by Annie West
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
His head jerked back as if she’d slapped him and, despite herself, sympathy stirred.
When he spoke again his voice was stretched and hoarse, almost as if it hurt him to speak. ‘I’ve come a long way to see you. I’d hoped to do this in person.’
He gestured with one hand and she realised he held a large envelope. Instantly her insides clenched in fear. What was it? The beginning of some legal wrangle over their baby?
Her free hand lifted, as if to slide protectively over her belly, but she curtailed the gesture, determined not to reveal any frailty in front of him. But that didn’t prevent the horrible, jittery sensation of nerves.
‘Very well.’ She stepped aside and gestured him in. Better to hear the news from Pietro. If she sent him away she’d just worry herself stupid over what action he planned to take.
With his wealth and power he could outgun her in any legal manoeuvre. Her skin iced at the possibilities.
Pietro stepped over the threshold and instantly the air clogged in her windpipe. He took up all the space in the narrow hall. How had she forgotten how big he was? She had to sidle round him, ultra-conscious of his tall frame as she slipped past.
Molly had forgotten too, the sensation of Pietro’s gaze on her, heavy as a hand stroking her back, as she led the way to the family room looking out over the water.
‘Please, take a seat.’ She didn’t look at him but sank into her favourite armchair, grateful to sit, as her legs wouldn’t hold her much longer.
‘Thank you.’
Finally Molly made herself look directly at him.
She stifled a gasp, for the man staring back at her wasn’t the man she remembered. Those high-cut cheekbones were painfully prominent, his face drawn, and around his mouth deep grooves had settled. Startled, she lifted her gaze to his eyes. They looked straight back, but instead of that golden glow she remembered his eyes seemed dimmed.
Molly bit her lip, disturbed by the change in him.
‘You’ve just travelled from Italy?’
He nodded. ‘I arrived in Sydney late last night.’
That explained it. He was probably jet-lagged. ‘You must have got up early.’ Her family home was several hours’ drive north of the city.
‘I drove up last night.’
Molly’s eyes rounded. ‘But where did you stay?’ Despite the recent real-estate boom, there were no five-star hotels in the vicinity.
He shrugged. ‘There’s a motel a few kilometres away.’
Motel? Molly stared, grappling with the fact her billionaire ex-lover had stayed in a cheap motel that generally attracted families and travelling salesmen.
She sank back, head reeling. Had he brought his security team too? Had they all spent the night at the down-at-heel Golden Sands Motel?
Was this a dream?
Pietro shifted in his seat and Molly heard the twang of springs on the ancient lounge chair. No, this was real. Pietro was in her home. On business so important it couldn’t wait.
‘You’re going to fight for custody.’ Despite the upsurge of fear, her voice was resigned. Hadn’t she expected this? She told herself it was almost a relief to have it out in the open. It had been weeks since she’d left Rome, and daily she’d wondered when Pietro would make a move to secure his child.
Pietro surged forward in his seat, the springs protesting the movement.
‘No! Nothing like that.’
‘Pardon?’ Molly’s fingers dug into the fabric of her own seat.
His jaw worked and she watched, fascinated by the hectic throb of a pulse at his temple. It struck her that, apart from the exquisitely crafted suit, Pietro didn’t look like a powerful tycoon. He looked like a man on the edge. A man fighting the same tangle of raw emotions that enmeshed her.
But how likely was that?
She had to stop projecting her emotions onto him. That was the trap she’d fallen into in Italy. Firstly in Tuscany, believing he loved her as she had him, then in Rome, reading love into his possessive attitude when all he cared about was her baby, not her.
She swallowed, disappointment bitter on her tongue.
‘I’m not here to take the child from you, Molly. I’d never do that.’
Molly’s breath jammed. Could it be? Or was this some game?
Bewildered, she tried to marshal her thoughts. Despite the way he’d played her, she knew Pietro wasn’t all bad. When Molly had arrived in Sydney, stressed and exhausted, she’d been dumbstruck to discover a chauffeur waiting at the airport with instructions to drive her wherever she wanted to go, courtesy of Pietro. And it had been Pietro who’d finally located her sister Jillian, informed her of Molly’s accident and arranged for her immediate flight to Australia. She’d arrived just a day after Molly.
The man who’d done that couldn’t be so cruel as to lie now about something as important as their child.
She squeezed her eyes shut, telling herself she was doing it again, reading what she wanted into the situation. It was guilt motivating him, or the need to look good if it came to a court case.
Her eyes snapped open and she saw Pietro leaning towards her, wearing a look of such pain that her chest squeezed.
As she watched, he sat back, his features settling into something approximating his old unreadable expression. Yet either Pietro wasn’t quite as inscrutable as he used to be or Molly’s ability to read him had improved. She saw tension and pain, plus something she couldn’t name.
She opened her mouth but before she could speak Pietro leaned across, offering her the envelope.
‘As you see, it’s not about custody.’ Even so, Molly’s hands were clammy with fear as she took it and withdrew an official-looking document. ‘I had it drawn up in English to make it easier for you.’
Drawing a deep breath, she stared down at the papers. Nevertheless, it took an age before she could focus. She was too aware of Pietro leaning close, intent on her. And of her heart beating a frantic tattoo against her ribs.
Finally, words began to penetrate. As they did, astonishment rose, swamping fear. She reread the paragraphs she’d only skimmed.
Pietro had told the truth. There was no mention of their baby. This was all about her.
‘You’re giving me your villa in Tuscany?’ Not just the villa, but the whole estate, including several farm houses, as well as a productive vineyard and olive grove.
‘Si.’
Molly kept reading, looking for a catch, for some clause stating that by accepting she would give Pietro rights over her child. But there was nothing. Just the simple statement that she was now the owner of the estate, plus a hefty sum of money.
‘I don’t understand.’ She looked up, her eyes meeting his. A shot of adrenalin ripped through her, stealing her breath.
‘I’ve made the estate over to you. It’s my hope that you and our child will live there, at least part of the time.’
See? There was a catch. ‘So you do want custody. Or at least to share it. That’s why you want the baby raised in Italy.’ Molly didn’t know Italian law but guessed it might support a father taking control of his child’s life.
‘No!’ Pietro jerked back in his seat. ‘It’s my family estate. It’s right that it goes to you and eventually our child.’ He stopped and drew in a breath that made his chest rise. ‘The money is in addition to the regular income I’ll set up for you and the child. It will cover the running of the estate if necessary, though if managed well it will pay for itself and more. The current manager is excellent, and the new wine-maker too.’
Molly frowned. She knew the place had been in his family for generations—centuries, in fact. Yet he wanted to give it to her?
‘You could sign it over to your son or daughter direct.’
Something stirred in his expression, but she didn’t know what. ‘No
, Molly. I want you to have it. You love the place and it’s...fitting.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Pietro looked back steadily. ‘Call it reparation. I’d planned to marry you, so you’d have had a right to it anyway. Now you and our child can live there without feeling beholden to me. I know you wouldn’t consider that.’ His voice dropped to a bass rumble. ‘You’ll be totally independent.’
‘What do you want in return?’
‘Nothing.’ He frowned. ‘I understand it’s hard for you to take my word.’
‘Of course it is. You lied to me.’ The anguish was still fresh.
‘I didn’t lie about caring for you. I love you, Molly.’
For the first time since Pietro had turned up on her doorstep she saw that familiar bright blaze of gold in his eyes. His words, and his searing look, shook her to the core. How badly she wanted to believe him. Even knowing it was a tactic to win her over, Molly felt its power, like an earth tremor cracking the foundations of her determination.
‘You would say that.’
Pietro paled, those grooves near his mouth carving deeper as his lips twisted. To Molly’s surprise he nodded. ‘I knew I wouldn’t be able to convince you. Yet I told myself...’ He stopped and looked away. Then he sighed. ‘The truth, the absolute truth, is that I love you, Molly. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I hurt you. That you felt betrayed.’
He swung back to fix her with a look that stole her breath. Pietro looked...haunted.
‘It’s true I lied because I wanted you and wanted my child. But the joke is on me, because I never recognised till too late that I was motivated the whole time by love. I fell in love with you in Tuscany. That’s why I overreacted when you told me you were pregnant.’
‘You have a strange way of showing your love.’ Molly crossed her arms and set her chin high. She wouldn’t fall for such a glib line.
‘You’re right. It was inexcusable. I’d had such a hellish experience with Elizabetta, I let it taint what we had. Looking back, it’s hard to believe that I wondered, even for a moment, if you were made in the same mould as her—feigning pregnancy to get her hands on my money. My reaction was shameful, over the top. Nothing can excuse it.’ He shot to his feet, hands thrust in his pockets as he paced.
This was more like the man she remembered. Vital, powerful, driven. Yet, when he turned to face her, it wasn’t determination she read on his features. It looked like defeat.
‘But it doesn’t matter how much I explain or excuse myself. I lied to you. Which means you’ve got no reason to believe me now when I say I love you and want you for yourself, not because of the baby. There’s nothing I can say or do to prove my feelings, is there?’
He looked down at her, his scrutiny so intent Molly’s blood heated.
‘You’re right. Words are easy. It’s deeds that count.’
A muscle flicked in Pietro’s jaw and his nostrils flared on a swiftly indrawn breath.
He nodded, the movement an abrupt jerk of his neck.
‘Then there’s nothing more to be said.’ He paused so long the silence pounded between them, heavy and full of pain. ‘But if you need anything, at any time, don’t hesitate to contact me.’ He swallowed, the movement pronounced. ‘Or if you prefer you can contact my lawyer.’ He nodded to the papers. ‘The details are there.’
Abruptly, so quickly Molly was caught by surprise, he turned to the door.
‘That’s it? Don’t you want to hear when the baby is born, or get updates later?’
Pietro looked at her over his shoulder, his mouth lifting at one side. ‘I know you, Molly. You’ll do the decent thing and share that information with me, even if it’s through an intermediary.’
For a moment longer he looked down at her, and it struck Molly that she’d never seen anything like the bleakness in Pietro’s eyes. The lack of hope. The pain. Real pain. There was no mistaking it for anything else.
Then, before she could gather her thoughts, Pietro turned and left the room.
Molly was so stunned, it took a moment to realise he was heading down the hall to the front door. She listened to his footsteps with mounting disbelief.
Her ears buzzed. Her vision blurred. She stared dumbly at the document on her lap.
He’d come all this way to give her the deeds to his estate and now he was going? It seemed impossible even as it happened.
Why come so far to hand her a paper a solicitor could have passed on?
But he’d done more, hadn’t he?
He’d apologised. He’d told her he loved her.
Molly’s eyes shut, her heart thudding high against her breastbone as she recalled the pain in his eyes. No, more than pain. Despair.
Pietro wasn’t that good an actor. Was he?
Tears of frustration and hurt burnt the back of her eyes as she fought the desire to believe him. How could she, without proof?
But there could never be independent proof of Pietro’s love. No empirical evidence. Only his word and his actions. It was a question of trust.
Deeds speak louder than words.
That was what she’d said, wasn’t it?
The blurred type before her gradually cleared and Molly’s heart jumped as key phrases burned onto her retinas.
What had Pietro done?
He’d looked after her while she’d recuperated. He’d been considerate and protective. He’d devoted himself to her, at times neglecting his business to do so. He’d taken her to Tuscany, even though he must have wondered if the place would revive her memories.
He’d organised her flight home to Australia in first-class luxury, without argument and without being asked.
He’d located Jillian and brought her home too, without once seeking thanks.
He’d signed over the estate she knew was the place he’d been happiest, with his family.
And what had he asked for? Nothing. There’d been no coercion. Just the expectation that she’d do the right thing by updating him about their baby.
How loudly did those deeds speak?
Molly looked at the doorway through which he’d disappeared and the tears she’d held at bay flooded her eyes.
Love was a risk, no matter what the circumstances. Was it a risk she dared to take? She had her child to think of. Whatever decision she made would affect it too.
Could she make a leap of faith or should she play safe?
* * *
Pietro reached for the ignition but his hand shook so much he planted it instead on the steering wheel.
It wasn’t just his hands. His body quaked as great, wracking tremors of anguish ripped through him. From seeing his beloved Molly, feeling that inevitable uprush of emotion, and being spurned again.
He told himself it would get better with time. He couldn’t believe it, but daily all around the world people survived calamity on a massive scale. Surely he could survive this?
His mouth cracked open in a bitter laugh that tore at his lungs. He’d thought he’d suffered through his marriage to Elizabetta, but disappointment and hurt pride were insignificant specks of sand compared to the anguish tormenting him now.
It had taken all his willpower to respect Molly’s wishes. Not to badger her to change her mind but turn away and leave.
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t plead for forgiveness. Not because he was too proud, but because it would do no good. He’d seen the distrust shimmer in her fine eyes. Besides, if she’d given him another chance simply because she felt sorry for him, that wasn’t enough.
Pietro wanted her love. He needed it.
Like he needed his next breath.
Grimly he stared at his white-knuckled hands. He would conquer this urge to stride back, sweep her off her feet and into his arms. To kiss her into surrender.
Surely he would.
Yet he couldn’t ban
ish the temptation to march in and demand she love him.
He was so intent on his thoughts the tap on the driver’s window shocked him. But not as much as the thrill of disbelief as he met Molly’s serious gaze through the glass.
Everything inside Pietro stilled as hope pulsed. He breathed deep, dragging oxygen into starved lungs. There was no reason to hope. Molly looked shell-shocked, not happy.
Slowly, bones aching like an old man’s, he opened the door and got out. Molly moved back a step, but no further, and despite everything Pietro couldn’t stop the spike of adrenalin in his blood.
She licked her lips. Inevitably heat coiled in his belly.
She looked at her hands, her brow knotting, and Pietro’s heart dived.
Then she raised her face and the glow he saw there made his pulse hike.
‘I believe you.’
‘Sorry?’ He saw her lips move but her voice was so soft he found himself leaning in, inhaling her fresh, sweet scent.
‘I believe you.’ Stronger this time, more definite. ‘I trust you, Pietro.’ She broke into a tremulous smile that did the most remarkable things to his vital organs.
For a suspended moment speech was impossible, or movement. Then Pietro did what he’d been fighting not to do since he arrived. He pulled Molly to him, wrapping one arm tightly around her so they fit together. He lifted his other hand to her face. Her chin was already angled up as she surveyed him with that wide, wondrous, heart-stopping smile. He settled his hand on her cheek and a dart of pure love pierced him as she turned her face into his touch.
‘You do?’ His voice was a stranger’s, drawn and rough.
‘I do.’ Her hand palmed his cheek and it felt like heaven. His pulse thundered.
‘You forgive me?’
Molly nodded, her smile becoming a grin that rivalled the sun for brilliance.
‘I love you, Pietro. I fell in love with you a long time ago. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.’
He rocked back on his heels, overcome. His voice, when he finally found it, was dredged straight from his heart. ‘I love you too, Molly. I fell in love with you a long time ago. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I promise to live up to your trust.’