not semantics!’ she insisted, reaching out a hand and wrapping her fingers around his wrist. ‘This is my life. Mine and Raf’s. You can’t expect me to just marry you.’
He expelled a sigh, a sound of impatience. ‘Why not?’
‘Seriously? Why not? I could give you a thousand reasons.’
‘I’m not interested in a thousand. Give me a single good one.’
His manner was imposing at the best of times but now, in this conversation, she could barely scrape her thoughts together.
She clutched at the first straw she found. ‘I hardly know you.’
‘How is that relevant?’ he said with a shake of his head.
‘You’re asking me to move to Italy and become your wife...’
‘I’m suggesting you choose the best-case scenario in this situation.’ He stared at her resolutely. ‘It is, of course, your decision.’
Her heart sank.
Her decision?
She was broke, alone, and hardly ever saw her tiny baby because of the hours she had to work just to get by. Everything she did was for Raf; wouldn’t she hurt her son by denying him all that Gabe could offer?
She was terrified of the way this man made her feel, but wasn’t motherhood about putting your child’s needs above your own? All she had to do, in order to make this decision, was ignore her own needs and wants and think of what was best for Raf.
Then the decision was a simple one.
She wanted Raf to have the best life in the world—she wanted to give that to him. She just had to dance with the devil...
Living with Gabe wouldn’t be a walk in the park, and nor would marriage to him. But for Raf? What wouldn’t she do? With a look of fierce strength and resolve, she nodded. ‘Fine. You win. We’ll come to Italy.’
‘You’ll marry me.’ It wasn’t a question, but he clearly wanted her to answer.
‘On one condition.’
He arched a brow, but said nothing.
Abby hadn’t been sure what she wanted to say, only that she knew she had to demand something of him—anything—to assert her position as an intelligent woman. Yielding power to him would be a disaster. ‘If I move to Italy and marry you—’
‘When,’ he interrupted, his expression daring her to disagree.
‘When I marry you,’ she agreed with soft defiance, ‘you’ll be a good father to him. You’ll spend time with him. He’s not a trophy son to be loved on Christmases and birthdays. I’m only doing this for Raf, so he’ll have what I...’
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