Pregnant With The Billionaire's Baby: Valentino's Love-Child / Innocent Secretary...Accidentally Pregnant. Carol MarinelliЧитать онлайн книгу.
complete with perfect replicas of her own face and that of Taylish holding a little boy whose features were an amalgam of both of them resided in her studio at home.
“My mother bought it for me.”
That didn’t surprise Faith. Nor did the fact that Tino was awake. He slept too lightly not to have woken to the shower running. “Do you like it?”
“Very much. It reminds me of when Maura was alive.”
“Oh.” Of course…there was nothing in this statue to show the deep sorrow that etched her face in the original.
“It is as if she has her arms open, welcoming Gio and myself into them.”
“Or as if she’s letting you go.” That’s what she’d titled the first one she’d done, but when she created another faceless rendition, she’d simply called it Family.
“Is that wishful thinking?” Tino asked, an edge to his voice.
She turned to face him. “What do you mean?”
“Are you hoping my wife has finally let me go so that I might claim someone new in her place?” There was nothing to give away what he was thinking in his face.
It didn’t matter. The only course open to her—especially now—was honesty. “If I say yes?”
“I will remind you that if I ever do remarry it will be to a Sicilian woman, someone who can give Gio that little part of his mother at the very least.” Pain flashed in his eyes, quickly followed by guilt and then both were gone, leaving only the stoic expression behind.
Promise not to date others notwithstanding, she could really have done without that reminder. The knowledge he was still so adamant about not marrying her hurt. Badly. And she was absolutely certain that pain was not a hormones-gone-wild-induced emotion.
“Why did you let me sleep here last night?” she had to ask as she fought against showing the pain his words had caused.
“I fell asleep.”
“You never just fall asleep.”
“There is a first time for everything.”
So it had been subconscious. She’d wondered and now she knew. He didn’t know why he’d brought her to his bed in his family home. And honestly? That didn’t matter right now. What did matter was that he regretted it. That much was obvious. Anything else he might be feeling was hidden behind the enigmatic mask he wore.
And she should not be surprised.
She was the first woman to share that bed since the death of his wife. As hard as his regret was for her to bear, the situation was equally difficult for him. Only in a different way.
She’d had her own moments of letting go in the years since Taylish and their unborn son had died. She knew how wrenching they could be. Regardless of her own feelings right now, she could not ignore the pain twisting inside Tino. It was not in her nature to do so, but beyond that—she loved him.
She caressed the statue. It was a beautiful piece. One of her favorites. The one in her studio expressed and brought a measure of peace for an emotional agony she had been unable to give voice to. No one had been there to hear.
She would be there for Tino now, if he wanted her to be. “Tino—”
“I won’t be able to see you again until my parents return.” The words were clipped, hard.
“I understand.” She really did.
He stood there, silent, as if he expected her to say something else.
“It’s all right, Tino.” She gave one last lingering glance at the statue and then began dressing.
He flinched, as if those were not the words he wanted or expected to hear. “I will see you then?”
She paused in the act of slipping on her sandals. “Of course.”
“Good.” He nodded, looking at a loss. So different from the typical Tino—business tycoon and suave but distant lover.
When she was done dressing she stopped in front of him and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “It really is going to be all right.” Letting go was a necessary part of grief.
The fact that Tino was doing so, even if only on a subconscious level, gave her hope.
“No doubt.”
“It isn’t easy for any of us.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, edgy again. Or still. He hadn’t relaxed since she came out of the bathroom.
“Letting go.”
“I have nothing to let go of.”
She didn’t argue. There would be no point. And it would only make him more determined to prove himself right. He had enough to overcome in moving forward, without adding another dose of his stubborn will to the mix.
“I’ll see you when your parents return from Naples.”
* * *
VALENTINO SWORE AND slammed his hand down beside the statue Faith had admired. His wife letting him go? He did not think so.
Maura would be in his heart forever. He had promised.
The memory was as visceral today as it had been an hour after it happened.
His beautiful young wife had started off not feeling well that morning. He’d had the temerity to hope it meant she was pregnant again.
But that had not been the case.
Ignorant of the tragedy to come, he’d flown out of country for a business meeting in Greece with hope in his heart of increasing his family. He remembered that while his wife’s body betrayed her and she slipped further away from him, he had spent the day smiling more than usual, feeling on top of the world. And then his world had come crashing down.
His meeting had been a success, opening the doors for the major expansion of the Grisafi family interests. He would exchange that success and all that had come later for one more lucid day with the mother of his son.
Valentino’s mother had called him just before he boarded the jet for home. Papa had taken Maura to the hospital because she had passed out walking up the stairs. By the time Valentino had reached the hospital, his wife was in a coma.
Petrified for the first time in his life, sweating through his expensive shirt, he’d rushed into the room. Maura had been so damn pale and completely motionless. He’d taken her lifeless hand, his heart ceasing at its coolness. He had begged her to wake up, to speak to him, to squeeze his hand—anything.
But nothing. Not then. Not later. No fluttering eyelids. No half-formed words. No goodbyes. Absolutely nothing.
The only sounds had come from him—his desperate pleas and constant talking until his voice was no more than a hoarse whisper in hopes of sparking a connection to her shut-down brain—and from the machines hooked up to her. Machines and medications that had been unsuccessful at saving her life.
Her first discernable diabetic attack had been her last. Nothing the doctors did brought her blood sugars under control and she died without coming out of the coma.
He’d spent every minute with her, but it had done no good. And when she’d gone into cardiac arrest, the doctors had called security to force him from the room. He’d been in another country when she’d fallen into the coma and out in the hall when she let go of life.
The doctors said her reaction to the disease was extremely rare. But not rare enough, was it? His wife, the mother of his child was dead and nothing would ever change that.
He would never forget the rage, the grief and the utter helplessness he felt holding his small son in his arms as they said goodbye to her. He had promised then, standing over her grave, holding their sobbing son who just wanted his mama. Valentino had promised he would never