Taming the Last AcostaItalian Boss, Proud Miss Prim

by Susan Stephens

  ‘Whoah...’ He held his hands up. She was bristling to the point where he knew he had to pull her back somehow.

  ‘I’d do anything for my child,’ she went on, flashing him a warning look, ‘but I won’t be governed by your money and your influence. I don’t need you, Kruz. I am completely capable of taking care of this.’

  And completely hormonal, he supplied silently as Romy’s raised voice travelled, causing people to turn and stare.

  ‘I’m not challenging your rights,’ he said gently. ‘This child has changed everything for both of us. Neither of us can remain isolated in own private world any longer, Romy.’

  She had expected this meeting with Kruz to be difficult, but she hadn’t expected to feel quite so emotional. This was torture. If only she could reach out instead of pushing him away.

  The past was a merciless taskmaster, Romy concluded, for each time she thought about the possibility of a family unit, however loosely structured, she was catapulted back into that house where her mother had been little more than a slave to her father’s much stronger will.

  ‘You don’t know anything about this,’ she said distractedly, not even realising she was nursing her baby bump.

  ‘I know quite a lot about it,’ Kruz argued, which only made the ache of need inside her grow. ‘I grew up on an estancia the size of a small city. I saw birth and death as part of the natural cycle of life. I saw the effect of pregnancy on women. So I do understand what you’re going through now. And I know about your mother, Romy, and I’m very sorry for your loss.’

  Kruz knew everything about everything. Of course he did. It was his business to know. ‘Well, thank you for your insight,’ she snapped, like a frightened little girl instead of the woman she had become.

  Not all men were as principled as Kruz, but he would leave her to pick up the pieces eventually. Better she pushed him away now. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all she’d got. She just hadn’t expected it to be so hard to pull off.

  ‘When the baby’s born,’ she said, straightening her back as she took refuge in practical matters, ‘you will have full visiting rights.’

  ‘That’s very good of you,’ Kruz remarked coldly.

  She was being ridiculous. Kruz had the means to fight her through the courts until the end of time, while her resources were strictly limited. She might like to think she was in control, but that was a fantasy he was just humouring. ‘Independence is important to me—’

  ‘And to me too,’ he assured her. ‘But not at the expense of everyone around me.’

  She was glad when he fell silent, because it stopped her retaliating and driving another wedge between them. ‘I hope we can remain friends.’

  ‘I’d say that’s up to you,’ he said, reaching for his jacket.

  She wanted to say something—to reach out and touch him—but it had all gone wrong. ‘I’ll get the bill,’ she offered, feeling she must do something.

  Ignoring her, Kruz called the waitress over.

  She wanted him in her life, but she couldn’t live with the control that came with that. She felt like crying and banging her fists on the table with frustration. Only very reluctantly she accepted that those feelings were due to hormones. Her emotions were all over the place. She ached to share her hopes and fears about the baby with Kruz, and yet she was doing everything she could to drive him away.

  ‘Ready to go?’ he said, standing. ‘My lawyers will be in touch with yours.’

  ‘Great.’

  This was it. This was the end. Everything was being brought to a close with a brusque statement that twisted in her heart like a knife. She got up too, and started to leave the table. But her belly got stuck. Kruz had to move the table for her. She felt so vulnerable. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t want to confide in him, share her fears with him. He stood back as she walked to the door. Somehow she managed to bang into someone’s tray on one of the tables, and then she nearly sent a child flying when she turned around to see what she’d done.

  ‘It’s okay, I’ve got it,’ Kruz said calmly, making sure everything was set to rights in his deft way, with his charisma and his smile.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, feeling her cheeks fire up as she made her apologies to the people involved. They hardly seemed to notice her. They were so taken with Kruz. ‘Sorry,’ she said again when he joined her at the door. ‘I’m so clumsy these days. When the baby’s born we’ll have another chat.’

  He raised a brow at this and made no reply. Now he’d seen her he must think her ungainly and clumsy.

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said.

  This was all happening too fast. The words wouldn’t come out of her mouth quickly enough to stop him.

  Pulling up the collar on his heavy jacket, he scanned the traffic and when he saw a gap dodged across the road.

  Her heart was in shreds as her gaze followed him. She stayed where she was in the doorway of the café, sheltering in blasts of warm, coffee-scented air as customers arrived and left. When the door was opened and the chatter washed over her she began to wonder if a heart could break in public, while people were calling for their coffee or more ketchup on their chips.

  * * *

  Grace had taken her in, insisting Romy couldn’t expect to keep healthy and look after her unborn child while she was sleeping on a friend’s sofa. There was plenty of room in the penthouse, Grace had explained. Romy hadn’t wanted to impose, but when Grace insisted that she’d welcome the company while Nacho was away on a polo tour Romy had given in. They could work together on the charity features while Romy waited for the birth of her child, Grace pointed out.

  Romy had worked out that if she budgeted carefully she would have enough money to buy most of the things she needed for the baby in advance. She searched online to find bargains, and hunted tirelessly through thrift shops for the bigger items, but even with her spirit of make do and mend she couldn’t resist a visit to Khalifa’s department store when she noticed there was a sale on. She bought one adorable little suit at half-price but would have loved a dozen more, along with a soft blanket and a mobile to hang above the cot. But those, like the cuddly toys, were luxuries she had to pass up. The midwife at the hospital had given her a long list of essentials to buy before she gave birth.

  Get over it, Romy told herself impatiently as her hormones got to work on her tear glands as she walked around the baby department. This baby was going to be born to a mother who adored it already and who would do anything for it.

  A baby who would never know its grandmother and rarely see its father.

  ‘Thanks a lot for that helpful comment,’ she muttered out loud.

  She could do without her inner pessimist. Emotional incontinence at this stage of pregnancy needed no encouragement. Leaning on the nearest cot, she foraged in her cluttered bag for a tissue to stem the flow of tears and ended up looking like a panda. Why did department stores have to have quite so many mirrors? So much for the cool, hard-edged photographer—she was a mess.

  It had not been long since her mother’s funeral, Romy reasoned as she took some steadying breaths. It had been a quiet affair, with just a few people from the care home. There was nothing sadder than an empty church, and she had felt bad because there had been no one else to invite. She felt bad now—about everything. Her ankles were swollen, her feet hurt, and her belly was weighing her down.

  But she had a career she loved and prospects going forward, Romy told herself firmly as an assistant, noticing the state she was in, came over with a box of tissues.

  ‘We see a lot of this in here,’ the girl explained kindly. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  Romy took comfort from the fact that she wasn’t the only pregnant woman falling to pieces during pregnancy—right up to the moment when the assistant added, ‘Does the daddy know you’re here? Shall I call him for you?’ Only th
en did she notice Romy’s ring-free hands. ‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ she exclaimed, slapping her hand over her mouth. ‘I really didn’t mean to make things worse for you.’

  ‘You haven’t,’ Romy reassured her as a fresh flood of tears followed the first. She just wanted to be on her own so she could howl freely.

  ‘Here—have some more tissues,’ the girl insisted, thrusting a wad into Romy’s hands. ‘Would you like me to call you a cab?’

  ‘Would you?’ Romy managed to choke out.

  ‘Of course. And I’ll take you through the staff entrance,’ the girl offered, leading the way.

  Thank goodness Kruz couldn’t see her like this—all bloated and blotchy, tear-stained and swollen, with her hair hanging in lank straggles round her face. Gone were the super-gelled spikes and kick-ass attitude, and in their place was...a baby.

  * * *

  He’d kept away from Romy, respecting her insistence that she was capable of handling things her way and that she would let him know when the baby was born. They lived in different countries, she had told him, and she didn’t need his help. He was in London most of the time now, getting the new office up to speed, but he had learned not to argue with a pregnant woman. Thank goodness for Grace, who was still in London while Nacho was on a polo tour. At least she could reassure him that Romy was okay—though Grace had recently become unusually cagey about the details.

  The irony of their situation wasn’t lost on him, he accepted as he reversed into a space outside Khalifa’s department store. He had pushed Romy away and now she was refusing to see him. She was about to give birth and he missed her. It was as simple as that.

  But even though she refused his help there was nothing to say he couldn’t buy a few things for their baby. Grace had said this was the best place to come—that Khalifa’s carried a great range of baby goods.

  The store also boasted the most enthusiastic assistants in London town, Kruz reflected wryly as they flocked around him. How the hell did he know what he wanted? He stood, thumbing his stubble, in the midst of a bewildering assortment of luxury goods for the child who must have everything.

  ‘Just wrap it all up,’ he said, eager to be gone from a place seemingly awash with happy couples.

  ‘Everything, sir?’ an assistant asked him.

  ‘You know what a baby needs better than I do,’ he pointed out. ‘I’ll take it all. Just charge it to my account.’

  ‘And send it where, sir?’

  He thought about the Acosta family’s fabulous penthouse, and then his heart sank when he remembered Romy’s tiny terrace on the wrong side of the tracks. He would respect her wish to say there for now, but after the birth...

  The store manager, hurrying up at the sight of an important customer, distracted him briefly—but not enough to stop Kruz remembering that the only births he had attended so far were of the foals he owned, all of which had been born in the fabulous custom-built facility on the estancia.

  No one owned Romy, he reflected as the manager continued to reassure him that Khalifa’s could supply anything he might need. Romy was her own woman, and he had Grace’s word for the fact that she would have the best of care during the birth of their baby at a renowned teaching hospital in the centre of London. But after the birth he suspected Romy would want to make her nest in that tiny terraced house.

  Another idea occurred to him. ‘Gift-wrap everything you think a newborn baby might need,’ he instructed the manager, ‘and have it made ready for collection.’

  ‘Collection by van, sir?’ The manager glanced around the vast, well-stocked floor.

  ‘Yes,’ Kruz confirmed. ‘How long will that take?’

  ‘At least two hours, plus loading time—’

  He shrugged. ‘Then I will return in two hours.’

  Brilliant. Women loved surprises. He’d hire a van, load it up and deliver it himself.

  The thought of seeing Romy again made him smile for the first time in too long. It would be good to see her shock when he rolled up with a van full of baby supplies. She would definitely unwind. Maybe they could even make a fresh start—as friends this time. Whatever the future held for them, he suspected they could both do with some down-time before the birth of their baby threw up a whole new raft of problems.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THAT WAS NOT a phantom pain.

  Bent over double in the small guest cloakroom in the penthouse while Grace was at the shops buying something for their supper was not a good place to be...

  Romy sighed with relief as the pain subsided. There was no cause for panic. If it got any worse she’d call an ambulance.

  * * *

  For once he didn’t even mind the traffic because he was in such a good mood, and by the time he pulled the hired van outside the terraced house he was feeling better than positive. They would work something out. They both had issues and they both had to get over them. They had a baby to consider now.

  Springing down from the van, he stowed the keys. Relying on Grace for snippets of information about Romy wasn’t nearly good enough, but he was half to blame for allowing the situation to get this bad. Both he and Romy were always on the defensive, always expecting to be let down. Raising his fist, he hammered on the door. Now he just had to hope she was in.

  * * *

  Oh, oh, oh... She had managed to crawl into the bathroom. Emergency!

  They’d mentioned pressure at the antenatal classes, so she was hoping this was just a bit of pressure—

  Pressure everywhere.

  And no sign of Grace.

  ‘Grace...’ she called out weakly, only to have the silence of an empty apartment mock her. ‘Grace, I need you,’ she whimpered, knowing there was no one to hear her. ‘Grace, I don’t know what to do.’

  Oh, for goodness’ sake, pull yourself together! Of course you know what to do.

  Now the pain had faded enough for her to think straight, maybe she did. Scrabbling about in her pockets, she hunted for her phone. All she had to do was dial the emergency number and tell them she was having a baby. What was so hard about that?

  ‘Grace!’ she exclaimed with relief, hearing the front door open. ‘Grace? Is that you?’

  ‘Romy?’ Grace sounded as panicked as Romy felt. ‘Romy, where are you?’

  ‘On the floor in the bathroom.’

  ‘On the floor—? Goodness—’

  She heard Grace shutting her big old guide dog, Buddy, in the kitchen before moving cautiously down the hall with her stick. ‘Grace, I’m in here.’ There were several bathrooms in the penthouse, and Grace would find her more easily if she followed the sound of Romy’s voice.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Grace called out anxiously, trying to get her bearings.

  That was a matter of opinion. ‘I’m fine,’ Romy managed, and then the door opened and Grace was standing there. Just having someone to share this with was a help.

  Grace felt around with her stick. ‘What on earth are you doing under the sink?’

  ‘I had a little accident,’ Romy admitted, chucking the towel she’d been using in the bath. ‘Can’t move,’ she managed to grind out as another contraction hit her out of nowhere. ‘Stay where you are, Grace. I don’t want you slipping, or tripping over me—I’ll be fine in a minute.’

  ‘I’m calling for an ambulance,’ Grace said decisively, pulling out her phone.

  ‘Tell them my waters have broken and the baby’s coming—and this baby isn’t waiting for anything.’

  ‘Okay, keep calm!’ Grace exclaimed, sounding more panicked than Romy had ever heard her.

  * * *

  He had thoughts of reconciliation and an armful of Romy firmly fixed in his head as he hammered a second time on the door of the small terraced house. Like before, the sound echoed and fell away. Shading his eyes, he peered thro
ugh the window. It was hard to see anything through the voile the girls had hung to give them some privacy from the street. His spirits sank. His best guess...? The tenants of this house were long gone.

  How could he not have known? He should have kept up surveillance—but if Romy had found out he was having her followed he would have lost her for good.

  There was nothing more pitiful than a man standing outside an empty house with a heart full of hope and a van full of baby equipment. But he had to be sure. Glancing over his shoulder to check the street was deserted, he delved into the pocket of his jeans to pull out the everyday items that allowed him entry into most places. This, at least, was one thing he was good at.

  The house was empty. Romy and her friends had packed up and gone for good. There were a few dead flowers in a milk bottle, as if the last person to turn out the lights hadn’t been able to bear to throw them away and had given them one last drink of water.

  That would be Romy. So where the hell was she?

  Grace would know.

  * * *

  Grace had called the emergency services, and Romy was reassured to hear her friend’s succinct instructions on how to access the penthouse with the code at the door so she wouldn’t have to leave Romy’s side. But the ambulance would have to negotiate the rush hour traffic, Romy realised, starting to worry again as her baby grew ever more insistent to enter the world. Even with sirens blaring the driver would face gridlock in this part of town.

  She jumped as Grace’s telephone rang. The sight of Grace’s face was enough to tell her that the news was not good. ‘Grace, what is it?’

  ‘Nothing...’

  But Grace’s nervous laugh was less than reassuring. ‘It must be something,’ Romy insisted. ‘What’s happened, Grace?’ She really hoped it wasn’t bad news. She wasn’t at her most comfortable with her head lodged beneath the sink.

  ‘Seems the first ambulance can’t get here for some reason,’ Grace admitted. ‘But they’ve told me not to worry as they’re sending another—’