Happy Mother’s Day!: Accidentally Pregnant, Conveniently Wed / Claiming His Pregnant Wife / Meant-To-Be Mother
swallowed down the bitter taste of fear in her mouth. ‘Any day now,’ she whispered, and the answering light of comprehension which flashed in his black eyes made him look oddly vulnerable and she felt her heart twist with sudden longing. And you stop that right now, she told herself fiercely. He’s about as vulnerable as a steel trap.
Any day now. Any day now and his child would be born. Gianluca shook his head as he took in the enormity of this news. She was glaring at him like an adversary, and her attitude made him want to …
He let out a heavy sigh. To what? He didn’t know. But he could see that her skin was paler than perhaps it should have been—the beads of sweat about more than a stuffy summer’s day—and he was stricken with a momentary guilt.
‘Hadn’t we better sit down?’ he suggested. ‘You in particular.’
Proudly, Aisling drew her shoulders back, then winced as the nagging pain in her back began to grow more intense. ‘I don’t remember inviting you to stay.’
‘Sit down!’ he urged urgently.
Aisling did as he said, suddenly realising just how tense she was and as her hand fluttered instinctively over her bump she saw his eyes drawn to it with an expression of horrified fascination.
‘You need a drink,’ he said grimly. And so did he.
Pointing wordlessly towards the kitchen, she didn’t contradict him. She needed something. Anything. She felt faint. Sick—and she didn’t want to harm the baby.
It wasn’t a huge apartment and the doors along the corridor on the way to the kitchen had been left open. All bar one. He passed a gleaming white bathroom and, right beside it, a closed door.
He knew he shouldn’t open it. That this was her place and itwasn’t his right to do so. Yet what Gianluca had learnt had turned his whole world upside down. Did she have the monopoly on secrets? Did she control all the information which flowed in and out of his life? Like hell she did!
Quietly, he turned the door handle and just stood there, as if he had been carved from rock. For this was Aisling’s bedroom, yes—with its big bed and its neat counterpane. And off the bedroom was what must have once been a dressing room and which she was now clearly intending to act as a nursery. Silently, he walked towards it and it was as alien to his life as if a meteor had crashed in through the ceiling and embedded itself on the soft, primrose-coloured carpet.
She must have spent years wanting and waiting for this baby, he thought—because the tiny room was furnished with loving care and precision to detail. Yellow seemed to be the main colour. Did that mean she didn’t yet know the sex—or was that something else she was withholding from him?
There was an old-fashioned crib draped with gauzy material, which had some kind of gold thread running through it—making it look like a canopy of sunshine. There was a mobile hanging over it, composed of different animals—both wild and domestic—and Gianluca’s mouth curved as his fingers drifted over the sleek body of a tiger.
Quietly, he shut the door and his eyes were hooded when he returned to the sitting room a couple of minutes later, with a beaker of iced water for her and a glass of wine for himself. She took the tumbler from him with shaking fingers and gulped some down, spilling a little as she did—so that drops of it splashed over the material which strained over her bump.
But he didn’t sit down, he just drank off half a glass of wine with a speed he’d never used before and stood staring down at her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’ he demanded.
Why, indeed? Because she was frightened of his reaction? And hadn’t she been right to be—judging by the thunderous look on his face? ‘There never seemed to be a right time,’ she said.
‘So you wait until now—when it is almost over,’ he said bitterly.
She looked at him. ‘Over? It hasn’t even begun, Gianluca.’
‘Madre di Dio!’ he exclaimed, in a strangled voice as the monumental significance of what had happened really hit home and he half wanted to turn his back and to walk away from her—to erase her and this unplanned baby from his life. Yet there was part of him which wanted to go over to her, to take away her hand and to lie his own over her belly—perhaps to feel the infant kick beneath him.
He took another swallow of his wine and looked away. He must keep focussed and deal with the facts, he reminded himself. Then, and only then, would he be able to decide what action to take.
‘You planned this?’ The accusation cracked out like a pistol shot.
‘Planned it?’ Aisling looked up at him in confusion and then realised what he meant. ‘You think … you think I got pregnant on purpose?’
‘Did you?’
She balled her hands into two tiny fists, wanting to scream and shout and flail, but recognised that all these were indulgences she could ill afford—and especially not at a time like this. This was Gianluca she was dealing with. Il Tigre at his most calculated even though his bitter words were coated in anger. She needed to keep all her wits about her—because if there was one thing she could count on, it was that Gianluca was going to be keeping his.
‘No. I didn’t get pregnant on purpose. Why would I do something like that?’
He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Oh, come on! Use your imagination, cara. I happen to know you have a very good one. Any woman having a child of mine would be set up for life!’
Even in the midst of her disquiet such an audacious piece of chauvinism made her blink. ‘That’s rather an extreme method of guaranteeing financial security, isn’t it?’ she questioned drily.
She saw his eyes narrow in surprise and suddenly knew that this was the way to go. She needed to stand up to him. She must not go to pieces. Because he was a powerful man—he exuded influence and authority from every fibre. She could feel it radiating from his spectacular body as he stood there, darkly intimidating—an interloper in her home. And yet she carried that interloper’s child inside her. Biologically, at least, she was tied to this man for life.
‘Well, you needn’t worry on that account, Gianluca—I’m not asking you for anything.’
‘Then why did you bother telling me?’ he flashed out.
‘Because—strange as it may seem—I felt that, as the father, you had a right to know.’ Aisling put her empty glass down with a thud. ‘But now I’ve done the right thing, you can forget all about it. I can see from your face that this is unwanted—so why don’t you just go away and leave me alone?’
‘Go away?’ he echoed in disbelief. ‘Are you out of your mind, cara mia? Is that really what you imagine I would do?’
Suddenly she didn’t know. Tiredly, she shook her head—hating the heavy weight of her hair and thinking that if she had a nearby pair of scissors she would lop the whole lot off.
‘Didn’t you think through what the repercussions of telling me might be?’ he persisted.
It was a horrible word and she stared at him, hoping that she hid her alarm. ‘What do you mean—repercussions?’
‘You carry my child!’ he breathed fiercely. ‘You cannot deny me that child—and, what is more, I will not let you!’
For a moment Aisling stared at him in horror, the look of intent on his dark face so threatening that he looked almost capable of carrying her away with him. Why the hell had she told him? The pain in her back now seemed to be gaining momentum, spreading round to spear at her abdomen, but she choked back the little cry of pain which was gathering at the back of her throat.
‘Look, Gianluca, this was never meant to happen,’ she said desperately.
‘You mean you wish it hadn’t?’ he demanded.
Afterwards Aisling would wish that she had thought more carefully