baby,’ Santo corrected her with lethal emphasis. ‘And from now on we’ll be making those decisions together.’ He saw the panic flicker across her face and knew that anxiety was responsible for those dark shadows under her eyes.
‘Luca is happy. I can understand how you’re feeling, but—’
‘You do not understand how I’m feeling.’ His voice was raw. Savage. He didn’t know himself and he certainly didn’t trust himself. ‘This is my son we’re talking about. Did you honestly believe I would want him to grow up a Baracchi?’ He braced himself to ask the question that had robbed him of sleep. ‘Has he ever hit him?’
‘No!’ Her denial was immediate and sincere. ‘I would never, ever allow anyone to touch Luca.’
‘And how do you defend him? You never defended yourself.’ Perhaps it was low of him, but he told himself that his son’s welfare was more important than her feelings. ‘You just endured it.’
‘I was eight years old!’ Hurt and reproach flickered in her eyes and suddenly he felt like an animal for ripping into her. That was what people had done all their lives, wasn’t it?
‘I apologise for that remark,’ he breathed and she shook her head.
‘You don’t need to. I don’t blame you for being protective of your child.’ She spoke quietly, as if she had long since resigned herself to the fact that no one had any concern for her. ‘And yes, I was brought up in a violent family but that violence came from my father, not my grandfather. I assure you that Luca has never been at risk. He has had a warm, loving childhood.’
‘Without a father in his life.’
She flinched as if he’d slapped her. ‘Yes.’
‘Naturally I am relieved that he has been safe, but that doesn’t change the fundamental issue here. Family is the most important thing to me. I am a Ferrara and we look after our own. There are no circumstances—none—that would induce me to walk away from my own child.’ His words struck another blow because of course her mother had done exactly that. She’d walked away when Fia was only eight years old.
Her face lost the last hint of colour and he wondered briefly how it must feel to watch a parent walk away, leaving you to cope with danger alone.
He knew the story, as did everyone else. Her mother had been an English tourist who had fallen for the charms of the smooth, good-looking Pietro Baracchi, only to discover after the wedding that he was an incurable womanizer with a dangerous temper. After one beating too many, she’d turned her back on Sicily and her two children and soon after that Fia’s father had been killed in a drunken boating accident.
She watched him steadily. ‘You are very quick to judge me, but did you bother to come back and find out if there were consequences to our night together?’
Her unexpected attack shook him. ‘I used contraception.’
‘And that worked out well, didn’t it?’ She tilted her head. ‘Did you, at any point, wonder how I was doing after that night? How I was coping after the accident that killed my brother? Did you bother to come and find me?’
‘I did not wish to inflame the situation.’ But her words had kindled a nagging guilt. He should have contacted her. The thought was uncomfortable, like walking with a sharp stone in your shoe.
‘So you’re admitting your concern that having contact with me would escalate our problems.’ Her voice was remarkably calm. ‘How much more inflammatory would it have been if I’d told you there was a child?’
‘The child changes everything.’
‘It changes nothing. It just makes everything harder.’ She pushed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. With a face free of make-up and her hair loose, she looked impossibly young. More like a teenager than a successful businesswoman. ‘It’s a waste of time dwelling on what is already done so let’s talk about the future. Of course you want to see him. I understand that. We can arrange something.’
Distracted by the length of her legs in those jeans, Santo frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I’m saying that you can see Luca. We’ll work something out, providing you agree to certain rules.’
She was giving him rules? Stunned, he could barely respond. ‘What rules?’
‘I will not at any time tolerate you speaking ill of my grandfather in front of Luca. Nor will you denigrate anyone else in my family, and that includes me. No matter how angry you are with me, you will not show it in front of Luca. As far as he is concerned, we are united. We might not be together, but I want him to believe we are on friendly terms. Providing you agree to that then I’ll let you have full access.’
Genuinely shocked at the depth of her misunderstanding, Santo felt exasperation surge through him. ‘Access? You think I am talking about visiting rights? You think this is about making polite arrangements to take my child on the occasional outing?’
‘Don’t you want that?’
‘Sí, I want access. Full access.’ His tone was a perfect reflection of his mood. Grim. ‘The sort of access that comes from being a full-time father. Access to tuck him in at night and get him up in the morning. Access to spend all the time I want to spend with him. Access to teach him what family is truly about. And that is what is going to happen. I have had lawyers working through the night drawing up the necessary paperwork to acknowledge him as my son. My son.’
There was a hideous silence.
For a moment she said nothing and then she exploded across the room like a wild thing and pounded his chest with her fists.
‘You will not take him from me! I won’t let you.’ She was so furious and he was so shocked by the unexpected explosion of emotion it took him a few seconds to grasp those slender wrists, a few more seconds to free himself from a lock of that vivid hair that had wrapped itself around him.
‘And yet you took him from me—’ He enunciated every syllable, threw those words right into her shocked face and saw the exact moment reality sank home.
‘I’m his mother—’ her voice was hoarse ‘—I will not let you take him. I will find a way of stopping you. He needs me.’
Santo paused long enough to make her suffer a fraction of what he had suffered since he’d discovered the truth. Then he released her hands and stepped away from her. ‘If you’re trying to impress me with your maternal dedication then don’t waste your time. Even if everything else you say is true, the fact is that you have employed a nanny.’
She stepped back from him, confusion on her face. ‘What does Gina have to do with this?’
‘You don’t look after him yourself.’
‘I do look after him—’ her eyes were stricken ‘—and there are reasons I choose to have a nanny. I can—’
‘You don’t have to explain. Caring for a child full-time is a demanding experience. A young child is very restricting, as your mother discovered. She chose to walk away from it. I’m willing to give you the opportunity to do the same.’
Her
