The Blackmail Baby

by Natalie Rivers

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled tightly, knowing she hadn’t really managed to hide her deflated mood.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Lorenzo said, looking at her sharply.

  ‘Nothing.’ She looked back at him, biting her lip in indecision. Perhaps she should say something. But then she remembered the conference call he had mentioned—now was not the right time to get into a potentially tricky conversation with him. ‘I’ll leave you to your work.’

  Lorenzo watched her hurry away out of his study carrying the baby in her arms. She’d forgotten to take Grazzini’s package. Or maybe she’d left it deliberately—he’d seen the look on her face when he told her who it was from. Until that moment it hadn’t occurred to him that she might have thought that he’d bought it.

  It had seemed as if there’d been something on the tip of her tongue, something she was holding back from saying. He knew what it was about. It was clear that Chloe wanted him to show more paternal interest in Emma.

  Well, he could do that—he could spend time with them and satisfy Chloe that he was making an effort with the baby. He had made a commitment that he fully intended to honour—to be a good parent and to treat the child as if she were his own. But he could not make himself have feelings that didn’t come naturally. Feelings that simply weren’t there.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘I’M SO glad you’re starting to get to know Emma,’ Chloe said impulsively as she watched Lorenzo playing with the baby—although playing wasn’t really the right word to describe it. And Lorenzo didn’t exactly look as if he was having fun.

  Nevertheless, he was patiently handing Emma a succession of soft, colourful blocks, which she took, chewed a bit, then threw back at him. She was sitting on a rug surrounded by a circle of cushions because she wasn’t very stable, and Lorenzo and Chloe were sitting facing her.

  Next to the baby Lorenzo seemed huge and awkward, and Chloe found herself frowning slightly as she looked at them. It was true that he was a large, powerful man, but despite his sheer size she had never seen him move or hold himself with anything but cat-like poise. Except for when he was with Emma.

  ‘Yes.’ Lorenzo’s one-word response revealed just how ill-at-ease he was feeling and Chloe found herself experiencing a hint of frustration.

  She didn’t know what was behind Lorenzo’s lack of ease. Was he just finding the whole thing tedious? Or was he totally out of his comfort zone?

  Emma was only six months old, and obviously not scintillating intellectual company. But she was fascinating and rewarding to spend time with, if you took a moment to adjust to the change of pace.

  Yet Lorenzo’s face was set in stone and he was not attempting to talk to her at all. Chloe wished she knew if that was just because he wasn’t really interested in communicating with her, or if he felt self-conscious and unsure of what to say.

  ‘She likes those stacking cups—the ones that are behind her,’ Chloe said, wishing she could think of some way to lighten the atmosphere, but Lorenzo’s oppressive silence was making her feel unsettled too.

  Lorenzo didn’t reply but he leant over to pick up the cups, with Emma following his movements with her bright little eyes. As he reached past her she turned her head too far and suddenly lost her balance. She rolled over sideways and knocked her head on the stack of plastic cups, and sent up a wail that echoed sharply around the room.

  ‘Whoa!’ Lorenzo said, picking her up and trying to sit her back on her bottom, but she was wailing and arching her back, and it was clear that she would just fall over again if he let go of her.

  Chloe’s fingers twitched with the urge to sweep the baby up, putting both her and Lorenzo out of their misery. But at the same time she didn’t want to barge in. If she always did everything it would only make things harder for Lorenzo.

  He really did seem to be making an effort finally. And she’d heard the concern in his voice when Emma went over. She was unbelievably glad that he did seem to be connecting with the baby on some level—even if it was only at the most basic, simple concern over her safety.

  ‘Here, you take her,’ he said suddenly, dumping the crying baby into Chloe’s arms.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Chloe said, jiggling Emma to comfort her. She couldn’t help feeling disappointed that he had given up so easily. But at least he had tried, she told herself. That had to be something.

  ‘Worry?’ Lorenzo said curtly. ‘Worry about what?’

  ‘That you’re not finding it easy,’ Chloe said. ‘That you don’t know what to do right away. It will come—the important thing is that you are starting to connect with her. To feel like her father.’

  ‘No. I’m not.’

  Lorenzo’s bald statement of denial sent a cold chill through Chloe, and she felt an automatic need to dispute it. Of course he was starting to feel like Emma’s father—he had to be.

  ‘I’m sure that you are,’ she said gently. ‘Maybe only a little. But the connection between you will grow over time.’

  ‘I want her to be well and happy—I have made a commitment, and I fully intend to keep my word,’ he said stiffly, ‘but my positive intentions for the child are driven by what is the correct thing to do for her continued well-being. Not by my emotions. Not by feelings I do not have.’

  Chloe stared at him, momentarily stunned by the enormity of his statement. But she could sense the frustration bubbling beneath his stern exterior—see that he was keeping something battened down inside him.

  ‘It’s understandable,’ she said, treading carefully. ‘She’s not your flesh and blood, and she did come into your life suddenly and unexpectedly. As she gets older things will change.’

  She paused, hoping for some acceptance from him. Giving him a moment to say something—anything. But he maintained an oppressive silence—a silence that Chloe felt compelled to fill. She couldn’t leave things like this. She just couldn’t.

  ‘It will be different when you have your own children,’ she said. ‘You’ll have nine months to get used to the idea of a baby. And the first time you lay eyes on it, you will love it immediately.’

  ‘No,’ Lorenzo bit out. ‘There is no reason to assume I will love my children. I have told you I will do everything in my power to ensure they feel loved—that is the only guarantee I can make. And that is the most important thing.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ Chloe gasped. ‘Of course you will love your own children. It’s a natural instinct.’

  ‘Not for everyone,’ he said. ‘You and I both know that to our cost. My parents did not love me—my mother sold me when I was five years old to my father as part of her divorce settlement!’

  ‘But…but surely…at least that means your father loved you,’ Chloe stumbled, horrified by Lorenzo’s outburst. ‘You know he wanted you.’

  ‘I was nothing more than another commodity to him,’ Lorenzo said bitterly.

  ‘No.’ Chloe shook her head in denial.

  ‘Don’t tell me what my childhood was like,’ Lorenzo said. ‘And before you start talking about natural parental instincts, perhaps you should remember how your father walked out on your seventh birthday. And your mother—she may have waited till you were grown up, but when was the last time you spoke to her?’

  ‘Why are you being like this?’ Chloe cried. ‘Why would you say such horrible things?’

  ‘To stop your unrealistic, idealised expectations,’ Lorenzo grated. ‘I have given you my assurance that I will be a good father—but I can’t promise to feel something that is not under my control.’

  ‘If you don’t expect to love your children—why do you even want them?’ Chloe cried, jumping to her feet with Emma still in her arms and backing away from him. ‘What kind of monster are you?’

  Suddenly she didn’t want to hear his answer—she couldn’t stand to be near him a moment longer. Clutching Emma tightly, she stumbled out of the room, needing to get as far away from him as possible.

  Lorenzo made no attempt to stop her leaving.

  His heart was
thudding violently in his chest and his palms were damp with sweat.

  She had called him a monster—and maybe she was right. But all he could think about was the five-year-old boy he had once been, confused and hurting—and simply wanting his mother’s warm and reassuring presence.

  He didn’t know anything about love. He’d never been on the receiving end of it, and he’d never felt it himself for another human being. He didn’t even know if he was capable of it.

  Chloe stood on the balcony that led off from the bedroom she shared with Lorenzo. It was high up on a corner of the palazzo, and she had a clear view out through the mouth of the Grand Canal and across the Venetian Lagoon. It was an overcast day in June, and the calm water was a muted grey, reflecting the dull, colourless sky.

  Out of nowhere she found herself remembering Lorenzo telling her about the lagoon, how the tranquil surface hid a treacherous underwater terrain of hidden channels and shifting mudflats that had protected the city against attack for centuries.

  She couldn’t help thinking about how that applied to Lorenzo, and how she had only just started to discover what lay beneath the surface. She’d been standing there looking out at the water for ages, while Emma took her nap, hoping the soft sea breeze would clear her head. But all she could think about was her terrible argument with him.

  At first the discovery that he did not think he was capable of love had shocked and angered her. But then the more she thought about it, the more she had found herself feeling drained and heartsick. How could he have simply given up on love?

  On their wedding day in February, when she’d found out that he thought marriages based on love were doomed to failure, she had been upset by how cynical he had been. But finding out that he didn’t even believe that he would be able to love his own children had painted an entirely different picture.

  It wasn’t cynicism. It was a total lack of hope.

  His life must have been so cold and empty when he was a child, but Chloe realised she knew very little about his childhood years. He had told her so much about the wonderful city he had grown up in that she’d never noticed he talked very little about himself.

  Her heart ached when she thought about it. She couldn’t bear to think of him as a little boy, wandering around this palazzo—this huge, architectural monument to his family’s great history—feeling lost and alone. And unloved.

  ‘If you want out of this marriage, I’ll understand.’ Lorenzo’s deep voice right behind her made her catch her breath.

  ‘What? No…’

  She spun round to face him, and was startled to see a terrible haunted look in his eyes. But then she replayed what he had just said—if she wanted out of this marriage…

  ‘You made your feelings about me crystal-clear,’ Lorenzo said. ‘I understand if you don’t want me to be the father of your children.’

  ‘No, I…’ Chloe’s voice petered out as she remembered what she’d called him. ‘I don’t think you are a monster,’ she said. ‘I didn’t really mean that—I’ve seen your good intentions towards Emma. And I know you’d only want what’s best for your own children.’

  ‘That’s why I married you,’ Lorenzo said. ‘I thought you were best for them. I know you love Emma as if she were your own, and that you’d love all your children just as fiercely.’

  He turned away for a moment, raking his hands through his short black hair in a gesture that revealed how difficult he was finding it to talk to her. Then he turned back and looked into her eyes with his troubled gaze.

  ‘But I know that’s not enough,’ he said. ‘Children deserve a father who is able to love them.’

  Chloe looked at him, filled with a mixture of shock and despair.

  She loved Lorenzo and had committed herself to making their marriage work, despite his lack of confidence in love. But now, out of the blue, he had decided not to bother.

  ‘Are you telling me you’re not man enough to stick with this?’ She did not hide the disgust from her voice. ‘You’re the one who pushed me into this, who told me it was for the best. And now, just like that, you’re prepared to give up?’

  ‘I’m not giving up,’ Lorenzo grated, clearly angered by her words. ‘I’ve made a considered decision. This marriage was never what you wanted—not once you knew my true feelings. Why would you fight for it now?’

  ‘Because I don’t give up that easily!’ Chloe cried. ‘I don’t turn my back on something the moment the going gets tough.’

  She pushed past him into the bedroom, intending to take Emma and go for a walk to cool off. But then she remembered what she had been thinking about when Lorenzo first came in. That his troubled, unloved childhood had made him lose faith in people. Had made him relinquish hope for love. Maybe that was driving his decision to give up on their marriage.

  She turned back to him again, the anger that had been pulsing round her body suddenly going quiet. He had been badly hurt. Maybe he was scared that he would hurt his own children.

  ‘I don’t give up that easily,’ Chloe repeated, but this time more gently. ‘I know your mother’s desertion hurt you and that you grew up feeling unloved. But history doesn’t have to repeat itself. You have to give yourself a chance.’

  She stared up into his blue eyes, which were as overcast and grey-tinged as the sky above them. She wanted to find a way to reach out to him—to help him deal with the fallout of his troubled childhood.

  She took a tentative step closer and lifted her hand to touch his cheek.

  His reaction was instant. It was as if steel shutters dropped down over the tiny window into his soul that she’d momentarily glimpsed, and he brushed her hand aside abruptly. His rejection of her attempt to make a connection with him was total.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ he bit out. ‘I don’t want your sympathy. And I don’t want to hear your amateur psychoanalysis of my life. Pack your bags—we’re leaving for England tonight.’

  He stormed out of the bedroom, leaving Chloe staring after him in a state of shock.

  Had he just told her that he was divorcing her? That he was taking her back to England because their marriage was over?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE flight from Venice back to southern England was not long, but it turned out to be one of the most stressful flights Chloe could remember.

  Emma, who had so far been very good on aero-planes, started crying the minute they took off. By the time they were flying over the Alps, she was howling at the top of her lungs.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ Lorenzo demanded loudly, staring at her with a horrified scowl on his face. ‘Why is she doing that? She’s always been all right before.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Chloe said in exasperation—she’d already tried everything she could think of to calm Emma down. There’d been an oppressive tension between Lorenzo and herself since their argument, but his agitation over Emma’s crying was making things even more strained between them. ‘I’ve never seen her like this.’

  ‘Maybe it’s her ears,’ Lorenzo suddenly suggested. ‘We’re very high over the mountains—perhaps her ears are sensitive to the change of pressure.’

  ‘It could be that.’ Chloe seized on the idea hopefully. She was desperate to find a reason for the poor little thing’s distress, and anxious to find a way to make her feel better. ‘Could you pass me her drink, please? Maybe that will help.’

  Sure enough, sucking on her drink did seem to calm Emma a little, and Chloe looked over at Lorenzo with relief.

  ‘Maybe a doctor should examine her when we arrive,’ Lorenzo suggested. ‘She doesn’t look quite right to me.’

  ‘Maybe, although I don’t think she has a fever.’ Chloe frowned and tried to look down at Emma, but it was hard to see her properly because of the way she was positioned on her lap. She didn’t want to move her and risk setting her off again. ‘She’s never been so upset before—but it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s something serious.’

  She drew her lip into her mouth in consternation. She
wanted to do whatever was best for Emma—only she didn’t know whether she was just over-tired from travelling and needed a settled night at home. Or if there was really something wrong.

  However, by the time they’d nearly reached the glass-walled house, the decision was made for them. After falling asleep for a short while on leaving the airport, Emma had woken up fretful and hot. Then she’d starting screaming louder than anything Chloe had ever heard before.

  ‘We’re taking her to the hospital in the next town,’ Lorenzo said, barking instructions to the limousine driver to change route. ‘They have a children’s accident and emergency unit there—it will be the quickest way to get her seen.’

  Chloe tried to sooth Emma anxiously, thankful that it didn’t take long to reach the hospital.

  Then all of a sudden the high-pitched crying stopped, and the baby seemed to calm down. But Chloe knew it wasn’t right. From screaming so energetically, Emma had quickly become listless and dopey.

  ‘Something’s wrong,’ she said, startled by how loud her voice sounded in the sudden silence in the limousine. ‘We’d better find a doctor.’

  ‘This way.’ Lorenzo helped Chloe out of the vehicle, and quickly scanned the hospital signs to establish where to go.

  His heart had started to thud loudly in his chest, and a crushing sensation of helplessness suddenly seized him.

  Emma was so tiny. It was his responsibility to take care of her—to make sure she was all right. But he did not know what to do to make her better. The only thing he could do was to take her as quickly as possible to someone who was qualified.

  Her little head was resting on Chloe’s shoulder, but it was rocking from side to side as Chloe walked, as if she did not have the strength to support it. He wanted to reach out and steady her, but he knew Emma was never truly comfortable whenever he tried to hold her. If he touched her, even just to support her head, it would probably just upset her again.