Billionaire Baby Daddies: A five-book anthology

by Connelly, Clare

  “No, you thought only of yourself. You have denied me not only a right to be in his life. You have denied him a chance to know me, for the past fifteen months. You have denied my mother, my sister. You have kept my child out of all of our lives for your own selfish reasons. But no more.”

  “I did no such thing! My God, Marco! I got back from Rome and discovered I was pregnant. I agonized over telling you; really I did. It’s not like I have no moral compass. But come on! In the time I was in Rome I saw you with dozens of women.”

  “So?”

  “So! That’s what you do! And that’s fine. Look at what happened between us today. Sex is nothing to you. It’s just as common as shaking hands is to most people. That’s fine. But I’m not going to raise my son around that.” Nor was she going to subject herself to it. The idea of Marco going on with his ways filled her with an emotion she knew to be jealousy.

  “And being a compulsive liar is better?” He demanded. “You are wrong. You have no moral compass whatsoever.”

  She sucked in a deep, angry breath. “How dare you?”

  “How dare I?” He responded. “I dare because of him. Because of what you’ve done. Cristo, Grace. Can you see how wrong this is?”

  He was appalled. It was obvious. Every single ounce of him was disgusted by what she’d chosen. And in that instant, she wasn’t sure she could blame him.

  “It wasn’t an easy decision,” she said softly.

  “But you had a choice. What was my choice?”

  “You could have called me!” She pointed out angrily. “I suppose a follow-up service isn’t one you offer though, right? You’re more of a wham, bam, get out of my house kind of man, aren’t you, Marco?”

  His laugh was the definition of a scoff. “So I hurt your feelings and you punished me by keeping our child a secret? How juvenile. How pathetic.”

  She recoiled from his scathing declaration, all the more cutting for the fact she could see his point. Hadn’t she thought the same thing time and again? But she’d promised Steven, the day she agreed to marry him, that the baby would be his. That he would raise the child. That he would love it like his own.

  “I made a decision based on what I thought would be best for our child,” she said with ice dripping from the words. “I have given Ben a stable home, parents who love him, a safe, nice environment to grow up in.”

  “Madre di Dio, Grace! There is no simple equation to guarantee a child’s happiness.”

  “Spoken like a man who grew up with parents who adored him and in the lap of luxury. I know better! I know that biology doesn’t equate to affection and reliability.”

  His eyes narrowed at her second allusion to this insider-information she apparently possessed. A small part of him was curious, wishing to better understand her meaning. But for the most part, he was too furious to care. “As you are perfect proof.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You made the wrong decision. Not only did you choose to keep me from my son, but you have made an enemy of me, and believe me, that is not something you want.”

  A frisson of anxiety spilled across her spine. “Is that a threat?”

  His laugh was hoarse with disbelief. “It’s a promise, Grace. If you do not do everything I ask of you now, then I will make you wish you’d never met me.”

  Her eyes widened, her mouth dropped. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “He is my child, and on one point you and I are in agreement. Where possible, a child should have two parents who love them in their life. It makes sense for us to marry; that will make my claim to Ben easier to manage.”

  “Your… claim …” She shook her head, shivering from head to toe. “He isn’t a piece of property!”

  “No. He’s my son, and I want the world to know it. Make no mistake, Grace, he’s going to live with me, and be a part of my life. I’m giving you a chance to be involved, because I think that’s best for him, but it will be very easy for me to remove you if necessary.”

  Hatred was swiftly followed by anger and nausea. What the hell was he saying? He couldn’t take her child away!

  “He’s my son,” he said the words slowly; they were thickened by emotions.

  “He’s my son,” she contradicted fiercely, with the kind of growl that only a threatened mommy bear could muster in the defense of her cub. “I carried him for nine God-awful months and endured a very painful forty-eight hour labour. You don’t get to come in now and try to take him from me…”

  “Don’t.” He said the word quietly but there was a soft anger in the one syllable. “Don’t you dare act as though any of this was my choice. I would have been here from the beginning if I’d known.”

  She spun away from him, her eyes sweeping closed as she staved off the fear that she’d really, really messed up.

  “Don’t you get it?” He stalked to her, and stood right in front of her, so she had no chance but to meet the horrified outrage in his face. “You deprived me of any chance to know him. He is more than one year old and I have seen him for a sum total of thirty seconds. How dare you?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, the shaking uncontrollable. It was a reaction to shock, she supposed. Adrenalin or something. “I thought… I’ve always done what I believed to be the right thing.”

  “The right thing? Tell me, in what world do you live that keeping a child from his father is right?”

  “He had a father.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. He blanched visibly and then stalked to the other side of the room, his hands on his hips, his eyes focused out of the enormous bay window. The sky was dark and the street beyond showed the warm glow in the distance of the other houses that lined this picturesque street.

  “That man was not his father. Whatever he was to you doesn’t concern me. He was nothing to Ben.”

  Grace bit down on her lip to stop herself from contradicting that statement. Steven had been wonderful with Ben; he’d adored him. And it had been mutual. But it would simply inflame an already out of control situation if she pushed that point.

  “If I were like you, I would tell you that I’m going to take him to Italy tomorrow. That I’m going to move him into my villa.” He turned to face her, his expression pure, dispassionate businessman now. “I would tell you that I’m going to sue for full custody, to hell with you.”

  She gaped, her mouth wide, her eyes showing her distress. “You can’t. I’d fight you,” she said, as soon as she’d regained a semblance of her wits. “I’d fight you.”

  “You would lose,” he said with a nonchalant shrug.

  “How can you say that? I’m his mother…”

  “And I’m his father. And when I fight, I fight to win. You may survey any number of my adversaries, if you wish. They will tell you what I am. Don’t go up against me. You’ll lose.”

  She couldn’t contain the sob that pressed against her lips. It was a muted sound of devastation, heavy in the room.

  He didn’t react.

  “The child is going to bed now?”

  Grace nodded. “Ben.”

  Marco’s expression tightened. “I know his name.”

  Grace nodded, her face pinched, her hands stiff by her side.

  “I won’t disturb him. That would be confusing. But tomorrow I will make arrangements for him to be moved to me. You may decide overnight if you would like to come too.”

  “You don’t think that will confuse him?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She shook her head, lifting trembling fingers to her lips. “That’s not fair.”

  His head whipped back in an approximation of a laugh. “It is best we don’t speak about fairness in this moment.”

  She bit down on her lip, no choice before her but to walk to him. She put a hand on his arm and he shrugged out of it, his eyes like coal as they met hers. “Don’t touch me.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks but she nodded, coiling her hands in front of her. “He lives here. We live here. It’s a good home. H
e likes it. We have guest rooms…”

  “No.” Marco instantly revolted against the idea of moving into the house she’d shared with Steven.

  “Please, Marco.” She moved to the bed and sat on the edge of it, clasping her hands in her lap. The shaking was uncontrollable. “I understand you’re upset. I wish … I wish … I don’t know. I wish everything was different.” She spoke quickly, the words tripping out of her as she tried to express her feelings. “I can’t change the past but there’s a better way forward. Don’t … don’t do this to hurt me.”

  “To hurt you?” He shook his head firmly. “This has nothing to do with you.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Did you think of me when you chose to raise our child without me? Without me knowing?”

  “I did think of you!” She said quickly. “I truly believed you would prefer this. I didn’t think…”

  “Damned right, you didn’t think. I am his father. What would you have told him when he was five? Six? Ten? And asking about me? Would you have continued to pretend that he was the dad?”

  Grace made a sound of despair. “I don’t know. Steven wasn’t supposed to die…”

  A shred, a tiny shred, of common decency prevented Marco from saying any number of things in response to that. Her husband had died and only six months earlier. That was something she was probably still in mourning for. He spun away, focusing on the houses that lined the street. And it was a beautiful street, he grudgingly conceded. Elegant, homely, picturesque. But he wouldn’t live here.

  And he wanted to be with his son.

  “Long term, I would like to bring Ben to Italy,” he said, the words devoid of emotion despite the way his heart was aching in his chest. “Ben?” He spun around, looking at her distractedly. “Is it short for something?”

  Grace nodded, not meeting his eyes. “Benedict.”

  “Benedict Dettori,” he said with a nod. “It is a good name.”

  Grace didn’t dare point out that her child had Steven’s name. It would devastate him further and for the first time in two years, face to face with the man she’d loved, she could fully appreciate how foolish she’d been.

  It softened her to his plan; how could it not?

  “The company…” she said softly.

  “Sell it to me,” he commanded with a confident nod. “Sell it to me and I will appoint someone to manage it until we can make a more permanent decision.”

  “You make it sound so easy,” she said on a sigh.

  “On the contrary, I expect it will be difficult. But what choice do we have? He is our son. Yours and mine.” He breathed out, his nostrils flaring and his eyes pinned her down as though he was suggesting they scrape wire across their naked chests. “We will raise him together.”

  Four

  GRACE HAD BARELY SLEPT and, for once, it had nothing to do with Ben. No, her exhaustion that morning was attributable to one man, and one man only.

  Marco.

  All night she’d tossed and turned, and her brain had thrown their past before her. Her body had craved him, even when her mind had agonized over her decisions and his reactions. Even when she’d wished she’d done everything differently, she’d felt awash with sadness for Steve, who had adored Ben, and for herself, who had truly believed she was making the right choices for all involved.

  She pulled the door inwards, wishing she’d taken longer to apply her makeup and neaten her hair, to attempt to look even slightly human. Not attractive, she assured herself emphatically. She didn’t want to be attractive to him anymore.

  But at least not awful.

  She’d dressed with care, at least, in a pair of dark denim jeans and a loose grey sweater that had a tendency to slip a little off one shoulder, she looked neat and casual. Like she hadn’t tried too hard.

  “Hi,” she spoke first, wrenching the door inwards. And she was glad then that she’d evicted a word before her eyes had landed on him, because speech felt, suddenly, impossible.

  It was a crisp morning. That explained his leather jacket. But combined with the black shirt he wore underneath and his own casual jeans, the effect was devastating. She realized then that she’d only ever seen him in a suit. Or naked. Best not to think of that. Her heart was a runaway rollercoaster in her chest, thundering towards the finish line. She could do nothing to stop it.

  “Is he awake?”

  Her heart sped faster. She nodded. “Of course. It’s nine o’clock.”

  His look was accusing. “I have no idea, do I?”

  A mix of pity and guilt assailed her. “Ben wakes around six most days. He’ll have a nap soon.”

  Marco’s eyes skidded to her as if he thought perhaps this was part of her plan, to continue limiting his access to the child, so Grace rushed on. “I thought you could spend some time with him now and then you and I could speak. Over lunch.”

  Marco’s face didn’t react and he said nothing, so Grace had no idea how he’d received this idea. “You made some pretty huge suggestions yesterday, about what you want to happen. I think we should probably talk them through, don’t you?”

  “What’s to talk through? It is decided.”

  Grace swallowed, forcing herself to be brave. Strong. To remember that more than anything else, she was a mom and her son depended on her. “I’m not going to uproot his life no matter how much you threaten me. And I don’t think you will, either. I think we need to talk. To compromise. And agree on the best way forward.”

  Marco’s eyes were glacial. “You say he’ll need to nap in an hour?”

  Thrown, Grace glanced a look at her wristwatch. “Yes. About that.”

  “Then I’d rather not waste any more time standing on your doorstep.”

  “Oh.” Chastened, she pulled the door wider, sucking her breath in as he passed, as though she could think-herself into the wall.

  “Where is he?”

  A loud crash followed his question and then the sound of Emma shooshing a crying Ben.

  “Never mind.” As he moved down the corridor, Grace noted, for the first time, the bag he carried in one hand. A large shopping bag, with brown paper poking out of the top.

  “I’m sorry,” Emma laughed as Grace entered the sunroom, just a step behind Marco. The room was enormous, part-conservatory, part-library, filled with light and books and, eclectically, the vintage leather sofas that Steven had adored. Grace had gradually added little bits and pieces to reflect her own taste. A few plants, a card table, a vintage type-writer and flowers – lots of flowers.

  Toys had migrated into the room as well. At first just a few duplo blocks but then, train tracks, puzzles, and finally, a full cache of mobilo. In the months since Steven’s death, the room had become an unofficial toy room. The sunshine suited Ben and it was close enough to the kitchen that Emma or Grace could easily dart in and make a cup of tea without feeling like Ben could do any mischief.

  “We’ve been bowling.”

  Grace’s eyes dropped to the bowling ball and skittles, set up against the glass doors at the very back of the house.

  “Who’s winning?” She asked weakly, striving for normality. It was impossible when Marco was staring at his child as though he didn’t know if he should hug him or kidnap him.

  Again, Grace reminded herself: She was the mom. This was her show.

  “Master Cox, of course,” Emma grinned, with no idea she was rattling an already perilous situation. Emma reached down and ran a hand through the toddler’s thick, dark hair.

  Grace felt faint. She dug her fingernails into her palm and moved deeper into the room. “Emma?” Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat. “Would you mind making some coffee?”

  “Of course,” she nodded. “How do you take yours?” She directed the question at Marco but he didn’t answer. His whole, entire attention was held by the small child in front of them. Ben was carefully setting the skittles back up, though as soon as he’d steadied one, reaching for another tended to knock the initial skittle over,
meaning he was in an endless loop of picking up and placing the objects down.

  “Black with a dash of warm milk,” Grace supplied without thinking. Would he be surprised that she remembered such a small detail? Would he be surprised to know she remembered every detail about him?

  “Ben?” Grace walked towards her son, her heart swelling with pride as he looked up at her and smiled, a little dimple digging into his cheek.

  “Mama?”

  She returned his smile and crouched down, wrapping him into her arms and standing. He wasn’t too thrilled about being pulled from his skittles and made a rather abrupt move to reach for one, as a sort of souvenir. She waited for his fingers to grab it and then stood, breathing in his sweet vanilla scent. He was changing before her eyes. No longer a baby, and straddling toddler-hood with the little boy he would become. She could see already that he would grow fast, beyond his years.

  Had Marco been like that?

  “This is Marco,” she said simply, her eyes catching his over Ben’s head. “A friend of mine.”

  “Mama.” Ben said with a nod and Grace pressed a kiss to his cheek.

  “Hi, Ben.” Marco’s voice was thick with emotion and it prickled at her heart. He lifted the bag a little higher, drawing Ben’s curious gaze. “I have something for you.”

  “Me? Da?” He pointed to the bag and then dropped the skittle. It made a clickety clack noise as it hit the floor and rolled towards the others, knocking the two he had managed to set in place back onto their sides, like drunken soldiers at lockout.

  Marco’s eyes latched to Grace’s and they were loaded with silent, fuming accusation. “Yes, for you.” He spoke calmly enough though, his smile genuine for their son.

  “Wha?”

  “Let’s have a look.” Despite having very limited experience with children, at least so far as Grace knew, Marco had an easy, natural manner with the little boy. When he put his hands out to take Ben, Grace was about to demur. To explain that Ben was shy with strangers.

  But the little boy leaned forward, and before she knew exactly how it had happened, Marco was holding Ben and Ben was smiling, one hand propped along the back of Marco’s neck as though he belonged there. She’d imagined this; she’d dreamed it again and again, but the sight of the two of them together made her skin prickle with something like pain. Tears pricked her eyes and she spun away.