Dante: Claiming His Secret Love-Child

by Sandra Marton

  She was her own woman.

  And she was his.

  He awoke to her softly whispered “Good morning,” fell asleep with her in his arms. He was never without her. They talked about everything under the sun, agreed on some things, agreed to disagree on others. They read the papers over breakfast, drove out to Long Island and walked the beach at Fire Island, empty and beautiful on a cool fall day.

  At first Gabriella would remind him that they’d hired Stacia so she could get in touch with her agent, have him line up some interviews…

  “Could that be better than this?” he’d ask her softly, and her answer was always in her kiss.

  Sometimes they didn’t talk at all. They just were together. He’d never before been with a woman and found the silence between them comfortable and easy.

  And then there was Daniel.

  He still didn’t know much about kids, but even he could tell that the little guy was, well, one fine-looking baby. And, better still, brilliant. Those ba-ba-ba’s had grown to include ga-ga-ga’s. The kid would probably talk before he was a year old. Plus, the way he reached for that mobile above his crib, watched it with such obvious curiosity…Oh, yeah. Daniel was smart, and not only because he was his.

  Which he was. Absolutely. How could he have ever doubted it?

  “Dante?”

  This had been the best week of his life. He was happy. Such a simple word, especially from a man who’d never thought much about his feelings, but—

  “Dante!”

  He blinked, looked down into Gabriella’s smiling face. “What?” he said, and she gave a soft little laugh.

  “We’re still dancing.”

  “And?”

  “And,” she said, “the music stopped about five minutes ago.”

  She was right. They were alone on the dance floor, locked in each other’s arms, people watching them and smiling.

  “Amazing, because I could swear it’s still playing.”

  Gabriella smiled. “Me, too.”

  Dante grinned, spun her in a circle, then dipped her back over his arm.

  “You are doido,” she said, laughing.

  “Doido for you,” he told her, dancing her to their table, snatching up her pashmina shawl, then waltzing her out the door. His driver spotted them almost instantly, rolled out of the No Parking zone where he’d been waiting and pulled to the curb. Dante signaled him to stay put, opened the passenger door himself and handed Gabriella inside. “Let’s go home,” he said. The driver nodded, closed the privacy partition and headed uptown as Gabriella snuggled into the curve of Dante’s arm.

  “Did you have a good time?” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

  “Mmmm. A wonderful time.” She smiled. “We’ll try salsa next.”

  Dante gave a mock groan. “You just want to see me make a jerk of myself on the dance floor.”

  “Stop fishing for compliments, senhor. You’re a fine dancer.”

  “Salsa means moving parts of the human body never meant to be moved.”

  A playful glint came into her eyes. “Ah, but I have seen you move those parts exceedingly well.”

  Dante drew her onto his lap. “But not on a dance floor,” he said, his voice suddenly husky.

  Gabriella threaded her hands into his hair and drew his face to hers.

  “Perhaps we should test those moves when we get home,” she whispered.

  What a good thing a privacy petition was, Dante thought, and then he stopped thinking about anything but the woman in his arms.

  Saturday morning, early, a courier delivered a package.

  Dante insisted Gabriella watch as he opened it.

  It was a long length of woven fabric with an adjustable closure. “It’s a baby sling,” he said, as he draped it over his shoulder and arm, then snugged Daniel securely within its soft folds. “I researched it online. Seems lots of tribal people have carried babies this way for centuries. It gives the babies a real sense of security. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a great idea,” she said, but what she really thought was that she was living a miracle.

  The man who’d been one of New York’s wildest bachelors, who had not even suspected he had a son less than two weeks ago, had become the world’s most amazing father.

  “You mean it?” He grinned as Daniel cooed. “Daniel, my man, what do you think?”

  The baby laughed. So did Gabriella. Dante looked at her and smiled.

  “I guess the vote’s unanimous.”

  It was. She and her son both adored this man—but she couldn’t tell him that. Not until he said the words she longed to hear. Instead she kissed the baby, rose on her toes and kissed her lover, too.

  “Unanimous,” she said brightly.

  “Okay. Let’s take it for a trial run. How’s a trip to the Bronx Zoo sound?”

  It sounded perfect, she told him. Dante smiled, handed Daniel to her and put aside the baby sling. “Let me just check my e-mail. I haven’t looked at it all week and Monday, much as I hate to do it, I’m going to have to go to work.”

  Her face fell; he loved the fact that it did. She didn’t want him to leave. Hell, he didn’t want it, either, but life had to return to normal sometime.

  “Five minutes,” he said softly, kissing her. “Not a second more, I promise.”

  But he was in his study longer than that and when he came out, she knew something had happened.

  “Dante? Is everything all right?”

  He assured her that it was.

  It was not. His expression was closed; he was unusually silent during the drive to the zoo. Preoccupied, but by what?

  Dante carried the baby in the sling as they made their way from exhibit to exhibit. He spoke to him the way he always did, as if the little guy understood every word he said about the seals and the monkeys and the giraffes.

  But his behavior was subdued.

  It was unsettling.

  Eventually they took a break. Daniel had fallen asleep; Dante stood staring off into the distance, one hand curved around the baby, the other tucked in the pocket of his leather windbreaker.

  He was quiet, his eyes impossible to read.

  Gabriella felt her throat constrict.

  Something was happening. What? It was as if the Dante who had gone into his study this morning had emerged a different person. He had changed. Everything had changed. She could feel it.

  What if he’d decided he’d had enough? The zoo was filled with families. Was it a graphic lesson in what his life had become?

  She and the baby were both novelties. It was a crude way to put it but it was accurate. He’d never had a son before, and he’d never had a woman live with him, either. He’d made it sound like something wonderful when he’d told her that, but viewed with clinical detachment, it simply meant this experience was new for him.

  Ocean kayaking had once been new to him, and back-country skiing and probably a dozen other things. Oh, she knew he cared far more for the baby than for any of that, but still, “newness” intrigued him.

  It wasn’t that he was self-indulgent. Or perhaps he was, just a little. It made him seem larger than life. It was one of his charms.

  It also meant he was the kind of man who grew bored easily.

  He’d told her that himself, just yesterday, though not in those exact words, when he’d gotten a call telling him some much-coveted kind of automobile was for sale somewhere out of state. His excitement had been palpable; he’d whooped with glee, caught her up in his arms and kissed her, and when she’d laughed and said only a man could get so worked up over a car, he’d tried to explain how it was, that he loved fast cars, that he’d been hunting after this one for a long time. And that was when he’d mentioned kayaking and skiing and all the rest, how he’d loved them and more or less still did but how cars like this one had supplanted his interest in other things.

  Daniel had awakened just then, fussing for his dinner, so the conversation had ended before she could ask him the reason. No
t that she had to ask.

  She knew the reason.

  Tides changed but the ocean was still the ocean. Snowfall changed, but a mountain was still a mountain. Not so with automobiles. They were always different. When you grew bored with one kind, there was always another to pursue.

  Was she his latest acquisition? Even more vital, was Daniel? Would her son learn to love his father only to have Dante turn into a stranger?

  The thought terrified her.

  Dante felt the warm weight of his sleeping son pressed against his chest.

  He curved his hand over the child’s bottom. He loved holding his son. The baby was so small, so trusting. He’d never imagined being a father could make a man’s heart swell with pride and joy.

  The zoo was full of families. Mothers, fathers, babies, kids of all ages. And them. He. Gabriella. Daniel. They were a family, too.

  It was wonderful.

  It was scary as hell.

  And it had made him finally face the truth. Well, this—and the e-mail messages he’d found in his in-box. It was all he could think about. What was happening to Rafe…

  What he was finally ready to admit was happening to him.

  Had already happened to him.

  Dear God, how could a man fall so hard, so fast? How could he have been blind to it? Gabriella had to feel the same way. She had to, because if she didn’t…

  He had to be alone with her. Take her in his arms. Tell her. Tell her—

  “Gaby,” he said abruptly, turning toward her, looking at the woman who held his life in her hands, “I know there’s lots more to see, but—”

  “Dante.” Her eyes met his. “Please,” she said in an unsteady whisper, “I would like to go home.”

  Mrs. Janiseck was off on Saturdays. So was Stacia.

  As soon as they were alone, Dante cleared his throat. “Gabriella. We have to talk.”

  Her heart fell. “All right,” she said tonelessly.

  He flashed a quick smile. “I’ll, ah, I’ll put Daniel to bed. Why don’t you, ah, why don’t you start supper?”

  She nodded, went into the kitchen. Actually, there was little to do. Mrs. Janiseck did almost all the cooking. Cold roast chicken and a green salad, prepared yesterday. There it was, on the top shelf in the fridge. Lovely to have it waiting, but somehow—and Gabriella knew how ridiculous the thought was—somehow, it made her feel even more a guest in Dante’s life. Yes, of course, a woman to whom he had a permanent commitment would have a housekeeper and cook. Dante’s income, his lifestyle, meant the woman to whom he had such a permanent commitment would have a staff to help run her home. But a woman to whom he had…

  Gabriella laughed out loud, though it wasn’t a happy sound.

  What kind of phrase was that? ‘A woman to whom he had…’ Was there no word to describe what she should be to him? Not his mistress. Mistresses didn’t come equipped with babies, and besides, a mistress was a woman whose lover owned the roof over her head, the food on her table, the clothes on her…

  Which was exactly what she had become.

  She closed the refrigerator door with a slam and went out to the terrace. It was cold outside. The city was wrapped in darkness and you could not only sense winter coming, you could feel it in the marrow of your bones.

  Dante paid all her bills. Food. Daniel’s clothing. Diapers. The furniture in the nursery. The rent or the mortgage, whatever it was. He paid for her clothes—she’d left so much at the fazenda, and she’d needed warmer things after arriving here.

  It would take her years, a lifetime, to pay him back, even if her agent lined up the kind of modeling deals supermodels got, and the truth was, she’d been a successful model but not one who earned six figures a day.

  He owned everything in her life and her son’s life.

  How had she let such a thing happen? What had become of her independence? Her sense of autonomy? Her determination, from childhood on, to rely on nobody but herself?

  What had become of her responsibility to Daniel?

  He deserved stability. Security. Not just financial security but the kind that came from the heart. A father’s heart. She, of all people, knew how much that meant. Daniel was only a baby but already he smiled and laughed when Dante reached for him. Another few months, ba-ba-ba would turn into ma-ma-ma and da-da-da, but would Dante be there for him? Would he be there for her?

  She took a deep breath. The word of the day was commitment.

  As in forever. As in a man and a woman who were building a life together.

  As in—

  “Married,” Dante said, and she spun toward him, heart pounding.

  “What?”

  He was smiling but the smile was a lie. She could see it in his eyes, the set of his mouth.

  “My brother Rafe.” He dug his hands into his trouser pockets as he stood beside her, his gaze on the skyline beyond the park and not on her. “When I checked my e-mail this morning, I found a couple of notes. Seems he’s getting married tomorrow. Well, it turns out he’s already married, some kind of quickie deal that happened in Sicily, and tomorrow, he’s doing it for real. Meaning, in church where my mother can get all misty-eyed over it.”

  He sounded as if he were describing an auto-da-fé rather than a wedding but then, being burned at the stake might seem more appealing to a man like him. Was that why he’d been so distant all day?

  “Oh,” she said, because she had to say something. “Well, that’s…that’s—”

  “He’s been trying to reach me. The whole family has. But I’ve been out of touch.”

  He made it sound like an accusation. Gabriella narrowed her eyes.

  “I did not keep you from checking your messages.”

  “Yeah, but who would ever expect a message like this?” Dante ran his hands through his shower-damp hair; it stood up in little black peaks. “I mean, this is crazy. He only just met this woman.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Marriage is a forever thing. A man needs to give it thought.”

  “And you assume he did not?”

  “What I assume,” he said, “is that I always thought a man should not leap into marriage as if he were leaping into the currents of a rampaging river.”

  She could feel the anger forming inside her. Or maybe it had been there all along, just waiting to surface.

  “Your brother is not the only one who is leaping. The same applies to the woman.”

  Dante snorted with derision. “It isn’t the same.”

  “Isn’t it?” Her voice had gone from cool to frigid.

  “Men are meant to be hunters. To roam. Women are meant to be gatherers. Of course it isn’t the same.”

  Gabriella was looking at him as if he’d turned into an alien life form. Well, hell, he couldn’t blame her. He knew he sounded like an idiot, but how could he not after finding Rafe’s Hey, man, I’m getting married! e-mail in his inbox this morning? It had shaken him to the core.

  Rafe, married?

  It had to be a joke.

  He’d phoned Rafe, got no answer, phoned Falco, got nothing there, connected with Nick who said, yeah, it was a shocker and, yeah, it was fast, and then he finally got through to Rafe who babbled like an idiot about how he’d fallen crazy in love even if he’d only married Chiara Cordiano the first time around so he could Do The Right Thing and then found he’d fallen head over heels in love.

  “But marriage? So fast?” Dante had said.

  And Rafe had said, yeah, why wait when you knew you’d found the right woman? A woman who loved you for what you were inside, not for what the world saw. Who loved you, just you, and could see herself growing old with you beside her. Who loved you for giving her your heart, not the things money could provide.

  And in the blink of an eye, Dante had known Rafe could just as easily have been talking about him and his Gabriella.

  About this “situation” that wasn’t a “situation” at all but part of being deeply, totally in love.

  He’d spent the day comi
ng to grips with it, asking himself if Gabriella felt the same way, telling himself that she did, she had to, that she was not a woman who’d live with a man, sleep in his arms every night unless she loved him.

  And, God, the whole thing was terrifying.

  To declare his love for her, to offer his heart to her and hope she wouldn’t reject it…

  He’d thought about it, tried to figure out the best way to do it, delaying the moment because what would he do if she didn’t feel the same and then, standing in the shower after putting Daniel to bed, the water sluicing down, he’d finally decided, okay, this was it, he’d just go out there and tell her he loved her, loved his son, that he couldn’t live without them both…

  “Dante,” Gabriella said, and he swung toward her and caught her hands in his.

  “Gaby.” He spoke fast, afraid he’d lose his courage, wondering why it had taken him so long to come to his senses. “Gaby. Honey.” He took a deep breath. “This thing tomorrow. My brother’s wedding…” He swallowed hard; how come his mouth had gone so dry? “Taking you to it would be rough. You’d get dumped into the middle of my family and, trust me, we’re not something out of a Hallmark card. My mother and my sisters would ask a million questions. My brothers wouldn’t just ask questions, they’d do the Orsini version of the third degree. And my old man—Hell, where my father goes, so go the Feds. Plus, not a one of my family knows anything about this. You. Me. The baby.” He paused only long enough to swallow again to moisten his throat. “So, here’s the thing, Gabriella. I don’t think—”

  “I do not think so, either,” Gabriella said. “The truth is, I would much prefer to avoid what promises to be an overly sentimental family reunion.”

  “What? No. See, you don’t understand—”

  “But I do. I understand perfectly.” She drew her hands from his, gave him the kind of smile that made him understand the true meaning of a tight smile. “You say this wedding is tomorrow?”

  “Right. Late morning. It’ll all be over by noon.”