although working class, had been solid and loving. Dependable.
And that’s what Sam tried to be for Gabby. Solid, loving. Dependable.
As Mrs. Bishop shut her own door, she rolled down the window and leaned out. “Sam I nearly forgot. I have the key to the Rookery. Why don’t you stay there? It has a generator in back, and a proper kitchen with working appliances.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sam said, glancing at the cottage behind her. It was small, and rustic, but it was also quaint and cozy in a way the old rambling Rookery would never be.
“Take the key anyway.” Mrs. Bishop extended her hand, held a key ring out to her. “Just return it to me when you leave.”
Sam was conscious of Cristiano standing behind her as she stood in the driveway watching Mrs. Bishop slowly make her way down the lane, her small blue car bouncing in the potholes just like the taxi did last night. The lane was a mess, the sides of the road a jungle of weeds and blackberry thorns, so different from how Sam remembered it as a child.
“You don’t let her out of your sight very much, do you?” Cristiano said, his voice a deep rumble.
Sam shivered at the bite of cold air. It was chillier this morning than it had been last night when they arrived. “No.” Reluctantly she turned to face him, her hands burrowing in her coat pockets, fingers stiff. “I worry about her when she’s gone.”
“Why?”
“Things have happened in the past,” she said evasively, unwilling to go into detail about the kidnapping attempt several years ago that had put Sam in the hospital and given Gabby nightmares for months. It had been three years since the kidnapping attempt—someone had obviously thought Baron van Bergen had more money than he did—but the terror was still very real to Sam.
She still didn’t know who had targeted Gabriela, and the Monaco police had never come to any conclusions. In the end they concluded it was a random attack. They’d told Johann how lucky it was that Sam was there, and that she fought as hard as she did to defend Gabriela, otherwise the perpetrator would have succeeded.
But Sam didn’t feel lucky. The police’s conclusions did little to comfort Sam, and until the case was solved, Sam believed that Gabby remained a target.
“What things?” Cristiano asked.
Sam shrugged uncomfortably. She didn’t like talking about bad things, didn’t want to dwell on that which was frightening or out of her control. Funny, she thought, how much she didn’t let herself think about, or feel. “Something happened years ago that’s made me extra protective toward Gabby. Nothing’s happened since, but I still worry.”
Cristiano’s brow furrowed and he looked down the lane where the blue car had gone and then back to Sam. “But you trust Mrs. Bishop?”
“Oh, yes.” Sam mustered a smile, knowing she was being silly and yet old habits were so hard to break. “Mrs. Bishop was like a surrogate mother to me when I lived here—she’d do anything for me, and I know she’ll take good care of Gabby. She’s a very kind woman.”
“So why are you so uneasy?”
Because I’m stuck with you, that’s why.
He made her uneasy. There was no other way to put it. And she didn’t want him here in the small cottage. She didn’t want to be alone with him. He was too big, too intense, too different.
Her eyes met his, and as if he could read her mind, his lips curved in a faint sardonic smile. Heat exploded in Sam’s middle, her face flaming, her limbs going weak.
She didn’t like him. Didn’t want to like him. Didn’t want him anywhere near her, but somehow she knew he wasn’t going away, and he wasn’t going to be leaving her—or Gabby—alone.
“It’s hard being back here,” she said, as much as she could, or would say. If there’s anything she’d learned it was the value of silence, of avoiding conflict and controversy. As a child she’d waited years to be adopted, hoping against hope that she’d someday be placed with a real family, praying she’d eventually be wanted somewhere. It never happened. But the years of trying so hard to please, the years of waiting to be accepted, wanted, adopted, had left a lasting impression. Don’t make waves. Avoid conflict. Try to keep peace. Make others happy.
No wonder she became a professional nanny. The only thing she was good at was making others happy.
Sam squeezed her hand inside her pocket, the Rookery’s key ring now warm in her palm. Again she wondered why she thought this was the right place to go. Again she regretted her decision to return.
“I would have thought you’d be anxious to leave this morning,” she added, aware of Cristiano’s scrutiny, knowing he was watching her, measuring, evaluating.
“I am. But there are things we should discuss, things Gabriela shouldn’t hear. Now would be a good time for us to talk.”
Sam nodded, doing her best to ignore the sense of trepidation weighting her limbs. Immediately she flashed to Johann and Mercedes, or was it Cristiano and Mercedes? Is that what Cristiano wanted to tell her? That he and Mercedes had been lovers? And if Gabby was his child, then what would happen next?
What would happen to her? Why had he bought her?
Cristiano suggested they drive into Chester, have breakfast and buy some groceries in case they stayed one more night.
“If we’re to stay another night, shouldn’t we stay in a hotel here in town?” Sam asked as they settled into a booth at a Chester restaurant, the ceiling low in the historic half-timbered building, the interior dark, the booths hard and high, uncomfortably like church pews.
Cristiano barely glanced at the menu before setting it aside. “And give you another chance to run away? I don’t think so.”
“You couldn’t have been comfortable last night.”
“That’s kind of you to worry about me,” he drawled, leaning back in the booth. “But it’s not necessary. I may look delicate, but I’m surprisingly tough. And no, it wasn’t the best night’s sleep, but at least I knew where you were.”
Sam felt heat creep up her neck, into her cheeks. “What if I promised you I wouldn’t go anywhere—”
“Wouldn’t believe you.” He smiled at her but the smile was hard, fixed. “I don’t trust you.”
Her hands twisted beneath the table. “Anything I’ve done—”
“Yes, I know, you’ve done for Gabriela. But I don’t buy that, Samantha. This is about you. You don’t want to lose Gabriela. You don’t want to be without her.”
“And why should I be? I’ve spent years with her, years loving her.”
“But you’re not her mother, or her father. You’re not her family—”
“Neither are you!”
His dark gaze held hers in a long, timeless moment. “Are you sure?”
Sam’s stomach churned. It had come to this. No more running away from the inevitable.
“She’s a Bartolo,” he said, slowly, deliberately. “I’ve been trying to get her back for years.”
“But the gambling…Johann…”
“Why would I buy her? She’s mine, belongs with me. I knew if I took you Gabby would follow. I could have only taken Gabby if I destroyed Johann first.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Come on, Sam. Don’t play ostrich now.”
She sat still, one hand kneading the other, seeing but not seeing, thinking but not thinking. If what he said was true…if Gabriela were indeed his child…Sam had no place in Gabriela’s life anymore. It was Gabby he’d wanted all along,