A Baby to Bind His Innocent

by Michelle Smart

  ‘You know how much his death devastated me,’ he said quietly. ‘You were right about so many things. I didn’t give myself time to grieve. And I did blame myself as much as I blamed your father. I don’t know if Papà thought of confiding his troubles in me. I don’t know because I wasn’t there. When I left Sicily at eighteen, I left body and soul and my parents knew it. That is something else I must live with—my neglect of the two people who gave me more love than a child could wish for. But you were wrong about one thing.’

  Her eyes flickered.

  ‘I don’t want a ready-made family with you to ease my guilt or because it’s convenient.’

  He let go of her hand and dragged his fingers down his face. The sigh he gave contained such hopelessness that Claudia’s heart wrenched to hear it.

  ‘You made me feel things right from the start. Real feelings. And then I found myself trapped in a hell of my own making, locked in a marriage with my enemy’s daughter and I couldn’t handle it. Even when I asked you to stay and be a family, I was fighting the truth.’

  ‘Which is?’ she whispered.

  ‘That I love you. These weeks without you have been the worst of my life. I am broken without you. You, Claudia Buscetta—and you must always wear your name with pride because your goodness counteracts every one of your father’s evil deeds—are the most loving, beautiful human being in the world. You deserve so much more than life has given you and I will regret my treatment of you to my dying day. I am here to ask—beg—you to give me one more chance. Please. I can’t breathe without you. I’ll accept whatever terms you make but, please, I beg you, let me share your life as well as our baby’s life.’

  As Claudia listened to this most prideful of men bear his soul, the last of the coldness that had enveloped her since he’d left melted away and sunshine heated her skin.

  Leaning closer to him, she palmed his cheek. Now that she dared look at him properly, she saw the weight of the grief lining his handsome features. His eyes were heavy with sleep deprivation. He needed a shave.

  ‘You never asked how I injured myself,’ she said quietly.

  His pain-filled eyes flashed with curiosity.

  She rubbed her nose to his. Her senses exploded with joy as his woody scent hit her. ‘I accidentally cut myself because I suddenly realised I love you. A moment later our baby moved. Ciro, it felt like she was kicking sense into me.’

  He stared at her, brow furrowed with confusion.

  ‘You’re not the only one who’s been fighting their feelings.’ She stroked his cheekbone. ‘I was too frightened to trust you again and terrified of trusting my feelings for you. I kept going over the past rather than thinking of all the wonderful things you’ve done for me in the present. You refused to let me make excuses for myself. You forced me to stand tall and be counted. That’s what you’ve given me, Ciro, my self-respect. If having the freedom to live without you means being cold to my bones for the rest of my life then it’s a freedom I don’t want. The only freedom I want is the freedom to love you and wake beside you every day and the freedom to know you will love and support me in everything I do, just as I will love and support you in everything you do.’

  Ciro’s heart thudded. He hardly dared believe what Claudia’s mouth and loving eyes were saying. He swallowed. ‘You love me?’

  ‘Yes. I love you,’ she repeated softly against his lips. ‘And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Together. Under the same roof. You, me and our daughter. You’re my world, Ciro.’

  Something cracked deep inside him, a fissure that ripped open, expelling the last of the darkness that had made itself at home in him since his father’s death. Into its place poured dazzling sunlight. Wrapping his arms around her, he crushed his mouth to hers and kissed her with all the love flowing in his heart.

  ‘Oh, my beautiful love,’ he whispered. ‘I swear I will always love and cherish you. Always.’

  ‘Always,’ she echoed.

  And he did love and cherish her. Always.

  EPILOGUE

  CIRO DROVE THROUGH the security gates that protected this exclusive New York suburb, nodded at the two guards on duty, and continued to the end of the long drive where he drove through another electric gate, this one exclusively protecting his estate. As happened every day of his working life, his heart lifted to see his huge white home gleaming under the sun and he had to resist putting his foot down to get there quicker. With three children, there was always the risk one of them might come flying out from behind one of the trees in the orchard to spray his car with rubber bullets.

  He got out, threw his keys at his head groundsman to park for him and hurried into the house.

  To his disappointment, Claudia wasn’t in. The huge kitchen, with its three hobs and three ovens designed by her own beautiful hands, was filled with jars of jam she’d made from the fruit she grew in their huge plot. They would go into the Christmas hampers she made every year for his Manhattan store, a natural follow-on from the cake-shop concession she’d opened in it and which had proved to be a massive hit with his clientele.

  There were no labels on the jars. That would be done by the assistant Ciro employed for her. Suddenly hungry, he wondered if she’d notice if he opened one of them to spread over the crumpets she’d made the day before.

  About to pilfer one of the jars, he suddenly noticed the letter left on the kitchen island, which by itself was as large as the kitchen of his old apartment.

  Written in large, unsteady, childish writing, the note said:

  Dear Ciro

  Taken Alessandro and Roberto swimming.

  Rosa at playdate.

  I love you.

  Claudia xxxxx

  Seeing Claudia’s penmanship never failed to choke him. He knew she would have perspired with the strain of writing this simple letter.

  His beautiful, brave wife would never be able to read fluently—their youngest child, three-year-old Roberto, had an older reading age—but every letter written and every letter read was a feat of endurance that filled him with more pride than he could contain.

  He was about to swallow his first bite of crumpet when the front door flew open and his two youngest children hurled themselves at him like ballistic missiles. Their mother followed, took one look at what was in his hand and the opened jam jar on the counter, and her eyes narrowed.

  Using their children as a human shield failed to save him from her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and licked the jam from the corner of his mouth. ‘You, Ciro Trapani, are in so much trouble.’

  ‘Are you going to punish me?’ he murmured, squeezing her peachy bottom.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed.

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  That night, baby number four was conceived.

  * * *

  Swept away by Michelle Smart’s A Baby to Bind His Innocent? Discover the next instalment in The Sicilian Marriage Pact duet:

  Immacolata and Vicenzu’s story by Louise Fuller

  Coming soon!

  And why not lose yourself in these other Michelle Smart stories?

  The Greek’s Pregnant Cinderella

  A Passionate Reunion in Fiji

  Her Sicilian Baby Revelation

  His Greek Wedding Night Debt

  All available now

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Vows to Save His Crown by Kate Hewitt.

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  Vows to Save His Crown

  by Kate Hewitt

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘I’M SORRY, MATEO.’

 
On the computer screen, Mateo Karavitis’ mother’s elegant face was drawn into weary lines of sadness and resignation—sadness for the position she’d put him in, and resignation that it had come to this. A queen who’d had three healthy, robust sons, an heir and two spares, and yet here he was, the unneeded third to the throne, now about to be thrust into the unwanted limelight.

  ‘I know you don’t want this,’ his mother, Queen Agathe, continued quietly.

  Mateo did not reply. He knew who didn’t want this: his mother. How could she? As the third son, and a late surprise at that, he hadn’t been prepared for the throne. He’d never been meant to be King, to rule Kallyria with a gentle manner and an iron fist the way his father had for thirty years, as a revered ruler, kind but strong, beloved by his people, feared by his enemies.

  It has been his oldest brother Kosmos who had been taken into training from infancy, told from the cradle who he was and what he would become. Kosmos who had gone to military school, who had met dignitaries and diplomats when he was barely out of nappies, who had been crowned Prince and heir to the throne when he was just fourteen, arrogantly assuming the title that would be his. And it was Kosmos who had died in a sailing accident ten years ago, when he was only thirty.

  His oldest brother’s sudden death had shocked his family to the core, and rocked its seemingly stable foundations. His father, King Barak, had diminished visibly in what felt like minutes, his powerful frame suddenly seeming smaller, the thick mane of grey hair turning thin and white. Three months after Kosmos’ death, Barak had suffered a mini stroke that had affected his speech and movement but kept him on the throne. Four destabilising years after that, he’d died, aged only sixty-eight, and Mateo’s older brother Leo, the true spare, had been crowned King.

  How had they got here?

  ‘Have you spoken to Leo?’ he asked his mother, his tone brusque. ‘Has he given an explanation for his unprecedented actions?’

  ‘He...he just can’t do it.’ Agathe’s voice, normally mellifluous and assured, wavered and broke. ‘He’s not up to it, Mateo. Not up to anything any more.’

  ‘He is King.’

  ‘Not any more,’ she reminded him gently. ‘Not since he abdicated last night.’

  Mateo spun his chair around, hiding his face from his mother, a welter of emotions tangled inside him, too knotted up to discern one from the other. He’d never expected this. Even after Kosmos had died, after his father had died, he’d never expected this. Leo had seemed more than ready to assume their father’s mantle. Leo, who had always been in Kosmos’ shadow, finally ready to shine. He’d been more than ready for it, eager even. Mateo recalled the gleam in his brother’s eye at their father’s funeral, and it had sickened him. He’d walked away from Kallyria, intent on pursuing his own life here in England, away from the royal family and all its pressures.

  And now he had to come back, because Leo was the one who was walking away. His brother had been King for more than half a decade, Mateo acknowledged with an iron-edged frustration. How could he just walk away from it all? Where was his sense of duty, of honour?

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he ground out through gritted teeth. ‘This is coming from nowhere.’

  ‘Not nowhere.’ Agathe’s voice was soft and sad. ‘Your brother...he has always struggled to assume his royal duties.’

  ‘Struggled?’ His brother hadn’t struggled when he’d practically snatched the crown from their father’s head. ‘He seemed more than ready to become King six years ago.’

  Agathe’s mouth tightened. ‘The reality was far more challenging than the dream.’

  ‘Isn’t it always?’ If his brother had acted as if being King was a licence to indulge whatever pleasures and whims he had...but Mateo didn’t know if he had or not, because he’d chosen to distance himself from Kallyria and all it meant, and that had been fine by everyone, because until now he’d never been needed. ‘How has he struggled, exactly?’ He turned back to face Agathe, wanting to see the expression on her face.

  She shrugged her slim shoulders and spread her manicured hands, her face drawn in lines of weary sorrow. ‘You know Leo has always been a bit more highly strung than Kosmos. A bit more sensitive. He feels things deeply. He hides behind his pleasures.’ Mateo made a dismissive sound. Leo was thirty-eight years old and had been reigning as King for nearly six. Surely it was more than time to put such boyish indulgences behind him, and act like a man. Like a king. ‘With the insurgency in the north of the island,’ Agathe continued, ‘and the economic talks coming up that are so important...’ She sighed sadly. ‘He fell apart, Mateo. He simply fell apart. It was a long time coming, but I should have seen this was going to happen. He couldn’t handle the pressure.’

  Leo was now, according to his mother, in a very private, very expensive clinic in Switzerland, leaving his country rudderless at a critical time. Leaving Mateo as the only one to step up and do his duty. To become King.

  But Mateo had never been meant to be King.

  Outside, the chapel bells of one of Cambridge’s many colleges began to peal, a melodious sound so at odds with the bleak conversation he was having with his mother. His life was here, in the hallowed halls of this university, in the modern laboratories where he conducted important research into chemical processes and their effect on the climate.

  He and his colleagues were on the brink of discovering how to neutralise certain chemical emissions and potentially reverse their effect on the climate. How could he leave it all behind, to become King of a country most people hadn’t even heard about?

  A country that was the linchpin in important economic talks, a country that was, if his mother was to be believed, on the brink of war.

  ‘Mateo,’ Agathe said softly, ‘I know this is hard. Your life has been in Cambridge. I understand that I am asking so much of you. Your country is.’

  ‘You are not asking any more of me than you asked of my brothers,’ Mateo said roughly. Agathe sighed.

  ‘Yes, but they were prepared for it.’

  And he wasn’t. The implication was glaringly obvious. How could he be a good king, when he’d never been shown or taught? When no one had expected anything of him, except to live his own life as he pleased?

  And he had done exactly that—going to Cambridge, becoming a lecturer and researcher, even living under a false name so no one knew he was a prince, eschewing the usual security and privileges to be his own man, free from all the encumbrances of royalty.

  But all along he’d belonged to Kallyria.

  ‘Mateo?’ Agathe prompted and he gave a terse nod of acceptance.

  ‘I’ll fly back to Kallyria tonight.’

  Agathe could not hide her relief; it shuddered through her with an audible sound. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’ Mateo nodded, knowing he was doing no more than his duty, even if it chafed bitterly. Of course he would still do it. There had never been any question of that.

  ‘We must move quickly, to secure your throne,’ Agathe continued and Mateo stared at her, his blue-green eyes narrowed to aquamarine slits, his chiselled jaw bunched with tension.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Leo’s abdication was so sudden, so unexpected. It has led to some...instability.’

  ‘You mean from the insurgents?’ A tribe of nomadic rabble, as far as he could tell, who hated any innovation or threat of modernity.

  Agathe nodded, her forehead creased in worry. ‘They are growing in power, Mateo, as well as number. Without anyone visible on the throne, who knows what they may do?’

  Mateo’s gut clenched at the thought of a war. It was so far from his experience, his life, that it was almost laughable. Tonight he was meant to be speaking at a fundraising dinner, followed by drinks with some university colleagues. Now those plans seemed ephemeral, ridiculous. He had a country to rule. A war to avoid, and if not, then win.

  ‘I will do my best to put
a stop to them,’ he said, his tone assured and lethal. He might never have been meant to be King, but heaven knew he would step up to the role now. He would do whatever he had to secure his family, his country, his kingdom.

  ‘I know you will,’ Agathe assured him. ‘But there is more, Mateo.’ His mother looked hesitant, and Mateo frowned. What more could there be than what she had already said—his brother abdicating, his country on the verge of ruin, and the necessity for him to leave his entire life behind? How on earth could there be more?

  ‘What do you mean?’ he demanded. ‘Mitera, what are you talking about?’

  ‘Your rule must be made stable as quickly as possible,’ Agathe explained. ‘With your father and brothers...so much uncertainty...there must be no doubt, Mateo, that our line will rule. That our house will remain established, through all the foibles and fortunes of war.’

  ‘I am travelling to Kallyria tonight,’ Mateo answered, with an edge to his voice that he tried to moderate. His mother looked so worn down, so worried. He didn’t want to hurt her or cause her any more concern. ‘What else can I do?’

  ‘You must marry,’ Agathe told him bluntly. ‘As quickly as possible, with an heir as soon as possible after that. I have drawn up a list of suitable brides...’

  Mateo jerked upright, his mouth dropping open before he snapped it shut, his teeth grinding together. ‘Marry? But Leo never married.’ Six years his brother had been King, and he’d never even entertained the thought of a bride, as far as Mateo knew. There had certainly been no whispers of a potential match, never mind an engagement or a wedding. Leo had had numerous affairs with unsuitable women, many of them splashed across the tabloids, none of the fleeting relationships leading anywhere.