by Maisey Yates
The elevator doors slid open and they both stepped inside. And as soon as they were closed into the lift, he rounded on her.
“You’re pregnant?” His words were flat in the quiet of the elevator.
“Yes. I tried to tell you in a less public way, but it’s been two months and you’ve been very hard to get ahold of.”
“Not an accident.”
“Oh, no, I know. It was far too purposeful to be accidental. You never even opened my emails.”
“I blocked your address after you sent the first few.”
“Uh,” she said, unable to make a more eloquent sound.
“I see it offends you.”
“Yes. It does offend me. Didn’t it occur to you that I might have something important to tell you?”
“I didn’t care,” he said.
The elevator stopped at the top floor and the doors slid open. “Is there a point in me going any further, then? Or should I just go back to my friend Carolina’s apartment and start a baby registry?”
“You are not leaving.”
“But you just said you didn’t care.”
“I didn’t care until I found out you were carrying my child.”
She was both struck, and pleased, by his certainty that the child was his. She wouldn’t have really blamed him if he’d questioned her at least once. She’d lied about her engagement to Alessandro. By omission, but still. She knew she wasn’t blameless in the whole fiasco.
“What did you think I was trying to contact you for? To beg you to take me back? To beg you for more sex? Because that’s what we shared that night, that’s all we shared.” The lie was an acid burn on her tongue. “I would hardly have burned my pride to the ground for the sake of another orgasm.”
“Is that true? You would hardly be the first person to do it.”
“If you mean you, I’m sure it cost you to take a Battaglia to your bed. Must have been some epic dry spell.”
“And not worth the price in the end, I think.”
His words were designed to peel skin from bone, and they did their job. “I would say the same.”
“I can see now why you ran from the wedding.”
A wave of confusion hit her, and it took her a moment to realize that she hadn’t told him the order in which the events had occurred. Wedding abandonment, then pregnancy test, but before she could correct him he pressed on.
“And how conveniently you’ve played it, too. Alessandro would, of course, know it wasn’t his child as you never slept with him. I hope you’re pleased with the way all of this unfolded because you have managed to ensure that you are still able to marry a Corretti, in spite of our little mistake. Good insurance for your family since, thanks to your abandonment, the deal between our family and yours has gone to hell.”
“You think I planned this? You aren’t even serious about marrying me, are you?”
“There is no other choice. You announced your pregnancy to the whole world.”
“I had to tell you.”
“And if I had chosen not to be a part of the baby’s life?”
“I was going to make you tell me that to my face.” He regarded her closely. “Strange to think I ever imagined you to be soft, Alessia.”
“I’m a Battaglia. I’ve never had the luxury of being soft.”
“Clearly not.” He looked at her, long and hard. “This makes sense, Alessia.” His tone was all business now. Maddeningly sure and decisive. “It will put to rest rumors of bad blood, unite the families.”
“You didn’t seem to care about that before.”
“That was before the baby. The baby changes everything.”
Because he wanted to make a family? The idea, so silly and hopeful, bloomed inside of her. It was her blessing and curse that she always found the kernel of hope in any situation. It was the thing that got her through. The thing that had helped her survive the loss of her mother, the cold detachment from her father, the time spent caring for her siblings when other girls her age were out dating, having lives, fulfilling dreams.
She’d created her own. Locked them inside of her. Nurtured them.
“I … It does?” she asked, the words a whisper.
“Of course,” he said, dark eyes blazing. “My child will be a Corretti. On that, there can be no compromise.”
CHAPTER THREE
MATTEO’S OWN WORDS echoed in his head.
My child will be a Corretti. On that there can be no compromise.
It was true. No child of his would be raised a Battaglia. Their family feud was not simply a business matter. The Battaglias had set out to destroy his grandfather, and had they succeeded they would have wiped out the line entirely.
It was the hurt on her face that surprised him, and more than that, his response to it.
Damn Alessia Battaglia and those dark, soulful eyes. Eyes that had led him to ruin on more than one occasion.
“Because you won’t allow your child to carry my name?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
“And what of my role in raising my child?”
“You will, of course, be present.”
“And what else? Because more than mere presence is required to raise a child.”
“Nannies are also required, in my experience.”
“In your experience raising children, or being raised?”
“Being raised. I’m supremely responsible in my sexual encounters so I’ve never been in this situation before.”
“Supremely responsible?” she asked, cheeks flushing a gorgeous shade of rose that reminded him of the blooms in his Sicilian palazzo. “Is that what you call having sex with your cousin’s fiancée with no condom?”
Her words, so stark and angry, shocked him. Alessia had always seemed fragile to him. Sweet. But tangling with her today was forcing him to recognize that she was also a woman capable of supreme ruthlessness if the situation required it.
Something he had to reluctantly respect.
“I didn’t know you were engaged to be married, as you withheld the information from me. As to the other issue, that has never happened to me before.”
“So you say.”
“It has not,” he said.
“Well, it’s not like you were overly conscious of it at the time.”
Shame cracked over his insides like a whip. He had thought himself immune to shame at this point. He was wrong. “I knew. After.”
“You remembered and you still didn’t think to contact me?”
“I did not think it possible.” The thought hadn’t occurred to him because he’d been too wrapped up in simply trying to avoid her. Alessia was bad for him, a conclusion he’d come to years ago and reaffirmed the day he’d decided not to go after her.
And now he was bound to her. Bound to a woman who dug down far too deep inside of him. Who disturbed his grasp on his control. He could not afford the interruption. Could not afford to take the chance that he might lose his grip.
“Why, because only other people have the kind of sex that makes babies?”
“Do you always say what comes to your mind?”
“No. I never do. I never speak or act impulsively, I only think about it. It’s just you that seems to bring it out.”
“Aren’t I lucky?” Her admission gripped him, held him. That there was something about him that brought about a change in her … that the thing between them didn’t only shatter his well-ordered existence but hers, too, was not a comfort. Not in the least.
“Clearly, neither of us are in possession of much luck, Alessia.”
“Clearly,” she said.
“There is no way I will let my child be a bastard. I’ve seen what happens to bastards. You can ask my cousin Angelo about that.” A cousin who was becoming quite the problem. It was part of why Matteo had come to New York, why he was making his way back into circulation. In his absence, Angelo had gone and bought himself a hefty amount of shares for Corretti Enterprises and at this very moment, he was sitting in Matteo’
s office, the new head of Corretti Hotels. He’d been about to go back and make the other man pay. Wrench the power right back from him.
Now, it seemed there was a more pressing matter.
“So, you’re doing this to save face?”
“For what other reason? Do you want our child to be sneered at? Disgraced? The product of an illicit affair between two of Sicily’s great warring families?”
“No.”
Matteo tried not to read the emotion in her dark eyes, tried not to let them pull him in. Always, from the moment he’d seen her, he’d been fascinated. A young girl with flowers tangled in her dark hair, running around the garden of her father’s home, a smile on her lips. He could remember her dancing in the grass in her bare feet, while her siblings played around her.
And he had been transfixed. Amazed by this girl who, from all he had been told, should have been visibly evil in some way. But she was a light. She held a brightness and joy like he had never seen. Watching it, being close enough to touch it, helped him pretend it was something he could feel, too.
She made him not so afraid of feeling.
She’d had a hold on him from day one. She was a sorceress. There was no other explanation. Her grip on him defied logic, defied every defense he’d built inside of himself.
And no matter how hard he tried, he could read her. Easily. She was hurt. He had hurt her.
“What is it?” he asked.
She looked away. “What do you mean?”
“Why are you hurt?”
“You’ve just told me how unlucky we both are that I’m pregnant—was I supposed to look happy?”
“Don’t tell me you’re pleased about this. Unless it was your plan.”
“How could I have … planned this? That doesn’t make any sense.”
He pushed his fingers through his hair and turned away from her. “I know. Che cavolo, Alessia, I know that.” He turned back to her.
“I just wanted to tell you about the baby.”
He felt like he was drowning, like every breath was suffocating him. A baby. She was having his baby. And he was just about the last man on earth who should ever be a father. He should walk away. But he couldn’t.
“And this was the only way?”
Her eyes glittered with rage. “You know damn well it was!”
He did. He’d avoided her every attempt at contacting him. Had let his anger fuel the need for distance between them. Had let the very existence of the emotion serve as a reminder. And he had come back frozen again. So he’d thought. Because now Alessia was here again, pushing against that control.
“Why didn’t you meet me at the airport?” she asked, her words a whisper.
“Why didn’t I meet you?” he asked, his teeth gritted. “You expected me to chase after you like a dog? If you think you can bring me to heel that easily, Alessia, you are a fool.”
“And if you think I’m trying to you’re an idiot, Matteo Corretti. I don’t want you on a leash.”
“Well, you damn well have me on one!” he said, shouting for the first time, his tenuous grip on his control slipping. “What am I to do after your public display? Deny my child? Send you off to raise it on your own? Highly unlikely.”
“How can we marry each other? We don’t love each other. We barely like each other right now!”
“Is that so bad? You were prepared to marry Alessandro, after all. Better the devil you know. And we both know you know me much better than you knew him.”
“Stop it,” she said, the catch in her voice sending a hot slash of guilt through his chest. Why he was compelled to lash out at her, he wasn’t sure.
Except that nothing with Alessia was ever simple. Nothing was ever straightforward. Nothing was ever neat or controlled.
It has to be.
“It’s true, though, isn’t it, Alessia?” he asked, his entire body tense now. He knew for a fact he was the first man to be with her, and something in him burned to know that he had been the only man. That Alessandro had never touched her as he had. “You were never with him. Not like you were with me.”
The idea of his cousin’s hands on her … A wave of red hazed his vision, the need for violence gripping his throat, shaking him.
He swallowed hard, battled back the rage, fought against images that were always so close to the surface when Alessia was around. A memory he had to hold on to, no matter how much he might wish for it to disappear.
Blood. Streaked up to his elbows, the skin on his knuckles broken. A beast inside of him unleashed. And Alessia’s attackers on the ground, unmoving.
He blinked and banished the memory. It shouldn’t linger as it did. It was but one moment of violence in a lifetime of it. And yet, it had been different. It had been an act born of passion, outside of his control, outside of rational thought.
“Tell me,” he ground out.
“Do you honestly think I would sleep with Alessandro after what happened?”
“You were going to. You were prepared to marry him. To share his bed.”
She nodded wordlessly. “Yes. I was.”
“And then you found out about the baby.”
“No,” she said, her voice a whisper.
“What, then?”
“Then I saw you.”
“Guilt?”
“We were in a church.”
“Understandable.”
“Why didn’t you meet me?” she asked again, her words holding a wealth of pain.
“Because,” he said, visions of blood washing through his brain again, a reminder of what happened when he let his passions have control, “I got everything I wanted from you that night. Sex. That was all I ever wanted from you, darling.”
She drew back as though he’d struck her. “Is that why you’ve always watched me?”
“I’ll admit, I had a bit of an obsession with your body, but you know you had one with mine.”
“I liked you,” she said, her words hard, shaky. “But you never came near me after—”
“There is no need to dredge up the past,” he said, not wanting to hear her speak of that day. He didn’t want to hear her side of it. How horrifying it must have been for a fourteen-year-old girl to see such violence. To see what he was capable of.
Yet, she had never looked at him with the shock, the horror, he’d deserved. There was a way she looked at him, as though she saw something in him no one else did. Something good. And he craved that feeling. It was one reason he’d taken her up on her invitation that night at the hotel bar.
Too late, he realized that he was not in control of their encounter that time, either. No, Alessia stole the control. Always.
No more, he told himself again.
Alessia swallowed back tears. This wasn’t going how she’d thought it would. Now she wasn’t sure what she thought. No, she knew. Part of her, this stupid, girlish, optimistic part of her, had imagined Matteo’s eyes would soften, that he would smile. Touch her stomach. Take joy in the fact that they had created a life together.
And then they would live happily ever after.
She was such a fool. But Matteo had long been the knight in shining armor of her fantasies. And so in her mind he could do no wrong.
She’d always felt like she’d known him. Like she’d understood the serious, dark-eyed young man she’d caught watching her when she was in Palermo. Who had crept up to the wall around her house when he was visiting his grandmother and stood there while she’d played in the garden. Always looking like he wanted to join in, like he wanted to play, but wouldn’t allow himself to.
And then … and then when she’d needed him most, he’d been there. Saved her from … she hardly even knew what horror he’d saved her from. Thank God she hadn’t had to find out exactly what those two men had intended to use her for. Matteo had been there. As always. And he had protected her, shielded her.
That was why, when she’d seen him in New York, it had been easy, natural, to kiss him. To ask him to make love to her.
Bu
t after that he hadn’t come to save her.
She looked at him now, at those dark eyes, hollow, his face like stone. And he seemed like a stranger. She wondered how she could have been so wrong all this time.
“I don’t want to dredge up the past. But I want to know that the future won’t be miserable.”
“If you preferred Alessandro, you should have married him while you had him at the altar with a priest standing by. Now you belong to me, the choice has been taken. So you should make the best of it.”
“Stop being such an ass!”
Now he looked shocked, which, she felt, was a bit of an accomplishment. “You want me to tell you how happy I am? You want me to lie?”
“No,” she said, her stomach tightening painfully. “But stop … stop trying to hurt me.”
He swore, an ugly, crude word. “I am sorry, Alessia, it is not my intent.”
The apology was about the most shocking event of the afternoon. “I … I know this is unexpected. Trust me, I know.”
“When did you find out?” he asked.
“At the airport. So … if you had met me, you would have found out when I did.”
“And what did you do after that?”
“I waited for you,” she said. “And then I got on a plane and came to New York. I have a friend here, the friend that hosted my little bachelorette party.”
“Why did you come to New York?”
“Why not?” She made it sound casual, like it was almost accidental. But it wasn’t. It had made her feel close to him, no matter where he might have been in the world, because it was the place she’d finally been with him the way she’d always dreamed of. “Why did you come to New York?”
“Possibly for the same reason you did,” he said, his voice rough. It made her stomach twist, but she didn’t want to ask him for clarification. Didn’t want to hope that it had something to do with her.
She was too raw to take more of Matteo’s insults. And she was even more afraid of his tenderness. That would make her crumble completely. She couldn’t afford it, not now. Now she had to figure out what she was doing. What she wanted.
Could she really marry Matteo?