mouth opened and closed. Opened again. ‘That’s crazy. You can’t order me to stay here.’
‘If you’re carrying my child, as you claim you are, then, yes, I have a right to be involved in its future—and in yours too.’
Skye felt panicky. ‘In its future. When he or she is born. Anything could happen between now and then.’
‘And in the meantime you’re going to run yourself ragged waiting on tables, staying in hostels and living in God knows what kind of place.’ He frowned. ‘Where do you live?’
Skye felt defensive. ‘In a perfectly nice basement apartment in Dublin.’
She felt guilty when she thought of the mould on the damp walls of her bedroom. And the malfunctioning gas cooker. And the fact that her area turned into a kind of war zone at night. But she was fine. They knew her face so they left her alone.
Lazaro made a sound as if he could read her thoughts. ‘If you’re working as a waitress then I know what kind of place and area you can afford, and I don’t want the mother of my child putting herself or my child at risk.’
Skye’s hand automatically went to her belly. ‘I would never do that.’
She had to admit to herself, though, that she had had misgivings about how she would cope on her tiny salary and in a cold and damp apartment.
He took her bag and coat out of her hands before she could stop him. ‘You’ll stay here this evening and tomorrow we’ll go to see my physician and confirm your pregnancy. Then we’ll have another discussion.’
Anger and a feeling of impotency made Skye say, ‘You can’t just upend my life like this. I have a job. A home. A life.’
He arched a brow. ‘I can’t upend your life? Like you just upended mine?’
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