are the mother of my child.’
Her hackles rose. ‘I’m a woman you spent one night with, a year ago.’
‘Sì. And you fell pregnant. I should have prevented that. I was experienced. This is my fault.’
‘Your fault?’ Now her maternal instincts roared to life. ‘I don’t consider Raf anyone’s fault. He’s a blessing.’
Gabe grimaced, uncharacteristically on the back foot. ‘I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.’
But she wasn’t to be placated. She had to set the record straight while she had a chance—if she didn’t control this, the situation could quickly move beyond her control. ‘You don’t owe me anything, Gabe. I’m not asking for a handout.’
‘You live like this,’ he said slowly, gesturing around the room, ‘and you think I don’t owe you anything?’
Frustration burst through her. ‘I know this place isn’t...’
‘It’s a dump.’
The insult hurt. ‘It’s home, for now.’
He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression intractable.
‘You say you wanted to tell me about the baby?’
She nodded.
‘And what did you expect me to say?’
Abby frowned, but her silence only seemed to spur him on. He took a step closer, his expression grim.
‘What did you want from me?’
She swallowed, and tried to find the words of the speech she’d imagined she’d give him, if ever he learned the truth. ‘Raf is your child too, and I respect the fact you might want to be involved in his upbringing.’
‘Oh, yes?’ he murmured, but there was a sharpness to the response, an underlying firmness she didn’t understand.
‘Your life is in Italy and we live here, but I mean, you visit the States and I guess, when he’s older, he could come over...’
Her sentence tapered off into silence. His eyes held hers for a long, icy moment. Then, with a guttural sound of disgust, ‘Look at this place, Abigail!’ He glared at her. ‘Why is it so cold? Why is the heating off?’ He stalked into the kitchenette and ripped open the fridge. ‘What are you existing on? I see two apples and one bread roll. What did you have for dinner?’
She bit down on her lip and ridiculous tears moistened her eyes. She dashed at them angrily. ‘I’m not crying because I’m sad,’ she clarified. ‘I’m mad! And I’m tired! And you have no right turning up on my doorstep at midnight only to throw insults at my feet!’
‘What did you think I would do? How am I supposed to react?’
‘I...’ She glared at him. ‘I don’t know. I just had to tell you.’
He dipped his head forward in silent concession. ‘I’m grateful that you did. And for the fact you haven’t used our son to attempt to blackmail me.’
‘Blackmail you?’ she repeated, aghast, flicking her fair hair over one shoulder. ‘What would I blackmail you for?’
His laugh was short and sharp. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Money. Power. Calypso prototypes?’
Abby had never hit a man in her life—or anyone, for that matter, but her fingertips itched to strike his arrogant face. ‘You’re a jerk.’
‘I’m the father of your child and, like it or not, I’m in your life now.’
She was very still, waiting for that thought to make sense. But it didn’t. ‘In my life how?’
Gabe shut the fridge door and moved to the pantry. It was almost empty, save for a tin of spaghetti and a bag of pasta.
‘How quickly can you pack a suitcase?’
‘Huh?’ She watched as he stalked back into the small living room.
‘Your wardrobe looked small. I presume you don’t have much. Is there a bag somewhere?’
‘I... No.’ She’d sold her designer set of luggage as soon as she’d moved into the apartment.
‘Fine. I’ll have one sent over.’
‘Gabe, wait.’ She lifted a hand in a determined appeal for his silence. ‘I don’t need a suitcase. I’m not going anywhere.’
He ignored her, speaking as though she hadn’t. ‘It’s too late to depart now. You should go to bed. I’ll...take the chair. We can leave in the morning.’
‘And where exactly do you imagine we’re going?’
‘Italy.’ He reached for his phone and, before she could respond, he began speaking into it. She had not a hope of comprehending as he spoke in his native tongue, but she picked out a few words—bambino...andiamo...subito.
He disconnected the call before giving Abby the full force of his attention.
‘The plane will be ready in the morning. My car is downstairs. Tomorrow, Abigail, we will leave.’
She shook her head emphatically. ‘No!’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m not going to Italy. This is my home. His home. And you... I know you’re his father, but I didn’t tell you so you’d take us away! I just wanted you to know because he’s your child and at some stage he or you might want a relationship. I don’t believe in secrets like this, okay? I have no right to keep a father from his child. But that’s the end of it. I’ve done my part. I told you about Raf, and when he’s older I’ll tell him about you.’
His eyes narrowed and his chest lifted with the force of the deep breath he sucked in. ‘Get ready. This is non-negotiable.’
‘You’re right. It’s non-negotiable. We’re staying here.’
‘Make no mistake about it, Abigail, my son is coming to Italy. I am giving you a chance to come with him. The decision is yours.’
Panic flared in her gut but she hid it behind anger. ‘There’s no way you can do that.’
‘Do you want to test that theory?’
‘You seriously think I’m going to move to a foreign country with a man I hardly know?’
‘No. I think you’re going to move to a foreign country with the man you’re going to marry.’
Her eyes flew wide and for a moment she thought she must have misheard. ‘What did you just say?’
His jaw tightened. ‘You heard me.’
‘But that’s crazy.’
He jerked his head in silent agreement.
She blinked. ‘But why?’
Something like anguish shifted through his dark gaze, showing how clearly he wished this step weren’t necessary. ‘Because it’s the right thing to do.’
‘Right, how?’ she demanded, wondering if she’d slipped through the looking glass into a bizarre parallel universe.
‘Because of what I can offer him, and what I can offer you. The security, the comfort, the support.’ He took a step closer. ‘I’m offering you the world, Abigail. The world for you and our son.’
Her heart twisted painfully inside her chest. She was like an outsider looking in. In that moment, she realised that marrying Gabe Arantini would have, in another lifetime, constituted a fantasy. If things had been different between them, if they’d met under different circumstances and they’d been allowed to enjoy getting to know one another.
‘This is the twenty-first