The Italian's Demand

‘I’m a fool. Sorry to be so feeble,’ she mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes. Embarrassed, she pushed back her hair and said jerkily, ‘And now I’ve made your shirt wet.’

‘It’ll dry.’

‘I’m usually strong and positive,’ she hastened to explain, absently taking his handkerchief from his top pocket and dabbing at the shirt aimlessly. Till she felt the warmth of his chest beneath, the strongly beating heart beneath her resting fingers. And stopped suddenly. Tucking the hanky back, her face scarlet with confusion, she added without thinking, ‘But…I’m so worried about Lio!’

Vittore’s eyes narrowed in shock. ‘Why?’

Oh, help! she thought, with a silent groan at her stupidity. She’d meant to tell him in a calm and rational way so that he realised she wasn’t making a drama out of nothing.

‘I don’t know where to start. It’s a long story—’ she began hesitantly.

‘Cielo! All these hints, these warnings… Where is he? Show me at once!’ he ordered grimly, on the edge of another explosion.

Somehow she pulled herself together. Squeezed enough air into her lungs to whisper a ‘follow me’, and to get her up the stairs. Guided him to the open nursery door.

‘There,’ she said shakily.

‘Thank you,’ he grunted.

He inclined his head with a sharp jerk to accompany his thanks but didn’t immediately go in. Wide-eyed and distressed, she stared while he stood as still as a statue, the slight shaking of his hand on the door jamb the only indication that he was under considerable strain. And then, squaring his shoulders, he walked into the half-darkened room.

Shaking like a leaf, Verity watched from the doorway. And her entire body weakened as he slowly moved forwards, his eyes intent on the sleeping Lio, every line of Vittore’s body revealing how deeply he must have yearned for this very moment.

‘Lio!’ he whispered on a zephyr breath. His lips parted, his rapt face showing the bitter-sweetness of anguish and joy. ‘Piccolino,’ he murmured tenderly. ‘My little one. Ecco Papa! Daverro…you are so beautiful!’

Tentatively he reached out and touched the side of the cot as if it were made of beaten gold. She could see that he was studying Lio with the kind of detailed attention that only a doting relative would display.

Her heartbeats thundered in her ears. She knew what he was doing. Many a night she’d done the same—and for him, this was the first time he’d seen his son since…her forehead wrinkled in deep thought. Since Lio was about three months old, she estimated. How awful! What a nightmare he’d suffered.

Yes. She’d been right. Every hair of Lio’s gorgeous white-blond head was being meticulously recorded and mentally stored as if Vittore feared his son might be snatched from his grasp again and he’d have to rely on memory alone.

Now the bold sweep of the baby’s brow and the honey-gold skin which was so flawless and kissable. The heavily lashed eyes—black lashes, extraordinarily, probably inherited from Vittore. That dear little mouth, button nose and stubborn chin—oh, so horribly stubborn!

One dimpled hand had flung itself on the wafer-thin pillow in abandon, the fingers curled loosely. She saw Vittore eyeing it fondly, longingly, swallowing as he pushed back his emotions.

Her eyes filled with tears and hot prickles of heat came with them. He would love Lio. How could he do otherwise? It was a wonderful moment, she told herself. A father bonding with his son.

But a nasty little voice inside her scuttled around, wishing that Vittore hadn’t given a damn, had never come, never been enchanted by the most beautiful baby in the whole wide world.

Because Lio mustn’t be parted from her. Not for a long time. His emotions were too fragile. He needed stability and reassurance, not strangers, strange surroundings, the confusion of the incomprehensible words of another language.

So…what was she to do?

Quietly Vittore sank to his knees and reached out, very delicately, to the half-curled fist. Lio’s fingers instinctively closed around Vittore’s hand and he let out a jerk of breath as if that small and relatively insignificant action had seared his heart and branded him forever as a worshipper at Lio’s feet.

It all but broke her heart, too. Watching Vittore so openly adoring his son was one of the most touching and painful things she’d ever witnessed. And she couldn’t bear to stay any longer.

Out on the landing, she mopped at her tears and tried to organise her wayward lungs again so that she wasn’t having to deal with the huge, irregular sobs that hurtled up into her throat and leapt out, taking her unawares.

‘He’s…more beautiful…than I remember. Has grown…so much…’

Vittore’s strangled sentence and mangled words suggested that he, too, had almost lost the power of speech. Knowing she’d crack up if she looked at him, she nodded and gave a quick jerk of her head to invite him downstairs.

They went down very slowly, in total silence. But she felt overpowered by his tension. It clawed at the air, suffocating her with its electrical charge, crushing what little energy she had left. She wanted to howl.

‘Drink?’ she croaked, when they had fetched up in the drawing room.

‘Whisky,’ he husked back. And then barely recognisable came, ‘Thanks.’

Hardly able to stand, she poured two stiff measures, spilling some on the tray. And felt she could down both drinks. Without a word, without meeting his eyes, she handed him the glass. Her hand was shaking. To her amazement, so was his.

Startled, she looked up and felt every part of her body go into meltdown. She’d never seen a man looking radiant before. It was…utterly irresistible, his smile just heart-wrenchingly blissful. Her head seemed to spin.

He loved Lio desperately. Wanted him more than ever. She felt terrible. This would be so painful.

‘Please. Sit down,’ she whispered.

And took a huge gulp of her drink. At the moment he was in Paradise. She’d ruin that for him. He wasn’t going to like this. Her legs shook. He was powerful. Dominant. A man of power. He wouldn’t take kindly to being thwarted. And he might ride rough-shod over her argument, dismissing her pleas and going his own sweet way.

Liquid slopped over her fingers. She dumped her glass on a small table before it slipped from her boneless fingers.

Dear heaven. She must convince him. Where to start?

In his own happy world, clearly deeply content with life, Vittore folded himself elegantly into the opulent sofa and crossed one long leg over the other.

‘I presume it’s you who has been looking after Lio,’ he murmured. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He produced a dazzling smile, fed by the rapture in his heart. ‘I am eternally grateful to you,’ he said softly, his pleasure all the more poignant because she would be the one who would dash his hopes and turn that smile to tight-lipped fury. ‘You can be assured that I will show my gratitude with a generosity that—’

‘No! I don’t want money! I don’t want your gratitude!’ she cried frantically, her nerves jangling too much for any polite, considered response.

She jerked up her head angrily, staring at him in desperation. Just let me have Lio, she thought hopelessly, knowing that was impossible and wrong, but wanting it just the same.

He shrugged elegantly, his hands palm up in an eloquent gesture. ‘You have my gratitude, whether you want it or not.’

She realised how much he used his hands, how they graphically emphasised his anger, determination and love.

When he’d spoken of Lio, his movements had been gentle and caressing. When he’d soothed her just now, they’d moved sympathetically and with infinite tenderness…

A flurry of heat moved lazily through her body. She was stunned to recognise it as sexual desire. Verity bit her lip, aware she was in danger of becoming dazzled by the handsome, charismatic Vittore. He’d twist her around his little finger if she wasn’t careful, and she’d find herself waving goodbye to a shrieking Lio before she knew it.

‘That’s because you haven’t heard what I have to say, yet,’ she rasped.

His head tilted slightly to one side, his expression puzzled.

‘You’re angry.’

Ripping her gaze from his smiling, arching mouth, she hardened her heart.

‘Scared,’ she amended, sick to her stomach with nerves.

‘Of me?’ he asked, eyebrows arching in eloquent surprise.

‘Of what you’ll do.’

She gulped, her eyes filling with tears, and scowled down at her glass so that he didn’t suspect that she was crying like a fool.

‘But you know what I’m going to do,’ he murmured.

Looking up quickly from under her lashes, she saw him smiling to himself as he contemplated his journey with Lio, perhaps his triumphant return and the happiness of being a father again.

But Lio needed someone sensitive to care for him, who’d devote time and patience to his needs—not a Lothario who breezed in and out of Lio’s life merely to show off the evidence of his virility to his admiring friends.

‘You must not take him!’ she blurted out.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Why not?’ he asked quietly.

‘You’re not right for him!’ she replied vehemently, her eyes clashing with his.

There was a silence so tense and profound that she could hear her heart beating and the clunk of the pendulum inside the grandfather clock that stood in the hall.

‘Ah. What exactly has Linda told you about me?’ he asked shrewdly.

‘You were unfaithful,’ Verity accused, blunt as ever. ‘Over and over again! You neglected Linda and Lio for your women and for one in particular. Bianca. You were a rotten father and an even worse husband!’ she flung.

‘I see.’ His tone was quiet. Subdued.

He didn’t deny her accusations as she’d expected. She waited for an explanation, excuses, anything, but none came.

‘And that’s why you think I’m unsuitable to care for Lio,’ he went on.

‘Yes!’ She was getting into her stride. ‘But not just that—’

‘Hmm. A category of complaints. I think we’d better start to unravel this. First, I need some information from you. What happened to Linda? How did she die?’

Did he care? she wondered bitterly. He’d been remarkably composed about his late wife’s sudden death. Not a flicker of pain had crossed his face. Not a word of sorrow or regret.

Scornfully she met his piercing eyes, certain now that Vittore’s infidelity had driven Linda to the edge and beyond. He’d effectively killed Linda. Ruined his own son.

‘Her death was rather unpleasant,’ she stated flatly.

She had his full attention. ‘Tell me.’

So she drew in a huge breath and gave it to him cold. It was how she’d heard, after all. And he clearly didn’t care.

‘I was at home, in my flat the other side of London,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘The police rang me. They’d found my name in Linda’s diary which had been in her bag. There was nothing about you.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ he said. ‘Go on.’

Her eyes met his and misery washed through her entire body. ‘They said my sister had taken an overdose,’ she whispered. ‘And that she was dead.’

He started, his face drawn with shock. And then his head bowed low. Verity wondered if he was ashamed because he knew he had been largely responsible for Linda’s state of mind. His hands covered his face and he let out a low groan.

‘Linda!’ he growled on a harsh outbreath.

Amazingly, she felt a surge of compassion for him and almost reached out to touch his arm. But not quite.

He had to know what damage he’d done by playing the field. Had to recognise that by being selfish you hurt people and caused them harm. Vittore should know that he mustn’t play around with people’s emotions and treat marriage so lightly, she thought angrily.

‘There was a note,’ she said, her voice shaking a little.

His eyes flicked up and she winced at the silver slashes of pain in them. ‘Saying what?’ he growled.

‘Not much. That I was to look after Lio.’ Being a witness to his distress was hurting her, and it shouldn’t. Resentfully she muttered, ‘The gist of it was that she couldn’t go on.’

He muttered something in Italian. ‘I can’t believe it!’ he exclaimed tightly. ‘How could she leave her child?’

‘I don’t know,’ Verity said honestly. ‘But she must have been out of her mind with distress. Not only was she upset by your appalling behaviour, but—’

‘My behaviour!’ he exclaimed angrily. ‘Let’s get this straight. She left me over a year before she killed herself. I am not taking responsibility for her death. So what other reason was there? You seemed to be suggesting there was something else troubling her.’

Verity glared at the callous way he’d washed his hands of any blame. If he’d been half decent he would have made sure Linda had money of her own.

‘Well, she was desperately in debt,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I imagine it was hard, living without support. There are hundreds of unpaid bills stuffed in her desk. I had to sort through them and I know that there was a huge loan on this house which had been unpaid for months, bills and demands from masseurs, a manicurist, personal trainer, credit card companies…’ She bit her lip. ‘Everything here was a sham—a lifestyle on borrowed money,’ she said miserably. ‘Poor Linda had got herself into serious financial trouble.’

‘She could have come to me.’ He frowned, his mouth bitter. ‘Though she would have been obliged to let me see my son in return for financial assistance, wouldn’t she?’

The man was impossible. He’d driven Linda away! He’d forced his wife and child into debt and misery! Verity winced, anger welling up within her till she could contain it no longer.

‘You rat! You have no shame, no guilt—’

‘No!’ he cried, eyes blazing with a black fury. ‘None!’

‘At least we know where we stand,’ Verity flared. ‘You’re not going to change your behaviour one iota—’

‘I don’t need to!’

‘Right.’ She folded her arms belligerently. ‘Which brings us to Lio—’

‘Yes! Exactly. Lio! Where the devil was he when Linda was overdosing?’ he demanded. ‘Was he left on his own? Was he afraid, hungry, abandoned?’

Vittore hurled the questions at her like a rocket, his whole body poised on the edge of the sofa as if he was ready to leap up and shake her if she didn’t set his mind at rest.

‘No. Someone was with him,’ Verity said hastily. ‘Linda was out. She was found unconscious in the powder room of a local club. But there was a babysitter in the house. A young girl from nearby. You don’t think she’d leave her child alone, do you?’ she asked indignantly.

‘She has in the past. Nothing would surprise me,’ he muttered.

‘You’re determined to cast Linda as the wicked witch, aren’t you?’ she shot.

‘Just get on with the story.’

Her eyes flashed, her decision about Lio confirmed. She lifted her chin in a belligerent gesture and met his cynically mocking eyes without flinching.

‘When the police rang to tell me what had happened, they were here in the house. I could hear a child screaming in the background. I realised it was Lio and came at once. It took hours before I could calm him down. I’ve not left him since.’

‘He must come back with me at once,’ Vittore said with a frown. ‘Away from this place that reminds him of his mother. He needs to begin a new life with me.’

‘No!’ she cried forcefully, petrified at the prospect. ‘You can’t just take him away! I won’t let you! I won’t!’

Vittore froze. Ruthless, lacerating eyes pinned her in her seat for daring to deny him what he wanted. She cringed. Oh, yes. She’d been right. Under the sexy charm, she thought, lay a will of pure steel.

He rose to his feet, blasting her with the full force of his anger.

‘Can’t I? Watch me!’ he snarled.

She couldn’t move for shock. And to her horror, he strode grim-faced towards the door while she sat there, paralysed, not able to do anything to stop him.

Suddenly, adrenaline rushed into her numbed body and she found herself vaulting awkwardly over the back of the easy chair where she’d been sitting.

Stark fear lent her wings and she managed to reach the door before he did, flinging herself at it and flattening her back against the solid mahogany, her arms spread wide in an attitude of defence.

‘You’ve got to listen to me!’ she pleaded desperately. ‘You have to know why Lio must stay!’

The dark eyes were like chips of black ice. ‘Don’t make me hurt you, Verity,’ he growled menacingly. ‘Stand aside or I swear, I’ll forget everything I ever learned about treating women with courtesy and I will pull you away by force and I won’t care if I hurt you in the process. I’ve waited too long for this moment. Suffered too long. Nursed my hurt and my hatred till I thought I’d go insane, till my mother and my friends pulled me out of my despair and made me realise that I had to be ready for the day if I ever found Lio again.’

His voice grew husky and became so low in pitch that she could hardly hear. It seemed to vibrate through her body at a low and insistent level, reaching her compassionate heart and finding easy entry.

‘You can’t imagine what it’s been like for me all this time,’ he continued throatily. ‘Men aren’t supposed to be enslaved by their children as women are. But I was, from the moment he was born, and neither you nor anyone on earth will keep me from him a moment longer!’

His hands closed around her arms as if to hurl her aside and she quickly grabbed the lapels of his jacket to bind him to her. Vittore’s eyes flashed a warning. The heat of his chest burned into her flesh. The rock-hard solidity of him daunted her. But she meant to cling to him, limpet-like, Lio-like, till he listened.

‘If you care about him you’ll hear what I have to say! I keep trying to tell you! He’s not well!’ she yelled. And thus caught his attention.

‘Very convenient. You said he wasn’t ill just now,’ he observed in an icy, disbelieving drawl.

Her senses were heightened by terror. She could feel the hot flurry of his breath, could inhale his delicious aftershave, found herself dizzy from the magnetic power of his burning eyes. Frantically she fought off the fog that threatened to descend on her brain.

‘It’s not physical. It’s emotional. He’s suffering from separation anxiety,’ she gabbled. ‘And it’s serious.’

He searched her eyes and gradually realised she was telling the truth because a deep pain tautened her face, throwing the scimitar cheekbones into greater relief.

‘Explain,’ he rasped, his eyes bleak.

Thank heavens. Verity’s eyes closed briefly and her hands slid from his lapels, down the hot solidity of his chest. He would listen, she thought, as he took a step back. And, because he cared about Lio, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. Would he?

‘Can we sit down?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘I’m so tired I can barely stand. You’ll understand why when I tell you.’

‘D’accordo,’ he rasped. ‘Agreed.’

His hand slipped beneath her elbow. Carefully he helped her—not to the chair, but to the sofa, which he also occupied. At his raised eyebrow of grim encouragement, she nodded, found her glass and took a gulp of whisky then began.

‘I don’t know what went on here before Linda died,’ she began, her voice shaking. Absently she curled her legs up under her, unconsciously making herself comfortable for the difficult explanation. ‘Maybe Lio was perfectly normal when she was alive, maybe he wasn’t. I’ve not found anyone around here who knew anything about him—’

‘The babysitter?’ he suggested, his expression grim.

Verity shook her head. ‘The night of Linda’s death was the first time the babysitter had been here—and she told me he’d been asleep when she’d arrived and he hadn’t woken. Whatever Lio was like before, he has problems now. You must understand something, Vittore. He has latched on to me and won’t let me out of his sight. A lot of the time he’s physically attached to me in one way or another. If he feels safe, then he’ll play a short distance away. But strangers worry him, and I can’t go anywhere without him running after me.’

‘What happens if you’re out of his sight?’

‘He screams,’ she said simply.

‘Is that all?’ Vittore exclaimed. He shook his head as if her methods left a lot to be desired. ‘If he yells out of sheer obstinacy, or has a tantrum, then the common practice is to ignore such bad behaviour,’ he said firmly. ‘You don’t reward anti-social conduct by giving it your attention.’

‘It’s not a tantrum!’ she cried in exasperation. ‘When you hear him, you’ll realise that. It’s sheer terror. It’s pitiful. It wrenches at my heart. Oh, I know this must not be what you want to hear, and I’m sorry to dash your hopes, but I’m convinced that Lio will go crazy if I disappear out of his life, just like his mother did. Think of it. One day his mother was there, then he woke and found that he was confronted by total strangers.’

‘And just over a year ago, one day his father was there and then Lio found he was in another house, another country,’ Vittore pointed out bitterly.

‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘His life has been fractured, to say the least. But when Linda died he must have felt totally abandoned by the one person he really knew.’

Vittore bit his lip, bleakness deepening the hollows of his face and dulling his eyes. ‘Poor child,’ he growled under his breath. ‘What a mess.’

Verity felt the sympathy return despite her dislike of him. She sighed heavily.

‘It is. If you’d been there, I suppose he would have clung to you, but you weren’t. It happened to be me he turned to. I represent the only security he knows,’ she said earnestly. ‘We can’t take that from him, can we? He’s the important one in this, not us. Our wishes are unimportant. Lio comes first. I’ve no idea what we’re going to do, but that’s the situation. And for Lio’s sake, I beg you to respect his needs. You can’t take him away while he’s like this! It would be too cruel!’

To her astonishment and irritation, Vittore smiled gently, the light returning to his eyes.

‘I don’t think you realise, Verity,’ he said softly. ‘Children respond very well to me—’

‘Not in this case!’ she declared, dismayed that he hadn’t realised the seriousness of Lio’s insecurity.

‘You’ll see,’ he told her cheerfully. ‘I am very fond of children. And of course I love Lio very much. After a short time—an hour or two, he will be at ease with me and everything will be all right. Don’t worry about him. I am sure I can handle him.’

She groaned in exasperation and scrambled to her knees. ‘You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t some little upset he’s had. He’s traumatised. You’re wrong!’ she protested desperately.

‘No! You are!’ His angry tone and the stop sign he made with his hand had a horrible finality about them. ‘Now it is your turn to listen. Lio is my son and I love him. There’s nothing more to say about the matter. Because of what you have said, I will not take him now but I will wait until the morning when he and I can make friends—’

‘But—!’

‘However,’ he rolled on regardless, ‘I will stay here tonight. I, too, cannot risk him being snatched from under my nose—’

‘I wouldn’t do that!’ she flung indignantly.

‘No? You seem very passionate, very determined to prevent me from bonding with my child,’ he observed, dark eyes reproving her.

‘Bond if you can!’ she hurled, knowing he wouldn’t. He’d see the extent of the problem in the morning. Then he’d have to concede defeat. ‘Be my guest,’ she added bitterly.

‘Your guest? This is my house,’ he pointed out sharply. ‘At least, the debt is mine. You are the guest. And in the morning, you will pack his things—and Linda’s bills and papers—and when he and I have played together for a short while, we will then fly to Italy.’

‘And if he won’t play?’

‘We go. That’s final.’

She stared in horror. ‘But…you can’t do that! And…Italy! I—I wouldn’t ever s-see him!’ she stuttered, utterly appalled that Vittore meant to ignore everything she’d said.