Taken by the highest bidder

by Jane Porter

  He made her uneasy. There was no other way to put it. And she didn't want him here in the small cottage. She didn't want to be alone with him. He was too big, too intense, and too different.

  Her eyes met his, and as if he could read her mind, his lips curved in a faint sardonic smile. Heat exploded in Sam's mid­dle, her face flaming, her limbs going weak-She didn't like him. Didn't want to like him. Didn't want him anywhere near her, but somehow she knew he wasn't going away, and he wasn't going to be leaving her—or Gabby—alone,

  "It's hard being back here," she said, as much as she could, or would say. If there's anything she'd learned it was the value of silence, of avoiding conflict and controversy. As a child she'd waited years to be adopted, hoping against hope that she'd some­day be placed with a real family, praying she'd eventually be wanted somewhere. It never happened. But the years of trying so hard to please, the years of waiting to be accepted, wanted, adopted, had left a lasting impression. Don't make waves. Avoid conflict. Try to keep peace. Make others happy.

  No wonder she became a professional nanny. The only thing she was good at was making others happy.

  Sam squeezed her hand inside her pocket, the Rookery's key ring now warm in her palm. Again she wondered why she thought this was the right place to go. Again she regretted her decision to return.

  "I would have thought you'd be anxious to leave this morn­ing," she added, aware of Cristiano's scrutiny, knowing he was watching her, measuring, evaluating.

  "I am. But there are things we should discuss, things Gabriela shouldn't hear. Now would be a good time for us to talk."

  Sam nodded, doing her best to ignore the sense of trepida­tion weighting her limbs. Immediately she flashed to Johann and Mercedes, or was it Cristiano and Mercedes? Is that what Cristiano wanted to tell her? That he and Mercedes had been lov­ers? And if Gabby was his child, then what would happen next?

  What would happen to her? Why had he bought her?

  Cristiano suggested they drive into Chester, have breakfast and buy some groceries in case they stayed one more night.

  "If we're to stay another night, shouldn't we stay in a hotel here in town?" Sam asked as they settled into a booth at a Chester restaurant, the ceiling low in the historic half-timbered building, the interior dark, and the booths hard and high, uncomfortably like church pews.

  Cristiano barely glanced at the menu before setting it aside. "And give you another chance to run away? I don't think so”

  "You couldn't have been comfortable last night."

  "That's kind of you to worry about me "he drawled, leaning back in the booth.”But it's not necessary. I may look delicate, but I'm surprisingly tough. And no, it wasn't the best night's sleep, but at least I knew where you were."

  Sam felt heat creep up her neck, into her cheeks. "What if I promised you I wouldn't go anywhere—?”

  "Wouldn't believe you." He smiled at her but the smile was hard, fixed. "I don't trust you."

  Her hands twisted beneath the table, "Anything I've done—"

  "Yes, I know, you have done for Gabriela. But I don't buy that, Samantha. This is about you. You don't want to lose Gabriela. You don't want to be without her."

  "And why should I be? I've spent years with her, years lov­ing her."

  "But you're not her mother, or her father. You're not her family-"

  "Neither are you!"

  His dark gaze held hers in a long, timeless moment. "Are you sure?"

  Sam's stomach churned. It had come to this. No more run­ning away from the inevitable,

  "She's a Bartolo," he said, slowly, deliberately. "I've been try­ing to get her back for years,"

  "But the gambling...Johann.,,"

  "Why would I buy her? She's mine, belongs with me. I knew if I took you Gabby would follow. I could have only taken Gabby if I destroyed Johann first"

  "I don't believe it."

  "Come on, Sam. Don't play ostrich now"

  She sat still, one hand kneading the other, seeing but not see­ing, thinking but not thinking- If what he said was true..,if Gabriela were indeed his child.. .Sam had no place in Gabriela's life anymore. It was Gabby he'd wanted all along, not her. Johann's letter giving Gabby to her meant nothing. It was just another sick joke on his part. One last stab at her.

  She felt close to throwing up,

  Sam pressed a hand to her middle. "You've had a DNA test?"

  "Yes."

  Her mouth was so dry it hurt to swallow. "And the evidence?"

  "Conclusive."

  Dazed, she shook her head, unable to think clearly. Her thoughts were too wild, her fear and confusion too great. "But then, why isn't she with you? Why didn't the court appoint you her legal guardian?"

  "The courts eventually will, but I don't want to wait any longer. My patience had run out. I've missed out on the first four and a half years of Gabby's life as it is. I won't miss any more,"

  A new thought came to her, a new, more frightening thought. She sat taller, stomach in knots. It took all of her courage to get the question out, "Were you behind the kidnapping attempt three years ago?"

  "No."

  But he knew about the attempt, she thought, heart racing. He wasn't surprised by her question. He was familiar with the inci­dent. "What do you know?"

  "I know you were hurt."

  Sam looked at him quickly, and then away. "It wasn't that bad,"

  "You were in the hospital for a week."

  She smiled grimly, remembering how Johann proposed while she was still in the hospital. Johann had said he needed her, and Gabby needed her and that by marrying him, Sam would make him a better man.

  It didn't work out that way, of course. After the wedding, and as soon as Sam had fully recovered from the beating, she as­sumed even more household responsibilities than before. She wasn't just the nanny now, but the cook, the housekeeper, the bookkeeper, the gardener, the seamstress, the laundress because, Johann, citing financial difficulties, had let all hired help go.

  "How did you find out?" she asked, knowing that even though the workload was exhausting, by that point she was so attached to Gabby that she couldn't imagine leaving.

  "I've been keeping my eye on van Bergen,"

  She felt a shiver of apprehension. "You've been spying on us?"

  Again he fell silent, and his silence was somehow more ef­fective than other peoples' words. His silence conveyed tremen­dous strength and power, as well as calm. The word, unflappable, crossed her mind.

  She looked at him where he sat across from her in the oak booth, his long legs out and braced before him, his hands rest­ing lightly just below his hipbones. Something in his stillness, something in his pose—his hands resting just so—reminded her of a gunslinger from one of the old cowboy movies she used to watch with her father late at night when there was nothing else on the telly,

  "I'd prefer to call it investigating," he said, speaking slowly, carefully. "I was intent on gathering facts. Evidence. Making sure Gabriela was safe until I could get her in my care."

  "So you've tried going to court?"

  "We've been in court for years—but it takes so long. I expect a legal decree soon—"

  She felt dangerously close to hysteria. "So why the poker games?"

  "Revenge" Cristiano's upper lip curled. "I wanted to make him suffer. He made me suffer. It seemed only fair,"

  "Suffering is never fair."

  "You're such a good girl, Samantha."

  She wouldn't be baited, not this time. "So I wasn't important. You never wanted me—"

  "Not true." He cut her off. "I wanted you from the beginning. I gambled on the fact that once I had you, Gabriela would follow,"

  "That's illogical."

  "Sam, you married Johann for Gabriela. If you came to me, you'd bring Gabriela. And I was right."

  He smiled at her but his smile was predatory, "You've protected her from the beginning. I don't hold that against you. In fact, I appreciate the fact that you love her for her—not for h
er bank account,"

  "She has a bank account?"

  "A huge trust fund. She's a Bartolo."

  "I don't know what that means,"

  Cristiano's lashes lowered and he studied her as though she were a curiosity, something he'd uncovered in a dusty sec­ondhand shop. "It means she's rich. It means she will always wonder when she grows up if men love her for her, or if they love her money."

  "That's horrible,"

  "That's reality."

  She pursed her lips, trying to digest this and everything else she'd learned. "And that's what you want for her? Some harsh reality where her life is ruled by money, not love?"

  "Sam, life is what it is. I'm not going to sugarcoat it for Gabriela, you, or anyone. But I've been observing Gabriela. She's a bright girl. She's confident and assertive. There's no rea­son she can't be rich, and be loved."

  Somehow Sam felt the inequities very much. She—who'd tried so hard for so many years—had neither love nor money. "Do you have both? Are you rich?"

  "Yes."

  "Loved?"

  He laughed, cool and mocking. "No. But that's my choice."

  Sam had never met anyone like Cristiano Bartolo, didn't un­derstand anyone like him, either. "Why wouldn't you want love?"

  "Love's complicated. It involves layers of emotion including guilt and fear. I'm happier without it,"

  "With out love."

  "As I said, I'm happy as I am."

  She shook her head, perplexed- "So why do you want Gabby?"

  He hesitated for the briefest second- "Because she's a Bartolo. She should be raised by a Bartolo"

  He was making her sick. She couldn't stand his way of think­ing- It was harsh, horrible, and selfish- "This isn't why you take a child—"

  "It is for me," he cut in sharply before lifting the menu. "Do you know what you're going to eat?"

  Sam couldn't imagine eating a bite after that but when the waitress appeared at their table, she ordered toast and tea, think­ing she had to put something in her stomach if she was going to survive the day.

  They sat in virtual silence while they waited for their break­fast to arrive until Sam couldn't stand the miserable tension a moment longer. "So what are you going to do? How exactly does this work?"

  "In the morning we'll fly back to Monte Carlo. On Monday Gabby will begin at her new school."

  "A new school?"

  "Yes."

  Sam stared at him aghast. So upset she ignored the waitress when she brought Sam her pot of tea, "You're out of your mind." And he was. He had to be to think he could just rip Gabriela from everything she'd known and loved. "Maybe adults understand moves and shifts, maybe adults can be relocated overnight, but not children—"

  "I'm not asking you, Samantha. I'm telling you this. The de­cision is made. It's no longer your concern."

  She shuddered, knowing he was wrong, knowing Gabriela would always be her concern. She might not be her nanny any­more, might not even be her stepmother, but Gabby was part of her heart, her life. "What is the rush?"

  "I've lost enough time trying to get her home. I refuse to lose anymore."

  The hopelessness of the situation wrapped hard fingers around Sam's throat. "And what about Gabby? What about all she loses?"

  Cristiano's eyes narrowed. "She'll thank me one day."

  "Maybe. And maybe not"

  He shrugged. "I guess we'll find out"

  Sam felt as if he were splitting her heart and head wide-open. How could he do this? How could he even talk this way? How was it possible to be so callous...much less about your own child? "Why can't you give her time," Sam pleaded. "At least let her finish the school year where she is. Don't change every­thing on her overnight. She's so young. She's been through so much. Give her time to understand what's happening...time to adjust."

  He leaned back as their breakfast plates were carried to the table. "She'll have time," he said. "She'll have the next fifteen years to adjust."

  She swayed on her seat. "What kind of man are you?"

  His steady gaze held hers, and the way he studied her made her skin prickle, her body tingling with alarm. "The kind who gets what he wants."

  "And what about what other people want?"

  "Not my concern."

  Sam's stomach rose, nearly upending. "God, that's cold."

  "Yes, but damn practical."

  Conversation finished, Cristiano concentrated on eating his bacon and egg breakfast while Sam tore apart her toast, heart­sick.

  Sitting there, Sam wished she could do something, wished she could intervene even as she'd foiled the kidnapping attempt three years ago by hurling herself at the kidnapper. She'd used her own body to shield Gabby, and it had worked. Sort of.

  Sort of.

  Sam's lower lip quivered and she bit into it ruthlessly. She wasn't going to let him see how much he upset her, wouldn't let him have the upper hand again.

  She waited until he'd finished his meal and then gathered her coat and purse. "Can we go get Gabby now?"

  "You haven't taken a bite of your toast."

  "Not hungry" she answered, chilled on the inside. Three years ago she'd saved Gabby, three years ago she'd been brave, heroic. Why couldn't she find a way to save Gabby today?

  It felt bitterly cold outside, the sky like an endless sheet of metal, and Sam shivered on the way to the shop where they bought milk, bread and groceries for dinner. It was a relief to reach the car, where Cristiano immediately turned on the heat. They didn't speak though, and as Cristiano drove, Sam stared intently out the window, trying not to obsess about Cristiano's plans for Gabriela, but it was impossible to think of anything else.

  "I'll need your help," he said abruptly, "I brought the school admissions packet with me, and there's quite a long list of things she'll need. Proper uniform, wardrobe, essentials."

  "Cristiano."

  "I'd initially planned on leaving her in her current school," he continued as though she'd never spoken. "But I was naive, I thought you could continue taking her to school in the morning, and then picking her up again after, but obviously that's not going to work, not if I can't trust you with her."

  "You can."

  "I can't, and I travel a great deal with my work. Which is why I've decided the best place for her is Ludwig’s—"

  "Ludwig’s? That's a boarding school!"

  "One of the best in Europe. The waiting list is long. I was lucky they accepted her."

  Sam leaned forward to get a good look at his expression, thinking he was joking, thinking he had to be joking. "Gabby's not even five yet."

  "She'll be five next month."

  "Yes, and she thinks she's having a circus party and has been helping me plan it."

  "I'll take her to the Monte Carlo's Royal Circus instead,"

  Sam's mouth opened, closed- She couldn't make a sound. How could he even consider sending her away? "Have you looked at her, Cristiano? She's a tiny thing still. Far too young for board­ing school. She could be picked on by other children, tormented, and then all the rules, the infractions and punishments—"

  "It'll toughen her up."

  Tears burned the back of her eyes. "No. Toughening up isn't what you think it is. Toughening up is having your heart broken and your hopes shattered. Toughening up breaks a child down before it builds her up. Don't do it to her, Cristiano."

  "I've been to boarding school. I survived."

  "Yes, survived. But surviving isn't living. I know. My parents died when I was six. I grew up in a boarding school for orphans. That's what the Rookery is. A place where children live because they have nowhere else to go, but Gabby has somewhere to go. She has you, she has me—"

  "You're not part of the equation anymore, Samantha." He shot her a hard look. "I don't trust you."

  Cristiano felt a twinge of remorse as Sam blanched, her face paling, her eyes huge and dark with pain. He didn't enjoy hurt­ing women and children. He was a competitor, a fighter, but not malicious, especially not toward those weaker.


  He could see the effect his words were having on her. She was in torment, but it was the same torment he'd known these past four and a half years as he battled to get Gabriela back. At first he'd tried to go the legal route, do everything above-board, but Johann had blocked his every move, dragging the custody bat­tle into an endless tangle of court appearances and appoint­ments. He wanted to get his hands on Cabby's money.

  "So why did you want me," she whispered, looking at him, her blue eyes bruised, her expression wounded, "Why take me from Johann?"

  He hesitated for a split second, then realized at the very least, he owed her an honest answer. "There were three reasons. One, I knew wherever you went, Gabby would go. Two, you're the one that's kept me from Gabby—"

  "Me?"

  "If you hadn't married Johann, Gabby would have been mine years ago."

  "I didn't know—"

  "It doesn't matter." The years of waiting for Gabby, and the endless legal wrangling, had taken a toll on his patience. He was done with playing nice. Done with accommodating others at his—or Gabriela's—expense. "Fortunately I have her back now and I'll do what needs to be done."