She didn’t have the energy to make a fuss, so she didn’t, content to sit there against his warmth, the afterglow of the orgasm, not to mention the aftermath of her own emotional breakdown, making her feel sleepy.
‘Now.’ Dante’s voice was very firm. ‘What you are going to do is talk to me. I want to know why you think your brother’s death is your fault.’
Stella swallowed. She didn’t want to talk about it. Then again, she did owe him some kind of explanation. ‘It’s a long story.’
Dante settled them both back against the couch. ‘I have time and nowhere to be.’
His bare skin under her cheek was warm, his heartbeat strong and steady in her ear. It calmed her.
‘My brother died in prison,’ she said after a moment. ‘He was stabbed in a brawl a few years after he was imprisoned.’
‘Yes. I know. It read about it in your file.’
‘What you don’t know is that it was my fault he was in prison in the first place.’
‘Oh? And why is that?’
It was painful to talk about this but she forced the words out. ‘Papa and Matteo were plotting to get your father back his throne and the police got wind of it. Somehow Papa knew before they came and he and Matteo managed to get away. Only Mama and I were home and they...interrogated her.’
A shiver moved through her and she concentrated on the sound of Dante’s heartbeat rather than the memory of her mother’s sobs. ‘She was fragile and the police weren’t very nice. They made her cry. I was scared for her. Scared that they’d hurt her. Papa told me not to give the police anything, but I...couldn’t be quiet. I’d seen Matteo go down to the caves near the beach near our house, so I...told them where he’d gone. So they would leave my mother alone.’
‘Of course you did,’ Dante said quietly. ‘You wanted to protect her.’
He made it sound so reasonable, almost noble, when it was anything but.
‘No.’ Her voice had gone scratchy. ‘It was wrong. Papa told me that I couldn’t say a word to the police. He made me promise. He told me that Matteo was the most important person in our family and that he had to be protected. But...they were hurting my mother. And I was scared. And I thought that Matteo would get away—’ She stopped abruptly, not wanting to voice it.
‘But?’ Dante asked after a moment.
The flaw inside her felt suddenly stark and jagged. ‘I wanted them to love me. I wanted them to protect me. But they never did. They loved him more. And there was a part of me that wanted him...’
‘Gone,’ Dante finished with unaccustomed gentleness. ‘Part of you wanted him gone.’
She closed her eyes again, unable to bear it, the guilt crushing. ‘They took him and Papa was so angry with me. He knew why I’d betrayed my own brother—of course he knew. He told me I was weak, that if I’d truly wanted his love I would have done my duty to my family and not said a word.’ Her throat closed and she had to force the rest of it out. ‘And then Matteo died and Papa blamed me. He couldn’t take it out on me, of course, so when he decided he’d take it out on the Cardinalis I volunteered to do the job.’
Dante reached for her discarded white robe, drawing it around her shoulders. ‘Because you wanted to redeem yourself?’
‘Yes. And because I wanted to prove to Papa that I was strong.’ She tried to blink away the tears, shivering under the robe even though it was warm and Dante’s bare chest even warmer. ‘That I was worthy of his love.’ A tear slid down her cheek. ‘It’s a flaw in me, Dante. And it caused my brother’s death.’
But Dante’s fingers were beneath her chin, tilting her head back, and she had no choice but to meet his dark eyes. There was something fierce and utterly sure in them. ‘You didn’t cause your brother’s death, Stella Montefiore. It was his choice to plot against the government, not yours. The police wouldn’t even have been after him if he hadn’t and you wouldn’t have been in that situation.’
‘But—’
‘And, as for wanting your father’s love, that isn’t a weakness or a flaw. That’s a basic human necessity.’ Something in his gaze shifted. ‘My mother preferred the bottle to me, no matter how many times I tried to wean her away from it, so I understand what it’s like to want something from someone who’s never going to give it.’
She took a little breath. ‘You didn’t try to kill anyone for it, though.’
‘No, I simply walked away.’ There was a bitter note in his voice. ‘And she died anyway.’
Stella stared at him, distracted for a second. ‘What happened?’
But he shook his head. ‘We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. And you’re not flawed, Stella. You’re not weak. It takes strength to push through with something you know is wrong, just as it takes strength not to do it too.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you were very determined to carry out some kind of revenge.’
‘And I couldn’t.’
‘No, you couldn’t. But that’s not a weakness. That was your strength. The strength to hold back when everything in you is telling you to do it.’
She wasn’t sure he was right about that. But in this moment she couldn’t find it in herself to argue. His dark eyes were very certain and there was a deep part of her that craved that certainty.
‘You always knew I wouldn’t,’ she said, staring up him. ‘Even back in Monte Carlo. Why?’
‘I told you. I saw your soul that night. And it’s not the soul of a killer.’ His mouth curved very slightly. ‘It’s the soul of a lover.’
She couldn’t stop looking at that mouth. Couldn’t stop feeling the heat of the hard-muscled body beneath hers and the ache building between her thighs. An ache that was far more interesting to explore than talking. ‘When you said that ours would be a marriage in name only...’
Dante’s beautiful mouth curved more. ‘Yes? What about it?’
She swallowed. ‘Does that start now?’
‘Well, seeing as how we’re not married yet, no, it doesn’t.’
‘Good.’ Stella reached up and slid her fingers into his thick, dark hair. ‘Because you know what I really want?’
Gold flamed bright in his dark eyes. ‘Tell me, kitten.’
‘You,’ she said thickly. ‘I want you.’
And she drew his mouth down on hers.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DANTE SAT IN the waiting room of the high-end clinic he’d taken Stella to for her first doctor’s appointment. The doctor had wanted a few minutes with Stella alone, which had made Dante want to protest for no good reason that he could see. But he’d held his peace and pretended he was absolutely fine with it.
He was not absolutely fine with it.
Restlessness coiled inside him, a feral sort of feeling that had grown deeper in the past couple of days. Oddly enough, ever since that incident with the letter opener.
He tried to tell himself it had nothing to do with how Stella had told him of her fears then reached for him as if he’d been the air she needed to breathe. Nothing to do with that at all.
Yes, he was continuing to sleep with her, but that was because she wanted it too, and why not? Work out this chemistry now, while they had a chance, because after the wedding that would be it.
Are you sure you want that?
Dante growled under his breath and shoved the thought away. He shouldn’t be concentrating on these ridiculous feelings anyway. What he should be concentrating on was the conversation they’d had about where they potentially might want to live.
By mutual unspoken agreement, they’d steered clear of personal subjects, keeping any discussions they did have firmly about the baby.
They’d agreed that since the child would be Italian they would need to live in Italy, but they’d had a minor argument about where. Stella had wanted a house in the countryside, while he’d preferred the city.
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He’d shown her the list his assistant had given him and they’d eventually compromised by settling on a couple of places to view—one a palazzo uncomfortably near his brother’s in Milan and a penthouse in Milan itself.
Dante thought he’d probably end up purchasing both anyway—he was going to need a place to himself, after all, especially to bring any potential lovers he might want to spend the night with—but he didn’t want to have that discussion with Stella just yet.
The thought of sleeping with other women left him feeling unenthused and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. He’d always planned to stick to his insistence that once they were married they would stop sleeping together, but celibacy wasn’t an option for him either.
You could just keep on having sex with your wife.
His whole body tightened at that idea, yet there was something in him that also shied away from it. The sex was good—better than good, truth be told—but there was an intensity to it that made him uneasy.
Maybe because she’s starting to matter to you?
Dante shifted in his seat then got up, unable to sit still any more, pacing around the waiting room.
Where the hell was that damn doctor?
His phone vibrated, thankfully distracting him from his thoughts. However, the thankful feelings drained away almost immediately when he saw a text from Enzo pop up on his screen:
Matilda told me you had a conversation with her about pregnancy. What’s going on?
Dante sighed. Dio, what was he going to tell his brother? Enzo would no doubt find it extremely amusing that his playboy brother’s past had finally caught up to him. Except that Enzo had no idea that the woman expecting Dante’s baby had tried to kill him and was an enemy of the Cardinalis. And, if his brother ever found out, he’d probably have an aneurysm.
Which meant that until he had Stella safely as his wife Dante was better off not telling him anything at all.
He stared at his phone for a second then quickly typed in a response:
The usual private life drama. You don’t want to know. It’s not a problem now, anyway.
That should be enough for Enzo not to enquire further. He usually found Dante’s preoccupation with the opposite sex quite dull.
Enzo, however, clearly had other thoughts.
It’s not that ‘romantic entanglement’ is it?
Damn. Why couldn’t his brother be uninterested, like he normally was?
Do you really want me to go into laborious detail? Dante texted back. Or would you rather I work on that PR plan for the new office?
There was a brief pause and then Enzo finally texted back:
Good point. Carry on.
It should have satisfied Dante that his brother—surprisingly for Enzo—had dropped the subject. But it didn’t. It was almost as though Dante actually wanted to talk to Enzo about things child-related, which a couple of weeks ago Dante would have died rather than suffer through.
Things have changed.
Yes. As much as he wanted them not to, they had.
He was going to be a father and he wanted a different life for his child from the one he’d had. A life where his child would be safe, cared for and protected.
And loved.
A hot and painful feeling lanced through him, as though he’d been stabbed.
‘You can come in now, Mr Cardinali.’
Dante ignored the sensation, grateful for the doctor’s interruption.
Inside the doctor’s office, Stella was lying on a special padded bed, dressed in a loose white hospital gown. She looked small and delicate and very pale, her golden hair in a cloud around her head. There was uncertainty in her blue eyes and, when they met his, he thought he saw a small flicker of fear that she quickly masked.
Understandable that she would be afraid. He wasn’t exactly feeling calm himself, not when they were going to be getting the first glimpse of the child they’d created together and had no idea what to expect.
But he’d thought, after that night when she’d confessed to him and let him hold her as she’d cried, that she’d trust him at least a little with her fears, not try to hide them. Because she was going to have to trust him at some point, wasn’t she?
He wanted her to. They were in this together, after all, and if they were going to be parents they had to trust one another. At least, they were if they were going to give their baby a better childhood than either of them had had.
Crossing the room to where she lay, he reached for her hand, ignoring the sudden surprised look that crossed her face as he did so.
Her fingers were cold so he enfolded them into his palm to warm them up.
Emotions he couldn’t read flickered through her eyes and he could feel a degree of tension in her hand, though she didn’t pull it away from his.
‘You don’t need to be scared,’ he murmured when she didn’t say anything.
‘I’m not.’ But she wouldn’t quite meet his gaze.
‘Don’t try to hide it from me, kitten. You know I can see that you are.’
Colour stole through her pale cheeks. She kept her gaze averted, watching the doctor bustling around, remaining silent.
But her hand stayed enfolded in his, making the tight feeling in his chest deepen.
‘Our baby will be fine,’ he went on softly. ‘I have you, kitten.’
She stared fixedly at the doctor, doing a good impression of ignoring him entirely. Then her fingers tightened around his, as if she found his presence reassuring, and the protective instinct inside him wound deep into his bones, making him ache.
She thought she was weak, yet she wasn’t. She was strong. Yet even so, right now, right here, whether she acknowledged it or not, she needed him.
No one had needed him in a very long time, if anyone had ever needed him at all.
Mama certainly didn’t, no matter what she said.
But now was not the time to be thinking of his mother, so he ignored the thought, keeping hold of Stella’s hand as the doctor sat down beside the bed and prepared her for the scan.
The doctor talked soothingly about how everything was looking fine and there was no need for concern, and Dante wanted to tell her that he was not concerned at all, but the moment she put the wand on Stella’s stomach his throat closed.
Then there was silence as the doctor shifted the wand around, all of them looking at the tiny screen on the ultrasound machine.
‘Ah,’ the doctor said at last, smiling. ‘There is your baby.’
The sound of a heartbeat, fast and regular, filled the small room, and Dante found himself staring into the impossible silvery blue of Stella’s eyes. She was looking straight at him this time, everything he’d been thinking himself reflected back in her gaze.
No, they hadn’t looked for this. Hadn’t wanted it. But it had happened, and now both of them would do anything and everything for the life they’d created between them.
‘Give us a moment please, doctor,’ Dante ordered, not letting go of Stella’s hand or looking away from her.
‘Of course.’ The doctor rose to her feet. ‘Take all the time you need.’
The door closed softly after her and then there was a long moment of silence as he and Stella stared at each other, the baby’s heartbeat still echoing in Dante’s head, Stella’s small hand completely enfolded in his.
‘I’ve decided something,’ she said after a moment. ‘If our child is a boy, I want him to be called Matteo. For my brother.’ There was pain in her eyes, but a proud, strong determination was there too. ‘Maybe his death wasn’t my fault, yet I’d like to remember him all the same.’
Dante felt something in his chest shift, like sand under his feet, making him feel off-balance in some strange way. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, feeling the words she’d said inexplicably resonating inside him. ‘Yes,’ he heard him
self say. ‘Matteo Cardinali. It has a good ring to it. And, if it’s a girl, we can name her for your mother, perhaps?
Her eyes glittered and her grip on his hand tightened. ‘What about you? Your family? Don’t you have anyone you want to remember?’
His family. His terrible, dysfunctional family.
No, he had no one he wanted to remember, no one female anyway. There was only Sofia, his mother. His lovely, manipulative mother.
Why not her, though? It was a long time ago. You mourned her and then you moved on.
Naturally he’d moved on. But he did not want that tiny life to have her name, to be saddled with the weight of all that history.
Nothing to do with how angry you are at her?
No, he wasn’t angry. Not any more. He’d washed his hands of her years ago and when she’d died...well...he’d grieved. But she was the one who’d chosen the path that she’d ended up taking. He’d tried to change her mind, to get her to stop drinking, stop seeing Roberto, but she’d ignored him. And then, on the eve of his sixteenth birthday, she’d told him that if he didn’t like it he could leave.
So he had, thinking she’d come after him eventually. That she’d contact him, at least. That she wouldn’t just...let him go.
Except that was exactly what she’d done. And the next time he’d seen her she’d been in hospital with a head injury that she’d never woken up from.
She didn’t care about you. You’ve always known that.
The thick, hot anger he’d always tried to deny seemed to come out of nowhere, burning inside him like a flow of lava, but as always he forced it down, pretended that it didn’t exist. Because anger meant that he cared, and he didn’t. Not in the slightest.
If you truly didn’t care, then it doesn’t matter what you call your child.
‘Dante?’ Stella was sitting up now and he was conscious that she was holding him tightly, as if he was the one who needed reassurance.
Ridiculous. He was fine.
Claiming His One-Night Child Page 12
