A Scandal, a Secret, a BabyMarriage Scandal, Showbiz Baby!

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Don’t you trust me, Justina?’ he asked quietly.

  Justina looked at him. She knew what she should say. She should tell him that, yes, of course she trusted him—because wouldn’t that smooth things over? He would smile, and then they would kiss, and then make a fuss of Nico. And to anyone watching from the house they would look like the perfect family. But this wasn’t some sort of play, she reminded herself. This was real life—and being in bed with him this afternoon had made some of her defences come tumbling down. She couldn’t keep hiding from the truth simply because it was painful. Dante had asked her an unexpectedly honest question which deserved nothing but an honest answer.

  ‘Actually, no,’ she said. ‘Not really.’

  He stilled, because somehow hadn’t he expected—hoped for—a different response? ‘So me being there for you during the birth and afterwards counts for nothing?’

  Her gaze was steady. ‘I didn’t realise you were doing it to score Brownie points.’

  ‘I wasn’t,’ he defended, indignation catching in his throat as he looked at her long dark hair which was blowing in the breeze. And suddenly he wanted to make it very clear to her exactly where he stood on the subject of other women. ‘Don’t you realise that I haven’t looked at another woman since I met you again at Roxy’s wedding?’

  ‘How would I know that?’ she asked quietly. ‘I’m not a mind-reader.’

  ‘Let me tell you what it was like when I saw you again after all those years,’ he said slowly. ‘You blew me away—just like you did before. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I kept telling myself to stay away from you. That we were bad for each other. I knew that. Only the temptation to come and find you was eating away at me.’

  She didn’t say anything, because his words didn’t sound like affection or anything close to it. They sounded like addiction. Was Dante addicted to the emotional danger which had always existed between them? Was she?

  ‘And then I discovered you were pregnant,’ he said. ‘And my desire very quickly became anger. Anger that you didn’t bother to tell me. That you were prepared to keep me in the dark about the fact I was going to be a father.’

  ‘Surely you can understand why I did that?’

  ‘Not really, no. Was it power that made you keep it secret?’ he questioned. ‘Or control?’

  Standing silhouetted against the dying apricot light of the Tuscan day, Justina thought that she had never seen him looking more indomitable, and yet his inherent arrogance almost took her breath away.

  ‘I’m amazed you can say all that to me with a straight face,’ she said. ‘You told me that it was never meant to be anything more than a one-night stand—so why would I foist on you the repercussions of that meeting? You were going to have a baby with a woman you despised. No...please.’ She lifted her hand as he opened his mouth to speak. ‘Let me finish, because it’s important. I thought that a baby would be the last thing you wanted and so I didn’t tell you. I can see now that was wrong, but I was trying to be independent.’

  ‘Of course you were.’

  She ignored the sardonic note which had hardened his voice. ‘I should have given you a choice about how much involvement you wanted instead of assuming that you wanted none.’

  ‘Or was that what you wanted, Justina?’ His voice was silky-soft now. ‘For me not to have any contact with our child?’

  She looked into his eyes. Weren’t lies sometimes kinder than the truth? She knew it would be easier all round if she just denied it. Yet she also knew that they had passed the point of twisting the truth in order to spare each other’s feelings. ‘Of course it’s what I wanted,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want you back in my life in any way. You bring with you too many complications, Dante.’

  Dante heard the cool determination in her voice and saw the candid gaze from her eyes. Her words hurt far more than he had expected them to, but her honesty was curiously refreshing. It told him exactly where he stood and it told him just what he needed to do. ‘I guess that pretty much concludes all we need to say on the subject of paternity,’ he said. ‘Maybe we should now do something inherently civilised—like going inside to drink some coffee.’

  She nodded, shaken by the frankness of the exchange but pleased at the unexpected turnaround which the conversation had taken. ‘That sounds exactly what I need.’

  As if on cue, Nico began to stir. Justina looked down at him, a fierce love swelling up in her heart as his long lashes fluttered open. ‘Hello, you,’ she said softly. ‘Are you hungry?’

  They walked back to the house, where Justina fed and changed Nico, and soon afterwards Dante’s mother knocked on the door and asked if she might take the baby to show to the staff.

  ‘And, no, I don’t need you to help me!’ she said very firmly to her son.

  There was a moment of silence once Signora D’Arezzo had gone. The two of them stood listening to the echoing sound of her retreating footsteps, and then Dante turned to Justina and lifted her fingertips to his lips.

  ‘Coffee?’ he questioned.

  She shivered, all their disharmony dissolved by that first touch. ‘If you like.’

  ‘Or bed?’

  She told herself that coffee was the safer option—so why was she nodding with that schoolgirl-shy smile and letting him lead her through to the bed, where the sheets were still rumpled from before? She bent to straighten them, but the drift of his fingertips over her bottom halted her.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said roughly. ‘It’s a waste of time.’

  She turned to face him, and he pushed her down on the bed and began to kiss her.

  Some of the tenderness of earlier had gone—had been replaced with an unmistakable urgency. He tugged off her clothes with impatient fingers, and somehow she managed to accomplish the same with his. Their bare bodies met in a warm collision of skin, and Justina felt the instant shock of familiarity and lust. He seemed so powerfully dark and dominant as he moved over her, his carved features rigid with restraint as she touched the hard, silken length of him.

  ‘Don’t,’ he groaned.

  She drifted her fingertips upwards and downwards in a light and teasing motion. ‘Sure?’

  Eyes glinting, he removed the offending hand, circling it with his fingers and holding it above her head so that she was effectively imprisoned beneath him. He looked so dark and dominant and powerful, she thought. And she was discovering that she liked that. She liked the feeling that this was beyond her control, that she was submitting to Dante’s will—because didn’t that stop her thinking too deeply about whether or not she should be doing it at all?

  Her orgasm came swiftly, and afterwards she drifted in and out of sleep until the clock chimed seven and she forced herself to go and take a shower. The room was very quiet when she returned. Dante was already dressed and fastening a pair of pale gold cufflinks. He glanced up to find her watching him, and he smiled as his gaze took in the white towel which was wrapped around her.

  ‘I’m getting a distinct feeling of déjà vu,’ he drawled. ‘You do realise that you’ll have me in a permanent state of arousal if you insist on walking around looking like that?’

  She could still feel his heated gaze on her as she went over to the dressing table and sat down. She took a wand of mascara and held it to her eye, but Dante had followed her. He was standing behind her and lifting the dark curtain of damp hair before leaning down to press his lips against the back of her exposed neck.

  ‘You smell delicious.’

  ‘It’s only soap.’

  ‘Then it is a very delicious soap.’

  She closed her eyes. ‘Dante...’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘We...we don’t have a lot of time before dinner.’

  ‘I know we don’t, tesoro—but I want you to know that I’m crazy about you. That I want you very much and that we have a l
ot of making up to do.’ His hand splayed over her breast and she opened her eyes to see the erotic image of his dark fingers star-fished over the white towelling reflected back at her in the mirror.

  ‘Just go,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m going—but all through dinner I shall be thinking about how much I am going to enjoy touching you later, just like this.’

  She felt a wrench of longing as he moved away, leaving her to apply her make up with fingers which were now trembling and to slip into the new underwear she’d bought. All the time she was aware of him watching her. And somehow he could make her feel more self-conscious than she’d ever been on a stage in front of thousands of people. He made her feel...exposed. As if the tough skin she’d formed to protect herself could be stripped away by a single, searing slant of those dark eyes.

  Her silk sheath dress was the colour of cappuccino, and she teamed it with a pair of towering nude-coloured shoes. She’d twisted her hair into an elaborate knot, and her only jewellery was a pair of dangling pearl and diamond earrings which sparkled and gleamed against her neck.

  ‘Who bought you those?’ he questioned suddenly.

  She finished applying lip gloss and turned round as something in the tone of his voice brought a sudden tension into the room. ‘Do a woman’s jewels always have to be bought for her by somebody else?’

  ‘They usually are when they’re as expensive as those ones clearly are.’

  There was a pause. ‘I bought them myself, if you must know.’

  ‘Of course you did.’ He gave a short laugh and his voice took on a hard note, as if he was remembering something. ‘The ever-independent Justina Perry.’

  ‘That’s me,’ she said lightly, but his words hurt—as she suspected they were meant to. Maybe this was a timely reminder that nothing between them had really changed. Before she started allowing herself to believe that it was safe to start loving him again she needed a reality check. Yes, they had the most amazing sex, but underneath he was still the same judgemental man.

  ‘And the jewels which I bought you? What happened to those?’

  ‘I tried to give them back to you.’

  ‘And I told you to keep them. Apart from the ring, of course—which, as you know, was a family heirloom.’ There was a pause. ‘So where are they now?’

  Justina wriggled her shoulders uncomfortably. Why couldn’t he just let it go? ‘I sold them.’

  He frowned. ‘All of them?’

  ‘There’s no need to look at me like that, Dante. I gave the money to charity.’

  ‘I told you to keep them,’ he repeated. He remembered a bracelet he’d had specially commissioned—a circlet of yellow diamonds, chosen because they reminded him of her eyes. He remembered the way she had smiled as he’d slipped it onto her wrist, and the dreamy way she’d said that one day their daughter would wear it. So much for her vow that she would treasure it for ever! ‘They were bought for you and only you. I don’t want some other woman wearing them.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Dante.’ Should she tell him that the sight of all those baubles had made her heart ache every time she’d looked at them? Jewels which most women would long to own had seemed to represent nothing but failure. They’d reminded her of the man she’d loved and lost—and who could live with that? ‘Since when did any woman ever wear stuff given to her by her ex-fiancé?’

  The bell rang for dinner, putting an end to their discussion—but Dante found himself remembering one sentence in particular which his lawyer had drummed into him. “Independent women make the worst adversaries in any custody battle, Dante. A needy woman is always much more amenable.”

  If that was the case then no female on the planet could be more fiercely independent than the one who stood in front of him. ‘Come on,’ he said abruptly. ‘Let’s go.’

  Justina was aware that his mood was cool as they walked along the stone-flagged corridor, and tentatively she linked her arm through his, wanting him to lose that hard and grim expression. ‘So who else will be at dinner?’ she questioned softly. ‘Apart from your mother.’

  ‘My brother, obviously. You remember Luigi?’

  ‘How could I forget?’

  ‘And my sister has travelled from Rome to be here. My cousins are eager to meet you again, but I felt that it might be a bit much to subject you to mass scrutiny on your first evening. So we’ll save that for another day.’

  She let go of his arm just before they walked into the main salon, where Dante’s brother was throwing a large log onto the fire.

  ‘Hello, Luigi,’ Justina said quietly, and he looked up. He was as tall and as powerfully built as his brother, but his skin had the darker glow of someone who spent their life working outside. Dante had told her that Luigi had run the vast estate since the death of their father, and was now one of the world’s leading wine experts. She thought that his eyes were cool and watchful as he greeted her.

  ‘Justina,’ he said. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’

  She smiled up at him. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

  ‘Indeed. And I believe I must congratulate you on giving birth to my brother’s child?’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, thinking that was a characteristically possessive D’Arezzo way of phrasing it.

  ‘Now, what can I get you to drink?’

  She was longing for one of the glasses of prosecco which stood on a tray, but she was mindful of the fact that she was breastfeeding—so her nerves would have to remain ruffled. ‘Some fizzy water would be perfect.’

  At that moment a beautiful girl ran into the room, her arms outstretched in greeting. Giulia D’Arezzo was the only female in the family, and rather more demonstrative than both her brothers, and Justina found herself laughing as she was enveloped in an enthusiastic hug.

  ‘Oh, Jus! I’m so happy to see you again—I can’t tell you! I’ve only just arrived—the traffic from Rome was atrocious. Am I too late to see Nico? Have you put him to bed already?’

  ‘I’m afraid I have—or rather Dante has.

  Babies of Nico’s age seem to spend most of their time sleeping—but we can creep down later and peep at him if you like,’ said Justina. ‘Giulia, you look wonderful.’

  ‘Grazie. And so do you—though your dress is much longer than the ones you used to wear! Why are you blushing when what I say is true? Now, tell me, are you still making sweet music?’ Giulia demanded. ‘And why did you stop sending me your albums?’

  The warmth of Giulia’s welcome made Justina relax, as did the flames from the flickering fire. She sipped at her drink, listening to the younger woman’s chatter and managing to skirt around the subject of why she’d felt it was best not to let her friendship with Dante’s sister continue. Because that would have been impossible, wouldn’t it? She’d needed to cut all ties with the D’Arezzo family once he’d called off their engagement.

  By the time they sat down to dinner she had begun to feel genuinely hungry—though she was seated next to Luigi, who seemed to have some sort of not-very-hidden agenda going on. He asked her how her songwriting was going, and when she tried to play it down told her that he’d read recently that one of her songs had been at number one in Australia. But he said it as if she’d committed a crime instead of doing something to be proud of.

  The pasta course was cleared away and Luigi poured himself a glass of red wine, nodding his head approvingly when she refused the same. ‘You are intending to go back to work, I suppose?’ he enquired, leaning back in his chair to look at her.

  ‘Well, I need to support myself,’ answered Justina equably.

  ‘But surely you have accumulated enough money during your career never to have to work again?’

  It was a question she got asked all the time—but people always underestimated how much money you needed to live on for the rest of your life. Justina had seen people
lose their fortunes and be left scraping around and had vowed it would never happen to her. She’d seen for herself what could happen to women who didn’t work. She’d seen her own mother clinging to rich men who discarded her when someone younger and prettier came along.

  ‘I have a very strong work ethic,’ she said carefully. ‘And besides, the work I do is very flexible.’

  ‘I’m sure it is.’ Luigi ran a fingertip around the tip of his wine glass. ‘But what will happen to Nico while you are occupied with this songwriting of yours? Will you be able to concentrate? Will you hear him above the music if he cries out for his mamma?’

  ‘Luigi,’ said Dante warningly.

  Justina put her glass of water down with a hand which wasn’t quite steady. ‘Probably not. So I’ll just leave him to fend for himself,’ she said. ‘I can probably arrange the baby equivalent of a cat-flap. You know—a saucer of milk, maybe a rusk or two. He can just crawl in and out and help himself.’

  Luigi pushed his glass away and said something to his brother in a low stream of Italian—a statement clearly designed to exclude her. But Justina was listening carefully enough to register some of the words. She saw the look which hardened Dante’s face before he made a furious response which was too rapid for her to understand.

  Forcing herself to pick at food she didn’t want, she was glad when the meal ended and she could fulfil her promise to Giulia by taking her to see the baby. But her heart was aching as they walked into Nico’s bedroom to where he lay sleeping.

  He was swaddled inside the cot and Giulia stared down at him for a long moment. Her voice was a breathless whisper when eventually she spoke. ‘Oh, but he is beautiful, Justina. Absolutely beautiful.’

  ‘I know he is.’ Justina felt the stupid lump which rose in her throat as they stood there, and her fierce sense of maternal pride was blotted out by the terrible sense that nothing was really as it should be. That everything was so damned complicated.