by Kate Hewitt
‘I’ll pay you myself.’
‘I don’t want your money,’ she spat. ‘And it’s more than money, it’s my reputation. If I walk out on this job, I might not be hired for another one.’
‘If that is your utmost concern right now,’ Antonio drawled coldly, ‘then I think your priorities are out of order. But rest assured I will make sure your employment opportunities are not curtailed by our conversation.’
Maisie turned away, her arms folded, her whole body rigid. ‘It’s easy for you,’ she said in a more moderate tone, but one that still conveyed her complete disdain. ‘You’ve never had to worry about money.’
‘That is not actually true, but I’ll let it go.’
‘How kind of you,’ she retorted. ‘I know what you’re really like, Antonio Rossi.’ The sneering certainty in her tone made him still. For a second he felt icy inside, as well as horribly exposed. She knew what he was really like. She’d seen his weakness. Hell, he’d shown it to her. Of course she knew what he was like, and he hated it.
‘What I’m really like has no bearing on this matter,’ he informed her. The doors to the lift opened directly onto his penthouse suite and he stepped out onto the black marble floor, the glittering lights of Manhattan visible from the floor-to-ceiling windows. ‘All that matters is whether that child is mine.’
‘And if she is?’
That single word—she—cut him to the core. ‘She? I have a daughter?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You didn’t need to.’
‘Don’t assume anything.’ Maisie stared him down, her arms folded, her stance aggressive even as her chin wobbled a little bit. She was scared, and the only reason she’d be scared was if the child—this baby girl—really was his.
‘Then stop playing games, and tell me the truth. Is the baby mine?’ Maisie pressed her lips together, her gaze sliding away from his. ‘Maisie. I deserve to know.’
‘Why do you deserve anything?’ she demanded, her voice wavering only a little. ‘You pretended you didn’t know me, Antonio! I came to your office—’ Her voice broke and Antonio took advantage of the silence.
‘Why did you come to my office, Maisie? What did you want to talk to me about that day?’
‘Why did you pretend you didn’t remember me when you obviously did?’ Maisie flung back at him.
‘It seemed easier—’
‘Easier for you.’
‘And easier for you. I didn’t see our...relationship...going anywhere, and I didn’t want to have to reject you in public.’
‘Wow, what a prince.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘So thoughtful and charming. Really, I’m touched.’
‘I admit, it was not the best idea I’ve ever had,’ Antonio returned tightly. And it wasn’t the entire truth. He’d pretended he didn’t know her because he’d been so ashamed by his weakness, the weakness she’d seen. Even now it made him cringe, and then seethe. ‘In any case, you still haven’t answered my question.’
She remained silent, her gaze averted from his, her arms wrapped around her body as if she were holding herself together. Impatience warred with an incredulous hope. ‘Maisie—’
‘What do you want me to say?’ she interjected quietly. ‘What do you expect me to say?’
‘That’s why I’m asking...’
Maisie let out a shuddering sigh and then turned to him resolutely, as if facing a firing squad, the execution of all her hopes. ‘Yes, Antonio,’ she said, her voice sounding a note of defeat. ‘The baby is yours. You have a daughter.’
CHAPTER SIX
MAISIE WATCHED THE emotions flash across Antonio’s face—disbelief, shock, and then, surprisingly, wonder. Maybe even joy. A smile bloomed and then, quite suddenly, withered. His lips compressed and he folded his arms, back to being the autocratic stranger whom Maisie could fully believe was responsible for dismantling companies and destroying dreams, at least according to the reports she’d read.
‘You should have told me.’
‘I tried.’ Surely he couldn’t blame her for that. She wouldn’t let him. ‘You seem to have selective amnesia, don’t you?’ Maisie added, her indignation turning her uncharacteristically caustic. ‘I came to your office, I asked if we could talk. You didn’t want to know.’
‘I would have agreed to a discussion if I’d known—’
‘Sorry I wasn’t willing to drop that bombshell in the middle of a crowded lobby,’ Maisie fired back, properly furious now. ‘If you’d had the barest modicum of decency, you would have given me a hearing. Two seconds of your time, at least. But maybe that’s more than you give most women. It certainly seems so, based on the articles I’ve seen in the tabloids.’
Antonio’s lips curled, his eyes flashing fire. ‘You shouldn’t read tabloids. They’re nothing but rubbish.’
‘A lot of rubbish is written about you, then.’
He shrugged his powerful shoulders. ‘I don’t read those rags.’
‘I didn’t either, until they proved to be the only way to find out what kind of man you are.’
His lips compressed, his whole body stilling. ‘And you decided what kind of man I am from gossip magazines?’
‘And from your own actions. Nothing you did or said made me think you’d welcome a child, Antonio.’
‘But I still should have known.’
Maisie shrugged back at him, refusing to apologise for his own lamentable shortcomings. ‘Like I said, I tried.’
‘You should have tried harder,’ Antonio flashed back. He took a steadying breath and squared his shoulders. ‘But that doesn’t matter now. What matters is the future. Our future.’
Maisie didn’t miss the emphasis, and it sent a clear, cold note of fear twanging through her. ‘What do you mean, our future?’
‘Do you think now that I know I have a child, a daughter, I’m going to turn my back on her? Walk away as if nothing has changed?’
‘Frankly I don’t know what you’re going to do,’ Maisie said, struggling to keep her voice even. What was Antonio going to want? Demand? Because her life was just about on a steady keel, and she really couldn’t stand the boat being rocked. Yet in that moment she feared Antonio was going to tip it right over and capsize her fledgling happiness.
‘Then I’ll tell you,’ Antonio said, his voice turning inexorable. ‘I’m going to be involved in my child’s life.’
‘How?’ A headache had begun to flicker at Maisie’s temples. She wasn’t emotionally ready to have this conversation. Less than an hour ago she hadn’t thought she’d ever see Antonio Rossi again, and now she was in his hotel suite while he made demands.
And demands they definitely were, because everything about Antonio radiated power. Authority. Charisma. She knew so much about him that she hated, from his business dealings to his bedroom ones, and yet even now she could not deny the magnetic pull he had on her. Even now she couldn’t keep from noticing the ice-blue of his eyes, the strong line of his jaw, the ink-dark hair that flopped over his forehead and made her remember how she’d run her fingers through it.
She couldn’t keep her gaze from dropping to that long, lithe body that she’d felt against her own. His crisp white tuxedo shirt was the perfect foil for his bronzed skin and blue eyes. He looked magnificent, intimidating, and totally out of her league. She could hardly believe he’d been hers for a night, although of course he hadn’t been. Not really. And what did he want with her now?
Nothing, she quickly found out. ‘We’ll have joint custody,’ Antonio informed her curtly, as if it was a simple and glaringly obvious matter. Maisie gaped.
‘Joint? How? You live in Milan and I live in New York. I’m her mother, Antonio. She’s only three months old—’
‘And I’ve missed those first three months. I won’t miss any more.’
Maisie had had no idea what to expect from Antonio, but
it definitely hadn’t been this. ‘You don’t seem like someone who wants a child,’ she remarked numbly.
‘This isn’t a question of want, it’s one of duty. Responsibility.’
‘Ella is not just a duty—’
‘Ella? Is that her name?’
Maisie lifted a chin, torn between wishing she hadn’t mentioned her daughter’s name and knowing that all of this was painfully necessary. ‘Yes.’
‘Ella,’ Antonio repeated softly. An emotion flashed across his face, too quickly for Maisie to discern what it was, and then he swung away so he was staring at the twinkling lights of the city, his back to her.
‘She can spend half the year with me, and half the year with you.’
Maisie’s heart started to splinter. ‘Half the year? You’d deprive me of my child for six months?’
‘I can ask you the same.’
‘Antonio, you work full-time. You travel the world. How on earth would you care for her, especially when she’s so small?’ Terror dug its poisonous claws into Maisie’s heart and held on. She couldn’t let this happen, and yet how could she fight it? Antonio was Ella’s father, and he was far more powerful than she was. She couldn’t fight him, but she would try with everything she had.
Antonio didn’t answer her breathless question, and desperation made Maisie press the point. ‘It’s not reasonable. You’d have to hire a nanny, when she could be with her mother, the person who loves her most—’
‘You work.’
‘Only the occasional evening, and Max looks after her.’
‘Max?’
Was she imagining the needle-like note of jealousy that had entered his voice? ‘My brother. You remember I told you about him? Or did he not make the cut of what you choose to remember and to forget?’
‘I remember you talking about your brother.’ He turned away, seeming to want to close the conversation.
‘And I remember you talking about yours,’ Maisie said, compelled to a painful honesty she hadn’t expected either to give or receive. Not now, with their history so fraught and fragmented. Yet for one brief, breathless moment she remembered how close she’d felt to him, how emotionally connected. Had it all been a mirage? A lie?
‘Don’t.’ Antonio’s voice was rough, his body angled away from her. ‘Let’s not talk about that. The past is exactly that. We need to focus on the future.’
‘So you said, but we can’t make these kinds of life-changing decisions in the course of one evening.’ Maisie took a steadying breath, willing the panic she’d felt swimming through her mind to recede a little.
Antonio knew about his daughter and, despite the fear she still felt, it was, in some ways, a relief. No more wondering. No more hiding the truth. It was out, and now they both had to deal with it. She’d see that as a good thing when she’d recovered from the shock. She’d have to.
‘Maybe not in the course of an evening,’ Antonio said levelly as he turned around to face her, ‘but soon. I leave for Milan in three days.’
Maisie only just stopped herself from rolling her eyes. ‘And finding out you have a daughter won’t keep you from changing your plans? What a great start.’
His mouth compressed, his eyes turning flinty. ‘It’s not like that.’
‘It seems like it is.’
‘I’m not going to argue with you about this now,’ Antonio said, his tone growing impatient. ‘You’re right, in that we can’t discuss or decide everything tonight.’
‘Exactly.’ Maisie exhaled in relief. At least they were in agreement about that.
‘I’ll escort you home, then pick you up in the morning to continue our discussion.’
That made him sound a little bit like her jailer. ‘Is that really necessary—?’
‘Yes.’ Antonio cut her off. ‘It is.’ He slid his mobile phone out of his breast pocket and thumbed a quick text. ‘My car will be waiting outside.’
‘I’m supposed to work until the party is over...’
‘The party is over,’ Antonio said flatly, and Maisie was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about the dinner downstairs. Yes, the party was over. But what came next?
* * *
Maisie didn’t say a word as she and Antonio rode down in the lift together. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, trying to assess her mood. Would she be compliant? Would she fight? And, most importantly, what the hell did he really want?
Ella’s birth, her existence, had blindsided him. He hadn’t been able to think properly, and still couldn’t. His gut reaction, the kneejerk response he hadn’t been able to suppress or moderate, had been that his daughter was his and he wanted her right now. For ever.
The strength and intensity of his emotion surprised him. He’d never wanted children or marriage, because he’d seen first-hand the negative and destructive elements of both. Yet here he was, contemplating at least one of them. The trouble was, he really couldn’t see how it was going to work.
Maisie had pointed out just a few of the complications—the distance between them, and the hectic pace of his work life. Besides, a child, and especially a baby, needed her mother. Still, he’d figure those things out eventually. The most important matter had already been settled; he would be in Ella’s life. He needed to be.
Out in the street, the spring air was balmy, the streets empty of traffic. A limo idled at the kerb, and the driver hopped out as soon as he saw Antonio.
‘Sir.’
‘Thank you, Carl.’ He used the same driver every time he came to New York, which was usually once or twice a year. He hadn’t been back since he’d been with Maisie, something that caused him a flicker of regret and wonder. Would he have run into her, if he’d come back? Sought her out? Perhaps he wouldn’t have missed the first three months of his daughter’s life.
His daughter. The words felled him, flayed him. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe he felt so strongly about it, about his child and his fatherhood, and yet he did. He knew he did.
Maisie slid inside the limo and scooted to the far side, practically pressing herself against the door in her desire to escape him.
Antonio slid in next to her, closing the door behind him. The limo pulled smoothly into the street, and Maisie turned her face to the window.
‘Where do you live?’ Antonio asked.
‘In Inwood, on Two Hundred and Eighth Street.’ She gave him the rest of the address, and he arched an eyebrow.
‘I didn’t realise the street numbers went up that high.’
‘Most people don’t think of it as part of Manhattan,’ Maisie acknowledged, her manner thawing slightly. ‘But the rent is cheap.’
Antonio frowned. He hated the thought that Maisie, and therefore his daughter, had struggled for money while he’d remained ignorant. As the limo sped uptown he realised how little he knew about the mother of his child. He barely knew anything at all.
‘Are you still in school?’ he asked abruptly, and Maisie turned to him, surprised.
‘No. I had to give up my course when I was pregnant with Ella.’
‘What course was it?’
She pressed her lips together, something inside her seeming to shutter. ‘Violin performance at Juilliard.’
That surprised him. He’d been expecting her to be doing some mundane and practical course at a community college, not playing an instrument at one of the best music schools in the world. She’d given up a lot for their child. ‘Will you go back to it?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s too difficult with Ella, and in any case, I’m not sure I’m cut out for that high-pressure environment.’
More things he didn’t know about her. His curiosity suddenly seemed insatiable, and yet also inconvenient. He didn’t want to have some sort of pseudo-relationship with Maisie, simply because they sha
red a child. Even though he was a father now, Antonio knew he wasn’t cut out for marriage, and certainly not for love. So what the hell was he going to do?
They didn’t talk for the rest of the trip uptown, the streets getting more rundown the farther north they went. Finally Maisie indicated that the driver should turn, and a few seconds later Carl pulled up in front of a shabby-looking brick building, the paint peeling from the fire-escape stairs, a drift of take-away menus and junk mail piled up in front of the door.
‘You live here?’ He couldn’t keep the censure from his voice. This was no place to raise a child, or at least his child.
‘Yes.’ Maisie glanced at him, both wary and affronted. ‘It’s fine. There are a lot of families in this neighbourhood.’ She opened the door, about to get out. ‘You don’t have to see me to the door—’
‘I’ll see you all the way to your apartment,’ Antonio returned. ‘I want to know where you live.’
‘It’s late, Antonio—’
‘And we’re already here.’ He slid out his own side, then strode around to help her out of the limo. She looked as if she wanted to refuse to take his hand, but then with a little sigh she did. Even now, with so much going on, Antonio felt the silken slide of her fingers against his palm and his gut tightened with both desire and memory.
He dropped her hand as soon as she’d straightened, and Maisie fished for her keys in her purse while the limo idled and Antonio waited impatiently.
She opened the door and stepped aside for him to go through; the lobby of the building was dark and cramped and smelled of old fried food.
‘There’s no lift?’ he demanded as she started up the stairs.
‘No,’ Maisie answered tiredly, ‘and we live on the sixth floor, so I hope you’re in good shape.’
‘We?’
‘My brother Max and me.’
They climbed the five flights of narrow stairs in silence, Antonio’s unease deepening with every floor.
‘How did you manage those stairs when you were pregnant?’ he demanded as they reached the top floor.
‘I didn’t move here until after Ella was born, but in any case I was bedridden for the last two months of my pregnancy.’