by Amy Ruttan
“You’re going to be my wife and you’re carrying my child. This is now your place,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Dante, I’m not going to be—”
“You need to eat,” he said, cutting her off, which made her grind her teeth a bit. Was he this annoying in Oahu or were her hormones amplifying his annoying, arrogant habits?
“I’m trying to talk to you, Dante.”
He was looking in the fridge. “How does some fresh fruit and yogurt sound?”
Great.
And her stomach growled in response.
Traitor.
“Dante, this is serious. More serious than fruit and yogurt.”
He turned around then, one of those dark brows cocked. “Oh?”
“I’m not going to marry you, Dante. We can’t get married.”
“Cara, the only way I can protect you and the baby is by marrying you.”
“What about the paternity test?”
“Dr. Tucci called,” Dante said offhandedly. “The results came in. The child is mine.”
Shay tried not to roll her eyes. “I know that, but that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t marry you.”
“It’s not permanent—the marriage, I mean. There will be rules. You will have your own room, your own space.”
“You’re going to give up your bed for a year?”
“I’ll get another bed and I’ll finish the other bedroom up on the second floor. It’s not a problem. And then I’ll start on the nursery.”
“Dante, it’s not as easy as this.” She ran her hand through her hair to stop her from pulling it out.
“Why can’t it be? This is a business arrangement to protect our child, and my child will have my name. A good name,” he said as he scooped fresh berries into a bowl. “Now eat your breakfast and I’ll shower and change before we head back to the hospital.”
Dante was shutting down any further discussion to the matter and that was highly frustrating for Shay. She couldn’t remember him being this stubborn before. He didn’t even want to discuss the matter. Didn’t he know what he was doing? He was going to blame her in a year for ruining his life.
Just as her father had done all the times when he’d been unhappy. Which had been a lot.
Sure, there had been moments when her father had been happy, but they had been few and far between. Now she couldn’t even remember them.
She couldn’t even remember her father’s face.
All the pictures of him had been lost during Katrina, except for one that her mother had clutched to her chest when she’d taken her last breaths. And Shay had been so angry that her father had left them that way, left them in poverty, that she’d buried that picture with her mother in St. Louis Cemetery on Canal Street in New Orleans.
At least Dante wanted to give their child his name. Dante was offering their child roots, history. Permanence.
Something she couldn’t give their child. Not really. He had land that was centuries old. Other than the house that Katrina had destroyed, there was no childhood home. Her mother and her always moving.
It still haunted her, the looks, the heartache of her mother, and she couldn’t put her child through that. Even if it meant that she would be protected from the paparazzi. She didn’t need that protection. She could take care of herself. She’d been in worse situations before and had managed.
You weren’t pregnant before.
She shook that niggling thought from her head. She also couldn’t help but wonder what Dante had to gain by marrying her, by supporting her. She had a hard time believing it was just for the sake of the child.
Just marry him. Take the protection. Do your work and give your child access to his or her father.
The only thing that would be different in her situation was that she would never pine over a man who didn’t want her. She wouldn’t waste away as her mother had. She couldn’t stay in Italy and rely on a man to help her raise her child, even if that man was her baby’s father.
She was stronger than that.
* * *
He’d watched her sleep. He hadn’t meant to go back into the room, but when he’d been on the couch last night she’d been all he could think about.
Shay had been plaguing his thoughts since their stolen night together in Oahu and now she was under his roof. Carrying his child.
And this morning, Dr. Tucci had confirmed what he’d known, deep down. He was just too afraid to hope, too afraid of being hurt to let himself believe it.
Shay had always been beautiful, but now, pregnant with his child, she was even more so and he couldn’t help but think of the night of passion they’d had together. The night that had brought about this baby and their reunion.
The first woman he’d been with since Olivia and he’d had no qualms about taking her to his bed that night months ago. He’d dated since Olivia, but never had he made love to another woman until Shay. Usually he would talk himself out of it, but with Shay the desire had been too great.
He’d wanted her.
He still wanted her. That had never changed. He still desired her. The urge to take her in his arms and kiss her again was too much to bear.
She was in his villa. In his bed.
He’d sneaked into his bedroom, now her bedroom, to check on how she was doing. He hadn’t been able to help himself.
Shay had been sleeping, but she’d been huddled in a ball in the middle of the bed, shivering. He had forgotten that he’d left a window open. Even though it was spring and temperatures were rising, the nights were still chilly. Especially the breeze coming off the Adriatic and the lagoon.
So he’d covered her with a blanket, made sure she was comfortable.
As in the taxi, he’d wanted to touch the rounded swell of her belly, but he wasn’t sure.
Dante hadn’t wanted her to wake, so he’d backed away and gone back to the living room, where he’d spent the night tossing and turning on the couch.
He wasn’t sure what he was doing by asking her to marry him. He’d never intended to get married after what happened with Olivia, even if that meant he was going to lose everything. The vineyards, the villa and the inheritance.
The money didn’t matter to him so much, but losing his grandfather’s vineyard and this villa was what was crushing him. Now Shay was pregnant with his child and all his problems were solved.
Were they?
Why did he feel so guilty about this situation? And he couldn’t help but think of his own parents’ loveless marriage. Well, loveless on his father’s part, because even though his father insisted that he’d loved their mother, a man who loved a woman wouldn’t cheat on her repeatedly as their father had.
Perhaps the guilt stemmed from the fact that it seemed too easy that his problems were solved.
Shay had made it clear that she didn’t want to marry him. She didn’t love him.
He didn’t want to ruin her life by forcing her to marry him, but it was the best thing for the baby.
He could protect them. He was going to be a father.
Why did it have to be her to come to Venice and not Daniel? Only, if she hadn’t, would he ever have known about his child? He sometimes wondered if fate had a twisted sense of humor. Nonetheless, she was here and pregnant with his child and he was going to do right by them.
Both of them.
He was going to protect them from the paparazzi and anyone else who wanted a piece of the Affini name. He quickly had a shower in the main suite’s bathroom, to wash the chlorine from his skin. He noticed that the French doors leading to the terrace were open and he wondered if Shay had ended up out there and seen him in the pool.
When he went for his morning swim, he didn’t even think about putting on a bathing suit. He wasn’t used to it, but if Shay was going to mov
e in with him he’d have to remind himself of common decency.
Dante got dressed and ready to go back to the hospital for his shift in the emergency room. He had to complete rounds with students, check on his patients, including Mr. Sanders from yesterday.
When he came back downstairs, Shay was pacing, having finished her yogurt and berries. She shot him a look of frustration, but he didn’t care. There was going to be no more talk about it. They were going to get married. He was going to take care of them.
By marrying her he could gain control over the vineyard and the villa, and then he could properly take care of them. His father wouldn’t have any hand in it. His child’s inheritance would be safe. He wouldn’t sell off the estate, the land, piece by piece as his father was doing. His child would never look on him with disdain, the way he looked upon his father.
He would never hurt his child. He would be a better man than his father was.
And this was definitely his child, unlike what had happened with Olivia, when the child he’d thought was his hadn’t been.
“You told me it was mine! I believed you.”
She shrugged. “I wanted to marry you.”
“Why? If the child wasn’t mine...”
“The title. The name. Affini is respected.”
“You were going to let me believe that your baby was mine, but really it’s another man’s? A man you were having an affair with before we even got together. Why?”
“Oh, come on, Dante. I don’t love you. You don’t love me. Not really. You were just excited about the prospect of family, of settling down and raising a child. I don’t want that. I thought you were different. I thought we’d go to parties and hire a nanny.”
“I never wanted that. That was how I was raised. I don’t want that for my child.”
She glared at him with those dark, hardened eyes. “Well, it’s a good thing this child isn’t yours.”
“Are you ready to go?” he asked, shaking away that painful memory.
“I’ve been more than ready. I finished my breakfast a while ago. I would’ve left sooner, but I didn’t know my way back to catch the water taxi. I’m a bit turned around here.”
“We’ll take the ferry to Venice—it’s running right now—or a vaporetto if we miss the ferry. Although the water buses are smaller than the ferry, I prefer the ferry, but they do the job.”
He led her out the front door and locked up. It was a beautiful sunny day and everybody was out on the street. He put his arm through her arm.
“What’re you doing?” she asked.
“Just leading you. Making sure you don’t step out into the street.”
“I’ve been all over the world in worse situations than this, in worse conditions than this. I’m not going to just step out into the street,” she teased, the smile replacing the frown of worry that had been there moments ago.
“Nonetheless it is my pleasure to do so.”
And it was. He liked walking with her. And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had company to work. It was nice.
They walked in silence down the Gran Viale Santa Maria Elisabetta toward the ferry landing. The ferry was there; they paid their fare and got on board just before it departed. He walked her up to the top deck to enjoy the sun and the breeze off the lagoon.
She was still slightly frustrated with him as she leaned over the railing to look out over the water. He could tell by the way her brow was furrowed and her lips were pursed together.
“How was your breakfast? Was it adequate?” he asked.
“It was good,” she said seriously. He chuckled, and then she smiled again. “It was good. Thank you.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You have to remember to eat small meals all day long. It’s the best for you and the baby.”
“I know,” she said.
“Do you have a doctor here in Venice yet?”
“No, I have to find one.”
“I could send you to the clinic to talk to my brother. He’s a family physician.”
“Don’t you think it would be odd that your brother would be my doctor in this situation?” she asked.
“Hmm, perhaps you’re right. You need to go see Dr. Tucci, then. He’s the ob-gyn that did the paternity test. He works in the hospital. He’s quite good and he speaks English as well, as you know. He’s one of the best.”
“Dr. Tucci—that’s good to know. I wasn’t sure who to go see. I wasn’t sure that he worked in the hospital. I liked him.”
“I would like to go to the appointment,” Dante said.
“You want to go to my appointments?” Her finely arched eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Of course. It’s my baby. I’m concerned about its health too.”
“Yes, of course you would be.” She sighed. “When we get to the hospital, I will make an appointment on my next break, but this morning I’m swamped. I have to plan the first simulation. The trainees are with another physician this morning, so that gives me time to plan an exercise they would face in the field.”
Intrigued, he asked, “What were you thinking of?”
“I was thinking of a natural disaster, like a flood or forest fire.”
He nodded. “That sounds good. You should do a flood. There’re lots of floods here, especially when the big cruise ships come into the lagoon and they flood San Marco’s piazza quite often. I mean, look what happened to Mr. Sanders in the vaporetto that was capsized because of one of those cruise ships and the big bow waves.”
“I understand that. Flooding would be a big deal here, especially since this city is basically sitting on wooden planks. I’m sure that you face that issue all the time, but this is a city. These trainees will be going out into Third World countries where the flooding is different. Where the conditions are not so sanitary.”
“Have you ever been in a flood where the conditions are not so sanitary?” he asked.
Shay frowned, her gaze drifting out over the water. “Yes, yes, I have.”
“Where?”
“New Orleans,” she said in a faraway voice. “Katrina.”
She turned and looked away from him. It looked as if there were tears in her eyes as she said it.
“I’m sorry, cara,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to bring up something that would be hard for you. I forgot...you’re from New Orleans, aren’t you?”
“Yes, it was terrible. The conditions were so bad.”
“It wasn’t just the hurricane, though?”
“No, it was after that. I was in school, training at the hospital and helping people escape. Taking care of those who couldn’t flee. First we got out the infants, and then moved down the priority list. It was pretty scary. I was one of the last people to leave as the hospital flooded.”
“I bet that was scary,” he said, placing his hand over hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze. There wasn’t much more he could say. He’d read about the devastation.
“That was the first and worst flood I’ve ever been in. I’ve been in other floods, but Katrina was definitely the worst,” she said quietly, looking off into the distance. “I don’t really want to talk about it, if you don’t mind.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry for bringing it up, cara. I didn’t mean to cause you pain.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me. You’re right, they could have to deal with flooding in a city like this, a city like New Orleans, during a natural disaster. They could be posted anywhere. The conditions weren’t sanitary in New Orleans. There was no power, no clean water. So yeah, maybe I’ll do the first simulation in a setting like this. A setting where everything you thought you had, because you’re not in a Third World country and are used to having, is no longer available. You have to learn to boil water in unsanitary conditions, where your supplies can run out. Thanks for that, D
ante. I think that’s what I’ll do today.”
“I’m always here to help. I’m part of this program too. I wish I could help you more, but I have rounds in the emergency room today. And I would like to check on Mr. Sanders.”
“Did you hear anything about his condition after Dr. Prescarrie saw him?” she asked.
Dante sighed. “Yes, there was some damage to his spinal cord—it’s bruised and there’s swelling. We’re hoping his paralysis isn’t permanent. He’s in the ICU. The internal bleeding has stopped. That’s the main thing.”
“That’s good,” she said. “I hope his paralysis isn’t permanent. That’s the last thing he needs on a trip of a lifetime, all because a cruise ship taking it too fast caused a vaporetto to capsize.”
He nodded. “Yes, it’s these things that annoy us Venetians about the tourist industry. So many tourists.”
“You don’t like tourists?”
“We like them. I mean, it’s a way of life, but then there’re things like the cruise ships coming in too fast and flooding San Marco’s piazza, and there are issues with overcrowding. It’s not the same as it was when I was young.”
“I bet it’s not,” she said. “New Orleans gets tourists, especially during Mardi Gras. It’s insane around the French Quarter. You can’t walk around anywhere. It’s just packed full of people.”
“So you understand what I’m talking about.”
“I do get it,” she said. “They bleach Bourbon Street every night.”
“Bleach the street?”
“Oh, yes.” She grinned. “Bourbon Street is a very popular party street. There are a lot of bars and people drink a lot and sometimes they can’t always find a bathroom.”
He wrinkled his nose. “That’s terrible.”
“It is,” she said. “Every night after last call and into the early morning the street cleaners go out and bleach the street with lemon and bleach. It’s very citrusy if you walk down Bourbon Street just after they’ve sprayed it, but if you walk ahead of the cleaners, like I did one night trying to get to work, you learn to appreciate the bleach.”