurry to tell you about her. What you and I have is so different. I didn’t want to sully that by talking about her. But you’re right; I should have told you sooner.’

  Molly heard the tenderness in his voice, felt it in his touch and read the regret in his eyes. How could she be annoyed that he’d wanted to keep what they had separate from his tarnished first marriage?

  ‘I understand,’ she murmured, leaning in to kiss him. She cupped his jaw, watching crimson fire flash at the heart of her opal engagement ring.

  What they shared was strong and real, and just as magical as that elusive spark.

  ‘But in future, I want you to talk to me about things, not hide them because you think I need protection. I’m stronger than that.’ She might have felt weak and disorientated straight out of hospital but Molly knew herself to be better now. ‘I don’t need to be sheltered. I need to be involved. Okay?’

  Pietro’s gaze bored into hers, his expression doubtful.

  She loved his strength and, yes, his masculine urge to protect, but it could be stifling. Rather than roll her eyes at his macho Italian male attitude, Molly tried to make him understand. ‘This is important, Pietro. I want us to take care of each other, but as equals. So, from now on, no more secrets. Yes?’

  Eventually he inclined his head. ‘As you wish.’ He paused, as if choosing his words. ‘From this moment, no secrets.’

  He looked so grave, Molly’s heart skipped a beat. Was this how it would feel when they stood before witnesses and pledged themselves to each other? Originally she’d thought Pietro’s suggestion that they marry soon was a little rushed. That she needed more time to adjust to being Mrs Agosti. But, feeling the earthquake of love and longing as she met his intense stare, she didn’t want to wait.

  ‘Is there anything else?’

  Molly shook her head, overcome by emotion.

  ‘Good.’ His mouth kicked up in a sexy smile as he bent and scooped her into his arms. Stunned, she grabbed at his shoulders. ‘Then, I repeat, it’s time for bed, dolcissima Molly.’ He kissed her on the mouth, hard and slow, demonstrating his intentions with a deliberation that sent desire streaking through her. ‘Any objections?’

  ‘Not one.’ Her voice was breathless with a longing she couldn’t conceal.

  ‘Excellent.’ He turned and carried her to the bedroom. ‘See, consultation and agreement already.’

  The satisfaction in his tone and the wolfish quality of that feral smile made Molly laugh aloud. Pietro did enjoy getting his own way.

  * * *

  It was only the next day, lying drowsily in bed after Pietro had kissed her goodbye and left for the office, that Molly realised he hadn’t said he loved her.

  He’d spoken of her love for him. That was all.

  The realisation slammed into her, making her still, everything inside her contracting, as if plunged into an icy sea.

  Deliberately Molly dragged in a slow breath and forced herself to relax. Her nerves were shot after the stress of the amnesia. This prickling in her fingers and the sick swirl in her stomach was just an overreaction.

  She rolled over and grabbed the pillow where Pietro had lain. Dragging it to her, she hugged it close, shutting her eyes and inhaling his scent.

  That was better. Her pulse slowed to something like its normal beat and reason reasserted itself.

  So Pietro hadn’t said the words. Did it matter? Everything he’d done from the day in the hospital till this morning, when he’d made love to her with such passion and tenderness, proved his feelings for her. She couldn’t ask for a more caring partner.

  Besides, men were notoriously unwilling to say the ‘L’ word, weren’t they?

  Obviously he must have told her before, when they’d first talked
of marriage. Though Molly couldn’t remember the proposal, she knew she’d never have agreed to marry a man who didn’t love her.

  Hadn’t Pietro told her more than once that she’d made him the happiest of men? Didn’t he show his feelings in every caress and passionate glance? In how he looked out for her and reassured her when she was low? Being with an amnesiac fiancée must be hard but Pietro never complained.

  And he was clearly ecstatic about being a father. Every time the baby was mentioned she saw his excitement. The other day, as they’d walked through a park, he’d been co-opted into an impromptu game of football and he’d had such a way with the kids.

  He’ll make a terrific father. A wonderful husband. And yet...

  Molly screwed up her face, annoyed at her neediness. Of course he’d told her he loved her. It was just that she couldn’t remember him saying the words. Without that memory, the need to hear it from his lips became essential.

  On a surge of impatience Molly flung aside the pillow and sheet and swung her legs out of bed.

  Really? She’d lost a lifetime of memories and all she worried about was hearing Pietro say I love you?

  Yet, no matter how she tried to rationalise it, the need was there, strong and growing. She could ask him straight out, demand that he tell her. But that wouldn’t be the same as him declaring it of his own volition. She needed something to prompt the declaration. Some thing, or some place.

  Maybe the place they’d fallen in love.

  Tuscany.

  Of course—Tuscany, a romantic villa. With any luck the happiness they’d enjoyed there together might also help her beat the amnesia that kept her past from her.

  Molly shot to her feet and strode to the bathroom, excitement fizzing like Prosecco in her veins. She had plans to make.

  * * *

  ‘You want to go away?’ Pietro swirled his aperitif in his glass as he surveyed Molly in the early-evening light.