The Italian's One-Night Love-Child

by Cathy Williams

  ‘Tut, tut. Don’t tell me that your memory’s that short.’

  A stirring, heady drumbeat started deep inside her, bringing hectic colour to her cheeks as she remembered their nights together. No clothes. For her, that had been a novelty. She had never slept in the nude before and the first time she had done so she had been incredibly shy because it was almost more intimate than making love. But Cristiano, on the other hand, didn’t even possess a pair of pyjamas.

  ‘No way. And, furthermore, could you please move. I want to go upstairs now.’

  Cristiano didn’t hesitate to step aside. He wasn’t quite sure what the conclusion of their conversation had been. Whether she was Bethany Maguire or Amelia Doni or the Queen of England, she was still as feisty, argumentative and unpredictable as he had remembered and, as usual, he was left feeling as though he had been stuffed in a washing machine and spun at full speed.

  Besides, he was interested to see what was going to happen when they made it to her bedroom. He watched her small, rounded derrière with appreciative eyes as she walked ahead of him. One thing he had not forgotten was her delicacy. She was like spun glass and she moved with the grace of a dancer, even though she most likely had never been to a ballet class in her entire life. It was difficult to judge whether she had any kind of bump at all underneath the baggy jumper, but from behind her shape had certainly stayed the same.

  For the first time, Cristiano considered the baby she was carrying as opposed to the pregnancy with which he had been presented and decided that it was a great credit to his talent for flexibility and his strength of character that he hadn’t immediately felt bitter or trapped. His mother and his grandfather would be over the moon, of that he was sure. It might not have happened in the perfect way, as they would have ideally liked, but the end result would be welcomed with open arms.

  They had reached the top of the stairs and Bethany turned to him and pointed down the corridor.

  ‘My bedroom’s the last on the right,’ she said in a hushed voice. ‘I’ll be in in a minute and you’d better make sure that you’ve made yourself a bed on the floor. I’ll bring you a spare quilt and you can use one of my pillows.’

  Cristiano didn’t say anything. He headed for her bedroom, taking his time to have a look at the other rooms he walked past, which were undoubtedly her sisters’ rooms, and he was even able to tell which room belonged to which sister. The one with the shelves and shelves of books would be Shania’s, and the one with pots of make-up and creams would be Melanie’s. Something else, he half mused, that she had not lied about. Her own room was, at the end of the corridor, the biggest, with sprawling windows on two walls and decorated in neutral shades of creams and oatmeal. The furniture was old and heavy and not at all to his taste, but it seemed to suit the feel of the room and the bed was big. Four fluffy pillows, none of which would be going anywhere near the floor, if only she knew.

  Cristiano kicked off his shoes, got rid of his socks and then settled down on the feather mattress with satisfaction, his hands clasped behind his head, his mind pleasantly involved in imagining her reaction when she returned with her spare quilt to find him lying on her bed.

  He didn’t have very long to wait. Literally five minutes later she tiptoed into the room, pausing by the door to get her bearings because he hadn’t bothered to switch on the light. It was something she remedied straight away, banging on the switch and then pulsating as she looked at him sprawled out on her bed. She wanted to slam the door hard but resisted the impulse and closed it with a decisive click.

  ‘What are you doing?’ She flung the quilt at him and he fielded it expertly onto the floor.

  ‘I’m enjoying the luxury of this great feather mattress of yours. Much more comfortable than the one at the hotel, which shows that money doesn’t always buy the best.’

  ‘Well, now that you’ve enjoyed it, you can get up and start doing something about your sleeping arrangements.’ The intimacy of their surroundings was choking her and she had to force her legs into action. ‘And these are some of Dad’s pyjamas. Put them on.’

  ‘Why? You’ve already seen me naked.’

  ‘That was then and this is now!’

  ‘Something about horses and stable doors springs to mind here.’

  ‘I don’t care what springs to mind!’ Bethany almost wept with frustration. ‘Just go and…and get into the pyjamas…’ She breathed deeply. ‘The bathroom’s next door…’

  ‘Sure.’ Cristiano stood up and stretched. ‘But I’m not sleeping on the floor.’

  ‘Then I will!’

  ‘Oh, no, you won’t.’ He wasn’t smiling as he walked slowly towards her. ‘You’re going to get into that bed and so am I. I won’t have you sleeping on the floor, pregnant.’

  ‘Then you sleep on the floor.’ Her eyes locked with his and her breathing became shallow and laboured.

  ‘Neither of us is going to be sleeping on the floor and if I come back in here to find that you’ve done something with that quilt other than stuff it away in the wardrobe then I’m not going to be happy.’

  ‘Oh, and your happiness is paramount, naturally!’

  He shot her a lazy smile and wondered if he’d actually forgotten how fetching she looked when her eyes were blazing and her colour was up. ‘So we agree on something. It’s a start.’

  Bethany spent three seconds fuming as he unhurriedly left the room, grabbing the towel she had brought in with her and stuck on a chair by the door in passing. Then she moved as though propelled by a rocket. Having already washed her face and brushed her teeth, she flung on her old pyjamas, tartan plaid flannelette that any granny would have been proud of, and got into the bed, making sure to draw the covers up to her chin and position one of the pillows as a barrier between them. She then turned her back to the door and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Neither protected her from the way her skin tingled as she heard the bedroom door quietly open and shut ten minutes later. He moved so silently that she was only aware of him getting into the bed when it was depressed, almost causing her rigid body to topple over the side.

  ‘I know you’re not asleep,’ Cristiano said conversationally, ‘and, whilst I appreciate that you finally accepted the fact that neither of us was going to sleep on the floor like teenagers at a rock festival, I still don’t like the pillow between us, so…’ he took the pillow and chucked it on the floor ‘…that’s much better. And now we need to talk.’ He rolled over onto his side and Bethany stifled a squeak as she felt the brush of bare skin against her. She was over on her side in a shot and facing him, although she could hardly make out his face.

  ‘Where are Dad’s pyjamas?’

  ‘On the floor. I’m in my boxers, though, so there’s no need to get your reinforced knickers in a twist.’

  The silence settled between them and, with each passing second, Bethany could feel her nerves straining harder.

  ‘You do realise that we need to have a proper conversation, don’t you?’ Cristiano said calmly. ‘By which I mean a conversation without the hysterics.’ Fully aware of the full impact barrier she had erected between them by way of her pyjamas and determined not to be distracted, Cristiano was nevertheless aware that his body was riding roughshod over his intentions.

  ‘This isn’t a good place to have a conversation.’

  ‘No…? I thought that’s where all couples talked. In bed.’

  ‘We’re not a couple.’

  ‘Then define what we are, not forgetting that we’re engaged.’

  Now that her eyes had fully adjusted to the lack of light in the bedroom, Bethany could see him more clearly and she could feel her whole body aching from the torture of being within inches of him. Her double bed might be big for one but it was reduced to the size of a handkerchief with Cristiano taking up more than half of it.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t keep reminding me of that,’ she whispered.

  ‘Fine. Then I’ll change the topic. After all, I wouldn’t want to damage that fragile conscience
of yours…so how do you feel about me asking you this…? How has your body changed?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Your body,’ Cristiano murmured huskily. ‘How’s it changed? I want to feel your stomach. I want to feel my baby.’ He reached out and slipped his hand underneath the unflattering checked long-sleeved top which was way too hot to wear to bed. ‘I think you’ll agree that I have a right…’

  Chapter Six

  ‘WHAT are you doing?’ Bethany emitted a little squeak of protest and tried to wriggle away from those long fingers but there was limited room to manoeuvre so she had to content herself with a pointless tussle with his hand.

  ‘You hide it well,’ Cristiano conceded as he felt the smooth, rounded swell of her stomach. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t noticed before she had told him but, then again, he hadn’t been looking.

  ‘Don’t…’ Bethany drew in a shaky lungful of air, her body red-hot and aching as he continued to rub her stomach with the flat of his hand.

  ‘Don’t? But I have every right, wouldn’t you agree? I am, after all, the prodigal daddy-to-be, just returned from his dangerous stint in the depths of Africa.’

  ‘That’s not funny.’

  ‘No, you’re right. It’s not. Twenty-four hours ago, I was a man with no responsibility to anyone but himself…’ He removed his hand from her rounded belly, assailed by the magnitude of the situation.

  ‘Twenty-four hours ago you were a man who was speeding up here to lay into me for deceiving you!’

  ‘Little did I know the depth of the deceit.’

  ‘But you would never have sought me out if you hadn’t found out, would you, Cristiano?’ Was she hoping that he would contradict her? Her cheeks flamed angrily at the realisation that, yes, fool that she was, she still wanted to hear something that might indicate that she had been more than just a two week interlude in his busy schedule.

  ‘Did you expect me to?’

  ‘Of course not! So can you blame me for coming back here when I found out that I was pregnant? Can you blame me for not getting in touch with you to tell you the good news?’

  ‘I have no intention of being your accomplice in justifying yourself.’

  ‘You are so…so superior!’ She balled her hands into fists and gritted her teeth together to stop herself from shouting and bringing her parents flying into the bedroom.

  ‘If by that you mean that I’m upfront with people, then yes, I am.’

  ‘Haven’t you ever done something you shouldn’t have, Cristiano?’

  ‘Yes, I spent two weeks in Barbados with a woman I barely knew. In retrospect, you might say that that was one of my more spectacular mistakes.’

  ‘That’s a horrible thing to say!’

  And Cristiano knew it. He also knew that it was a lie but damned if he was going to be the sort of loser who would ever confess that those stolen two weeks had been two of the best he could remember in a long time. Damned if he would give oxygen to that niggling voice in his head that was telling him that yes, he might very well have tried to contact her, whatever the circumstances of her flight. What sort of sad man would pursue a woman who had walked out on him? He absolutely refused to admit himself into that category.

  ‘I apologise. Unreservedly.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s all right then.’ Bethany gave a strangled laugh under her breath. She lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling, acutely aware of his steady breathing and the fact that his arm was only a couple of inches away from hers.

  In the thick, dark silence Cristiano grudgingly smiled at her sniping response. Okay, so his life had been turned on its head. So had hers. Any other woman, faced with an enraged ex-lover, a man who had the wealth and power to move mountains, a man who had been tricked and conned, would have at least had the decency to be suitably humble. None of that with Bethany. Typically, she was fighting fire with fire and no amount of fighting was going to do any good.

  ‘So now that I have shown up on the scene, none the worse for malaria, famine or curare-tipped arrows, what do you intend to do with me?’

  As he expected, a stunning silence greeted that question and he allowed that silence to stretch between them until he could smell her tension rising in waves.

  ‘Fortunately, I am prepared to do the decent thing.’

  Bethany swung round to look at him in surprise. ‘Do the decent thing? What are you talking about?’

  ‘You are pregnant with my baby and I am a man of honour, a man who takes his responsibilities seriously. Naturally, I have no other option but to marry you.’

  ‘Marry me? Have you completely lost your mind?’ Bethany gave a snort of laughter. Did he really expect her to leap at his generous offer because he was a man of honour, who took his responsibilities seriously and, boxed in as he now found himself, would therefore rise to the occasion by putting a ring on her finger because there was no option?

  ‘What are you saying?’ With one hand, Cristiano reached to the side of the bed and flipped on the light. Immediately the tiny area around them was thrown into relief. He hoisted himself up on one elbow and looked down at her with a cold frown of incomprehension.

  ‘I’m saying…’ Bethany sat upright because it felt too weird conducting this conversation when she was horizontal ‘…that I’m not going to marry you! This isn’t the nineteenth century, Cristiano!’

  ‘Well, it’s not far off, considering you felt obliged to fabricate an imaginary fiancé for your parents so that you could return here, pregnant!’ He was finding it hard to credit that she had just thrown his proposal back in his face! As far as he was concerned, he was one in a million!

  ‘Fabricating an imaginary fiancé is a far cry from walking down the aisle with a man who doesn’t even like me!’

  ‘It is pointless bringing emotions into this.’

  ‘What do you mean, pointless?’

  ‘Keep your voice down or your parents will be running in here to see what the hell is going on!’

  Bethany counted to ten, very slowly. ‘Okay. I’m going to keep my voice down because I don’t want to create a scene and have Mum and Dad worrying, but I’m not going to marry you, Cristiano. Not in a million years. It might have been stupid for us…not to have been as careful as we should have been, but it would be even more stupid for us to sacrifice our lives for the sake of this baby.’

  Eyes blazing, Cristiano flung himself out of the bed and walked across to the window, a vision of semi-naked masculine beauty which drew Bethany’s eyes like a magnet.

  ‘I have no idea why you’re so taken aback,’ she informed his erect back. ‘Most women would have leapt at your offer and where would that have left you? Trapped in a marriage which would become a cage for you…for both of us…’ He was a man with a strong libido and it didn’t take a genius to work out that two and two would inevitably lead to four. He had no feelings for her and it wouldn’t be long before he would stray. She would be no more than the mother of his child, to whom fidelity would hold no outstanding advantages.

  ‘So what,’ Cristiano said in a soft voice, ‘do you suggest?’ He felt it was important to maintain a practical note to the conversation but it was taking every ounce of self discipline not to give way to his temper. Virtually as soon as he had known of the situation, he had been aware of what had to be done and he was shocked that his offer of marriage had met with a negative response. She obviously wasn’t thinking straight and, whilst he might have been inclined to put that down to hormones, which apparently affected some women during pregnancy, he was forced to conclude that her mind did not work in the same way as his. Nor, for that matter, did it work in the same way as most of the human race, or at least most of the female contingent. She had been spot on when she had remarked that most women would have leapt at his offer.

  Bethany couldn’t help it. She felt a thread of disappointment snake through her at his ready acceptance of an alternative plan. Had he only proposed marriage as a way of clearing his conscience? Decent guy
, duty done, offer rejected so time to move on. She could practically hear his sigh of relief whipping through the air between them.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to stay a day or two, I guess. Or it might look a bit odd…’

  Cristiano folded his arms and inclined his head to one side. It was in his nature to contradict the stupidity of what she was saying but he was also sharp enough to know that jumping in with his opinions would only provoke yet another bout of high drama and her immediate stubborn retreat.

  Bethany licked her lips and looked to him for some verbal encouragement. Finding none, she continued slowly, ‘Then you’d have to return to London…you know, because you can’t very well stay here for ever…My parents know that you’re a businessman, first and foremost…’

  ‘And where do you fit in to this neat little picture?’

  ‘I’d stay here, of course.’

  ‘Why of course? Wouldn’t your parents think it a bit strange that you remain behind?’ There were more holes in her story than a colander and he had to fight down the sarcasm which threatened to spill out.

  ‘I could always tell them that it would just be more…reassuring for me to have them around, seeing that your business takes you all over the world. At a moment’s notice.’

  ‘I thought I’d already made it clear that there were no more projects?’

  ‘Well, you do travel, don’t you?’ Bethany said irritably. ‘Why can’t you help me out here? Can’t you see that I’m just trying to do what’s right for both of us?’

  ‘I think it’s time we both got some sleep.’

  He began walking back towards the bed and she followed his movements with restless, anxious eyes.

  ‘But we haven’t sorted out anything.’

  ‘I’m tired. I’m going to sleep. Feel free to let that fertile little imagination of yours run riot with suggestions as to what the next step should be.’ He got into the bed, turned on his side with his back to her and ignored her frantic scrabbling movements as she tried to wrest some of the quilt for herself.