do you know what would be difficult for me? How do you know what it’s like? What it’s ever been like for me?’ she challenged, her flush deepening, her breasts rising and falling heavily from a long-buried anger that had no outlet, no hope of ever being assuaged.
‘My heart bleeds for you,’ he said, one long, tanned hand coming to rest on his ribcage. He knew only too well about women who gave up their babies for a better life!
‘You don’t have one!’ From the little she had read about him, there didn’t seem to be one woman among this very eligible billionaire’s acquaintance who could keep him interested for more than a few months, let alone commit him to undying devotion to her!
He laughed without humour, long ebony lashes drooping, concealing the darkened depths of his beautiful eyes. ‘That, cara mia, is rich coming from you. How much more heartless can you get than a woman who abandons her child?’
‘I didn’t abandon him!’ Pain, raw and crushing propelled Libby to her feet. She could feel his contempt beating against her like a tangible thing. ‘Anyway, I’m not the first woman ever to have had a baby adopted!’
‘No, you’re not the first by any means,’ Romano agreed, disdain twisting his mouth as he delivered with hard incision, ‘but it takes a certain kind of girl who can hand over her baby purely for cash!’
Libby felt as if she’d been hit in the solar plexus, the cruelty of his statement almost making her double up. She had to restrain a strong urge to punch her late husband’s brother right back between his spectacular eyes.
He must, however, have seen the anguish corrugating her forehead because he said with quiet, yet unmistakable censure, ‘It does sound rather distasteful, doesn’t it?’
Raw with emotion, Libby couldn’t answer. Nor could she get to grips with the fact that he could actually believe it.
‘Dio sa! You don’t deserve it, Libby. But I’m offering you the chance to make amends.’
‘Make amends?’ She looked at him obliquely, hot, angry tears smarting against her eyes. Just who did he think he was? Her judge and jury? ‘How magnanimous of you!’ she bit out, her defences in shreds. But, needing to ease the ever-present guilt, redeem herself in her own eyes if no one else’s, she was crying out in bitter denial, ‘I didn’t sell my child!’
The firm masculine mouth tugged with grim scepticism. ‘Find a way of telling that to Giorgio when he grows up.’
Pain darted across Libby’s already tortured features, pale now against the rich red lustre of her hair. ‘That surely isn’t what you…what your parents…’ She couldn’t bring herself to finish. It was too awful even to contemplate that they might have said as much to the little boy.
‘You think I’d be—’ he broke off, his eyes hard ‘—let anyone be that cruel?’
A surge of relief lifted Libby’s chest. Luca’s brother might feel only contempt for her, but he did seem to have some sensitivity where Giorgio was concerned.
‘I have evidence of it, Libby,’ he went on in those deep, relentless, self-assured tones. ‘You were paid…’ He paused before spelling out the exorbitant sum of money that his father had drafted into her bank account on the handing over of her eight-week old son. ‘And unless my accounts are well and truly—what is the expression?—up the creek—there isn’t any doubt that all the money was cashed within a few months.’
Well, he owed me something! Libby wanted to scream, though nothing had, or ever could, compensate for, or ease the loss of her child.
‘Yes, I cashed it,’ she uttered vehemently, because she had no intention of explaining to this hard-headed Italian who had formed so many erroneous opinions about her what she had done with the money. He was a Vincenzo after all and, with the exception of Luca, just like the rest. ‘I had to live.’
‘Si.’ There was only raw cynicism in his reply as his gaze fell on a back issue of a leading magazine someone had left on the cosmetics shelf. The cover featured a Ferrari with Libby draped over its gleaming red bonnet, dripping with the gold jewellery she had been advertising. ‘And quite well if that fancy car you drive out there and that string of homes you appear to own besides your expensive London apartment are anything to go by. One in Jersey. A couple on the continent. Two beach houses in Florida. Not bad for a girl who started out without a bean to her name.’
No, she had all that, she accepted gratefully. But, just like with the money, it was none of his business, and she was darned if she’d be made to feel accountable to him for why she had invested in so many homes!
Her chin coming up, exposing the pale line of her throat, she said simply, ‘Are you sure there isn’t anything else you’d like to throw at me?’
His dark gaze plundered hers as though searching for something beyond their defensive green depths.
‘I appreciate that you have commitments. That it isn’t going to be easy for you to…drag yourself away.’ Carefully chosen words, Libby felt, to make each statement a precision-aimed snipe. The lining of his jacket gleamed darkly as he reached for something in his inside pocket, the action exposing the dark shading of body hair through the fine material of his shirt. ‘So name your price,’ he invited silkily. ‘I’m sure together we can come to a suitable figure.’
To see Giorgio? He thought she needed payment before she’d consider helping her son!
‘How dare you?’ She lashed out at the black leather folder he was opening, almost hitting it out of his hands. ‘Get out! Get out of here if all you can do is stand there and sling insults at me!’
From the way his brows lifted, clearly her reaction had taken him unawares. His hands were remarkably steady, though, as he repocketed the offending cheque-book. ‘Forgive me,’ he said coldly. ‘I forgot. These days Vincenzo money doesn’t hold the same attraction for you that it did.’
‘No, that’s right,’ Libby breathed, hating him more with every second that passed. If he wanted to think the worst about her, then let him think it! ‘And as for my car and all my houses…I do have my image to think about!’
She thought he would come back with some further cutting remark, but all he did was stand there looking down at her for a few dissecting moments from his superior height.
Eventually he took something out of his wallet, handed it to her. A card with the familiar Vincenzo logo printed at the top. ‘I’ll be here in London for a couple of days, ‘ he stated in a cool, unperturbed voice. ‘If you’ve a glimmer of conscience or compassion behind that beautiful face of yours—call me. It might do you good to step down into the real world for a while—see how the other half lives.’
His comments flayed as he pushed back the sliding door, his broad shoulders filling for a moment the gap he had created, before he stepped lithely down from the trailer and strode away.
Staring after his lean, elegant figure, Libby felt frustrated tears bite behind her eyes. The real world, he’d said. Was that what he called the Vincenzo mansion and its accompanying millions? When it was his and his family’s world that had taught her how the other half lived! The half who could buy anything, threaten anything, just as long as they got exactly what they wanted, when they wanted it, regardless of who got hurt!
Her knuckles whitening as she gripped the
