The Italian's Christmas Housekeeper

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Do you want me to candy-coat it for you, Molly?’ he demanded. ‘To tell you that this was what I always secretly dreamed would happen to me? Or would you prefer the truth?’

  ‘I’m a realist, Salvio,’ she answered. ‘I’ve only ever wanted the truth.’

  ‘Then here it is, in all its unvarnished glory. Tomorrow, I’m flying home to Naples for the holidays.’

  ‘I know. Your assistant told me when she hired me.’

  ‘I return every year,’ he continued slowly. ‘To two loving parents who wonder where they went so wrong with their only child.’

  She blinked at him in confusion. ‘I don’t...understand.’

  ‘Who wonder why their successful, handsome son who has achieved so much,’ he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘has failed to bring home a woman who will one day provide them with the grandchildren they yearn for.’ He gave a sudden bitter laugh. ‘When, hey, what do you know? Suddenly I have found such a woman and already she is with child! What a gift it will be for them to meet you, Molly.’

  She stared at him, confusion darkening her grey eyes. ‘Meet them? You’re not suggesting—’

  ‘Like I said last night—it’s time to lose all that wide-eyed innocence. I think you know exactly what I’m suggesting,’ he drawled. ‘We buy you a big diamond ring and I take you home to Naples as my fiancée.’

  ‘You mean...’ She blinked. ‘You mean you want to marry me?’

  ‘Let’s put it another way. I don’t particularly want to marry anyone, the difference is that I’m prepared to marry you,’ he amended.

  ‘Because of the baby?’

  ‘Because of the baby,’ he agreed. ‘But not just that. Most women are demanding and manipulative but, interestingly enough, you are none of those things. Not only are you extremely beddable—I find you exceptionally...agreeable.’ His lips curved into a reflective smile. ‘And at least you know your place.’

  Molly stared at him, wanting to tell him to stop making her sound like the UK representative for the international society of doormats. Until she realised that once again Salvio was speaking the truth. She did know her place. She always had done. When you worked as a servant in other people’s houses, that was what tended to happen.

  ‘So what’s in it for me?’ she asked, thinking she ought to say something.

  He looked at her in surprise. ‘It isn’t very difficult to work out. You get financial security and I get a ready-made family. I can pay off your brother’s debt in one swoop, on the understanding that this is the only time I bankroll him. And if I were you, I would wipe the horror from your face, Molly. It really isn’t a good look for a woman who’s on the brink of getting engaged.’ His voice dipped into one of silky admonishment. ‘And it isn’t as if you have a lot of choices, do you?’

  Molly felt the sudden shiver of vulnerability rippling down her spine. He didn’t have to put it quite so brutally, did he? She swallowed. Or maybe he did. It was yet another cruel observation but it was true. She didn’t have a lot of choices. She knew there was nothing romantic about having to struggle. She’d done all that making-the-best-of-a-bad-situation stuff—seeing how many meals you could get out of a bag of black-eyed beans and buying her clothes in thrift stores. She knew how hard poverty could be.

  And this was her baby.

  Her defenceless little baby.

  She was aware of her hand touching her belly and aware of Salvio’s gaze following the movement before he lifted his black eyes to hers. She searched their dark gleam in vain for some kind of emotion, and tried to ignore the painful stab in her heart when she met nothing but a cold, unblinking acceptance in their ebony depths. Of course he wasn’t going to feel the same way as she did about their child. Why wouldn’t he look sombre? Having his life inextricably linked to that of a humble little housekeeper was surely nothing for the Neapolitan billionaire to celebrate.

  ‘Very well. Since—as you have already pointed out—I have very little alternative... I agree,’ she said, and then, because subservience was as much a part of her life as breathing and because deep down she was grateful to him for his grudging generosity, she added a small smile. ‘Thank you.’

  Salvio felt his gut clench, knowing he didn’t deserve her thanks. Or that shy look which made him want to cradle her in his arms. He knew he could have asked her to marry him in a more romantic way. He could have dropped onto one knee and told her he couldn’t imagine life without her. But why get her used to an attitude he could never sustain and raise expectations which could never be met? The only way he could make this work was if he was straight with her, and that meant not making emotional promises he could never fulfil.

  But he knew one sure way to please her—the universal way to every woman’s heart. ‘Go and get your stuff together, nicuzza,’ he said softly. ‘We’re going shopping.’

  * * *

  Molly stepped out onto the icy Bond Street pavement feeling dazed but warm. Definitely warm. Who would have ever thought a coat could be so warm? Wonderingly she brushed her fingertips over the camel cashmere, which teamed so well with the knee-length boots and the matching brown leather gloves which were as soft as a second skin. She caught sight of her reflection in one of the huge windows of the upmarket department store and stared at it, startled—wondering if that glossy confection of a woman was really her.

  ‘Sì, you look good,’ Salvio murmured from beside her.

  She looked up into his ruggedly handsome face. ‘Do I?’

  ‘Good enough to eat,’ he affirmed, his black eyes glittering out an unspoken message and Molly could do nothing about the shiver which rippled down her spine and had nothing to do with the icy temperature.

  After a slow drive through the snow to London, he had brought her to one of the capital’s most famous streets, studded with the kind of shops which were guarded by burly security men with inscrutable expressions. But the faces of the assistants inside were far more open and Molly knew she hadn’t imagined the faint incredulity which greeted her appearance, as women fluttered around Salvio like wasps on a spill of jam.

  He asked for—and got—a terrifyingly sleek stylist, who was assigned the daunting task of dressing her. Endless piles of clothing and lingerie were produced—some of which were instantly dismissed by an impatient wave of Salvio’s hand and some of which were met with a slow smile of anticipation.

  ‘It seems a silly amount of money to spend since whatever I buy isn’t going to fit me for very long,’ she hissed in a fierce undertone after nearly fainting when she caught sight of one of the price tags.

  He seemed amused by her attempt to make economies. ‘Then we’ll just have to buy you some more, won’t we? Don’t worry about the cost, Molly. You will soon be the wife of a very wealthy man.’

  It was hard to imagine, thought Molly as a feather-light chiffon dress floated down over her head, covering an embroidered bra whose matching panties were nothing more than a flimsy scrap of silk. As she appeared from behind the velvet curtain of the changing room to meet Salvio’s assessing gaze, she began to wonder if he’d done this whole transformation thing before. And she wondered whether she should show a little pride and refuse all the gifts he was offering.

  But then she thought about the reality. Salvio probably came from an extremely wealthy family who might not take kindly to someone from her kind of background. Wouldn’t she feel even more out of place if she turned up looking like a poor relation in her cheap clothes and worn boots? Which was why she submitted to the purchase of sweaters and jeans, jackets and day dresses—and the most beautiful shoes she had ever seen. Gorgeous patent stilettos in three different colours, which somehow had the ability to add precious inches to her height and make her walk in a different and more feminine way.

  And when they were all done and the glossy bags had been placed in the limousine which had been slowly tailing them, Salvio guided her past yet anot
her security guard and into a jewellery shop where inside it was all light and dazzle. Locked glass cases contained the biggest diamonds Molly had ever seen—some the colour of straw, some which resembled pink champagne, and some even finer than Lady Avery’s vast collection of family jewels.

  ‘So what’s your ideal ring? What did you used to dream about when you were a little girl?’ asked Salvio softly, his fingers caressing the small of her back as an elegant saleswoman approached them. ‘Whatever takes your fancy, it’s yours.’

  Did he have to put it quite like that? Molly wondered, moving away to avoid the distraction of his touch. The only thing she used to dream about when she was a little girl was making sure there was a hot meal on the table, and wondering if she’d managed to get all Mum’s pills from the pharmacy. Yet Salvio was making her sound like someone whose gaze was bound to be riveted by the biggest and brightest ring in the shop.

  She could feel her cheeks growing hot, because suddenly this felt like the charade it really was. As if they were going through all the motions of getting engaged, but with none of the joy or happiness which most couples would have experienced at such a time. And while Salvio’s handsome face was undeniably sensual, his jet-dark eyes were as cold as any of the jewels on display. Molly lifted her gaze from the display cabinet as a quiet air of certainty ran through her. ‘I don’t want anything which looks like an engagement ring,’ she said.

  Hiding her surprise, the assistant produced a ring to just that specification—a stunning design of three thin platinum bands, each containing three asymmetrically placed diamonds which glittered and sparkled in the sharp December sunlight. ‘The diamonds are supposed to resemble raindrops,’ the young woman said gently.

  Or tears, thought Molly suddenly. They looked exactly like tears.

  From Bond Street they were whisked to Salvio’s home in a fashionable area of London. Molly had heard of Clerkenwell but had never actually been there—just as she’d never been in such a gleaming, modern penthouse apartment before. She wandered from room to room. Everything was shiny and clean, but it was stark—as if nobody really lived there. It was as if some designer had been allowed to keep all décor to a minimum, but its sleek emptiness wasn’t her main worry—which was that it was no place for a baby.

  What was left of the day rushed past in a whirl of organisation but for once it wasn’t Molly doing the organising, since Salvio seemed to have fleets of people at his disposal. People to organise cars and planes. To book hotels and arrange the last-minute purchase of gifts. They ate an early supper, which was delivered and served by staff from a nearby award-winning restaurant who even provided candles and a fragrant floral centrepiece.

  ‘You don’t have a chef, or a housekeeper?’ Molly asked, as she sat down at the glass dining table and tried not to think about how dangerous a piece of furniture like this might be for a young child.

  ‘I prefer to keep resident staff to a minimum. It optimises my privacy,’ Salvio explained coolly, as two delicate soufflés were placed in front of them. ‘I hope you’re hungry?’

  ‘Very,’ she said, shaking out her napkin and trying not to dwell on what he’d just said about privacy—because he was about to have it shattered in the most spectacular way. ‘Have you lived here for very long?’ she questioned.

  ‘I’ve had the apartment for about five years.’

  ‘And you’re here a lot?’

  ‘No, not really. I have other homes all round the world. This is just my base whenever I’m in London.’ He gazed at her thoughtfully. ‘Why do you ask?’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s very tidy.’

  He laughed. ‘I thought, given your occupation, that tidiness might meet with your approval.’

  And oddly enough, that hurt. It was yet another reminder of just how far out of her comfort zone she was. A reminder of how he really saw her. She would never be his equal, she thought, as a powerful wave of fatigue washed over her.

  ‘Actually, I’m pretty tired,’ she said. ‘It’s a been a long day and the baby...’

  The baby.

  Salvio pushed away his wine glass. They hadn’t mentioned it all afternoon but the word no longer hit him like a shock. He was slowly getting used to the idea that she was pregnant, even if he wasn’t exactly jumping for joy about it. And Molly Miller was proving easier company than he had expected. Undemanding and optimistic. There was something about her quiet presence which made him feel almost peaceful. He stared at her washed-out face and felt an unexpected wave of remorse wash over him. Why hadn’t he noticed how tired she might be?

  ‘You need to go to bed,’ he said resolutely, pushing back his chair.

  He saw her throat constrict.

  ‘Where...where am I sleeping?’

  ‘We’re supposed to be an engaged couple, Molly,’ he said, almost gently. ‘Where do you think you’ll be sleeping?’

  ‘I wasn’t...sure.’

  He’d assumed she would be sharing his bed, because why wouldn’t he? But something about her pallor and trepidation made him reconsider—for his own sake as well as for hers. Wouldn’t a night apart re-establish his habitual detachment—especially since it was obvious neither of them had slept well last night?

  He rose to his feet. ‘There’s no need to sound so fearful, Molly,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you the spare room. You’ll have plenty of peace in there.’

  He saw the sudden look of uncertainty which crossed her features and then she nodded her head, the way he’d seen her do before.

  ‘That sounds like a good idea,’ she said, with what sounded like obedience, and once again he was reminded of the fact that she was, essentially, a servant.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BATHED IN THE bright December sunshine which flooded in through the giant windows of their Neapolitan hotel suite, Molly turned to Salvio, who was just changing out of the jeans and leather jacket he’d worn for the trip over, into something a little more formal.

  ‘We still haven’t discussed—’ Molly hesitated ‘—what we’re going to tell your parents.’

  Pausing in the act of straightening his tie, Salvio turned to look at his fiancée. She looked...incredible, he thought. With her shiny hair scooped on top of her head and her curvy shape encased in a dress the colour of spring leaves, there was no trace of that shy and frumpy housekeeper now. They’d just arrived in his home city—his jet descending through the mountains surrounding the mighty Mount Vesuvius, with all its unleashed power and terrible history. It was an iconic view which took away the breath of the most experienced traveller and he had found himself watching Molly for her reaction. But, oblivious to the beauty which surrounded them, she had seemed lost in thought. Even when the car had whisked them to this luxury hotel overlooking the Castel dell’Ovo and a lavish suite which even he could not fault, she seemed barely to register the opulence of their penthouse accommodation.

  He wondered if she’d noticed the sideways stares he’d been receiving from the moment they’d stepped off the plane. The double takes and the ‘Is it him?’ looks which were as familiar to him as breathing, whenever he returned to his native town. Yet Molly had been impervious to them all.

  ‘We tell them the truth,’ he said eventually, giving some thought to her question. ‘That you’re pregnant and we’re getting married as soon as possible.’

  She winced a little. ‘Do you think we need to be quite so...?’

  His gaze bored into her. ‘So what, Molly?’

  She licked her lips and, mesmerised by the resulting gleam which emphasised their soft beauty, Salvio momentarily cursed himself for not admitting her to his bed last night. Had he really imagined such an action might make him more detached and rational, when he’d been obsessing about her all night long?

  ‘Brutal,’ she concluded, pursing her lips together as if it wasn’t a word she particularly wanted to use.

  ‘Brutal?’r />
  She shrugged and began walking across the room, pausing only to peer into the elevated stone hot tub which stood at the far end of the enormous suite—an extravagant touch eclipsed only by the tall decorated Christmas tree which was framed in one of the tall windows.

  Eventually she came to a halt and perched on an orange velvet chair to look at him. ‘You told me you’re known as someone who is a commitment-phobe. Someone who doesn’t want to get married,’ she said.

  Salvio gave his tie a final tug. That wasn’t the whole story, but why burden her with stuff she didn’t need to know? ‘What of it?’

  ‘So this sudden marriage is going to come as a bolt out of the blue to your parents, isn’t it?’

  ‘And?’ he questioned coolly. ‘Your point is?’

  She studied her left hand warily, as if she couldn’t quite get used to the diamond knuckle-duster she was wearing. ‘I’d prefer not to say anything about my pregnancy—at least, not yet. It’s still very early days. I just thought it might be nice if we could at least allow them to think it might be about more than just the unwanted fallout of a...a...’

  Her words tailed away and Salvio wondered if, in her innocence, she simply didn’t know all the expressions—some of them crude—she could have used to describe what had happened between them that first night. ‘A hook-up?’ he put in helpfully, before adopting a more caustic tone. ‘Are you saying you want to pretend to my parents that this is some great kind of love affair?’

  ‘Of course not.’ She flushed before lifting a reproachful grey gaze to his. ‘I don’t think you’re that good an actor, are you, Salvio?’

  He inclined his head as if to concede the point. ‘Or that good a liar?’

  ‘That’s another way of putting it, I suppose.’

  He acknowledged her crestfallen expression. ‘I don’t want to raise your hopes, Molly—or theirs. It’s just who I am. And the bottom line is I just don’t do emotion. That’s all.’

  ‘That’s...that’s quite a lot,’ she observed. ‘Do you think...?’ She seemed to choose her words very carefully. ‘Do you think you were born that way?’