surely you could—’
‘No!’ Nadia cut her off impatiently. ‘You don’t get it, do you? I don’t want that child; I never did.’ She dumped Georgia’s changing bag next to the pram, the soft thump as it hit the floor striking a chord of disquiet in Nina’s chest. ‘You were the one who talked me out of getting rid of the pregnancy, so I think it’s only fair you get to look after her now until I can find a private adoption candidate.’
‘Private adoption?’ Nina instantly stiffened.
Nadia gave her sister a streetwise look. ‘There are people out there who will pay big money for a cute little baby. I want to make sure I get the best deal I can. With my connections with Bryce I might even be able to find a Hollywood actor who will want Georgia. Think of the money they would be prepared to pay.’
Nina’s eyes flared in shock and her heart began to thump unevenly behind her ribcage. ‘How can you do this to your own child?’
‘It’s none of your business what I do,’ Nadia said. ‘She’s my child, not yours.’
‘Let me adopt her,’ Nina begged. ‘I can do it. I’m a blood relative, which would make it so much easier, surely?’
Nadia shook her head. ‘No. I’m going to use this opportunity to its fullest extent.’ Her eyes glinted with unmistakable avarice. ‘It’s like a lucky windfall when you think about it. It’s my chance to free myself of Andre’s child and make a whole heap of money in the process.’
‘You’re so mercenary.’
‘Not mercenary—realistic,’ Nadia insisted. ‘We might be identical twins but I’m not like you, Nina, and it’s high time you accepted it. I want to travel and I want the comfort of wealth and privilege around me. You can keep your long hours in a boring old library—I want a life.’
Nina straightened her shoulders, her chin lifting in pride. ‘I enjoy my work.’
‘Yeah, well, I enjoy shopping and dining out and partying. And I’m going to do a hell of a lot of it when I get to Bryce’s mansion in Los Angeles. I can’t wait.’
‘I can’t believe you’re simply going to walk away from your responsibilities. Georgia isn’t some sort of toy you can push to one side. She’s a baby, for God’s sake. Doesn’t that mean anything to you at all?’
‘No.’ Nadia’s cold grey eyes clashed with hers. ‘It means absolutely nothing to me. I told you—I don’t want her.’ She scooped up her bag and, rummaging in it, handed her sister a document folder. ‘Here is her birth certificate and passport; keep them safe for when it’s time to hand her over.’ She hoisted her handbag back on to her shoulder and turned for the door.
‘Nadia, wait!’ Nina cried, glancing at the pram in desperation. ‘Aren’t you even going to say goodbye to her?’
Nadia opened the door and, with one last determined look, closed it firmly behind her.
Nina knew it would be hopeless running after her to implore her to come back. For most of her twenty-four years she’d been pleading with Nadia to stop and think about her actions, but to no avail. Her wayward and wilful twin had gone from one disaster to another, causing immeasurable hurt in the process and showing little remorse. But this was surely the worst so far.
There was a soft whimper from inside the pram and, moving across the small room, she reached inside to pick up the tiny pink bundle.
‘Hey, precious,’ she said as she cradled the infant close to her chest, marvelling yet again at the minute perfection of her features. ‘Are you hungry, little one?’
The baby began to nuzzle against her and Nina felt a wave of overwhelming love wash through her. She couldn’t bear the thought of her niece being handed over to someone else to rear. What if things didn’t work out and Georgia’s childhood ended up like hers and Nadia’s? Nina remembered it all too well—the regular stints in foster care, some of the placements a whole lot less desirable than the neglect she and her twin had received at home. How could she stand by and watch the same thing happen to Georgia?
Nina knew how the legal adoption system worked but this private process made her feel very uneasy. What if someone totally unsuitable offered her sister a huge amount of money? What sort of screening process would the prospective parents go through, if any?
She became aware of the seeping wetness of Georgia’s clothing and, carrying her through to her room, laid her on the bed and gently undressed her as she’d done countless times before. She got down to the last layer, a tiny yellowed vest that was frayed at the edges. She peeled it over the tiny child’s head, cooing to her niece as she did so until the soft nonsense of her words dried up in her throat as she encountered what the vest had hidden from view. Her eyes widened in shock at the purple welt of bruises along Georgia’s ribcage, bruises that exactly matched the length and width of her own fingers as if she’d done the damage herself.
‘Oh, Nadia, how could you?’ she gulped, fighting back tears for how she hadn’t been able to prevent her niece from suffering what had been commonplace in her own childhood and that of her twin.
Nina determined then and there that she would do whatever she could to keep Georgia herself. Surely there was a way to convince Nadia to give the baby to her permanently.
She had to find one!
Other single mothers coped, so too would she—somehow.
She chewed the ragged edge of one nail as she considered her options. It wouldn’t be easy for her—she could hardly afford childcare on her present salary at the library.
She looked down at the sleeping infant, her chest squeezing painfully at the thought of never seeing her tiny niece again.
No. She would simply not allow her sister to go through with it.
She would be Georgia’s mother and if anyone thought differently, too bad.
No one was going to take her niece away from her.
No one.
Marc Marcello frowned as his secretary informed him via the office intercom that his father was on the phone from the Villa Marcello in Sorrento, Italy.
He picked up the receiver and, swivelling in his leather chair, looked out at the expansive view over Sydney Harbour as he pressed the talk button.
‘Marc! You have to do something about that woman and do it immediately,’ Vito Marcello burst out in rapid-fire Italian.
‘I take it you mean Andre’s little whore?’ Marc answered smoothly.
‘She might be a whore but she is also the mother of my only grandchild,’ Vito growled.
Marc stiffened in his chair. ‘What makes you so certain all of a sudden? Andre refused a paternity test; he said he had always used protection.’
‘He might have used protection but I now have reason to believe it failed.’
Marc frowned and turned his chair back to his desk, the sudden thump of his heart in his chest surprising him into a temporary silence.
‘I
