Postcards From Rome: The Italian's Pregnant Virgin / A Proposal from the Italian Count / A Ring for Vincenzo's Heir. Lucy GordonЧитать онлайн книгу.
when the reality of the situation was so sharp. When his pulse was beating a steady tattoo in his throat, when his blood was running hot and fast beneath his skin. A baby. Esther Abbott, this American backpacker, was pregnant with his baby. Yes, he would have to verify all of this with Ashley, but he was forced to believe Esther. Though he had no real reason to.
Nothing beyond gut instinct. The idea of trusting his gut nearly made him laugh. But then, he rarely trusted his gut. Usually, he trusted in parts lower. And his own quick intellect, which he often allowed himself to imagine was above reproach.
In matters of business, it was. When he was consulted on where a certain business should be built, when he was tasked with seeing to a major bit of real estate development, he never failed. Instincts, inherited from his father, drove him in that arena.
Apparently, in other matters he was not quite so discerning. Or so unerring. His ex-wife was one of the very prominent examples of that truth.
Jillian being another.
Women. It seemed he had a tendency to be a fool for women. No matter that he kept his heart out of any such entanglements, he seemed to have a knack for finding women who got him in other ways.
He looked sideways at Esther, then quickly turned his focus back to the road. He would have no such issues with her. She was plain. Pretty, he supposed. But her wide brown eyes were unlined, unenhanced in any way. Her dark eyebrows a bit heavier than he typically liked on a woman. There were vague bruised-looking circles beneath her eyes, and he couldn’t work out if that was because of exhaustion, or if it was simply part of her coloring.
He was so accustomed to seeing women with a full face of makeup that was near enough to airbrushing in real life that he found it very hard to say.
Her lips were full, dusky, and he thought probably the most attractive thing about her. Though, her body was also nice enough. Her breasts weren’t large, but they were beautiful shaped, and it was clear she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath that black tank top of hers.
But her breasts were immaterial. The only thing that mattered was her womb. And whether or not his child currently resided inside it.
He turned sharply into his driveway, leaving the gate wide open, and not particularly caring. Then, he got out of the car, rounding it and jerking open the passenger door. “Welcome to your new home,” he said, knowing that his tone sounded anything but welcoming.
She bit her bottom lip, gathering her backpack from the floor of the car, and getting out, holding the offensive canvas bag to her chest. She looked around, eyes wide, a sort of sickly pallor appearing beneath her tan skin.
“You were just here a couple of days ago,” he said. “You can stop looking so intimidated.”
“Well,” she said, directing her focus to him, “you’re intimidating. A house like this... One that is practically a castle... That’s intimidating.” She took a deep breath. “And I know I was here earlier. But this is different. I was focused on telling you about the baby. I wasn’t thinking I would stay here.”
“Are you going to pretend that you would prefer the hostel? There is no need to pretend with me. You agreed to carry a child for money. It isn’t as though you can suddenly make believe you have no interest in material things.”
She shook her head. “I don’t. I mean, not the way that you think. I want to go to college.”
He frowned. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
He held back a curse. She was the same age as his sister, Allegra. Possibly a bit younger. Had he been the sort of man who possessed the ability to feel sympathy for strangers, he thought he might feel some for her. But those softer feelings had been bled from him long ago, empathy replaced by a vague sense of concern.
“And you couldn’t access any scholarships?”
“No. I had to pay to take the SATs. I didn’t exactly go to high school. But my scores are good enough to get into a few places. I think. I just need to get my financial ducks in a row.”
“You didn’t go to high school?”
She pursed her lips together. “I was homeschooled. Kind of. Anyway, it isn’t like I was trying to get myself a yacht. And even if I was, nobody does surrogacy for free for a stranger.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I suppose not. Come this way.”
He led the way into the villa, suddenly completely at a loss. His housekeeper had already retired to her quarters, and here he was with an urchin whom he suddenly had to manage. “I imagine you’re tired,” he said.
“Hungry,” she replied.
He gritted his teeth. “The kitchen is this way.”
He led her through the expensive house, listening to the sound of her shuffling footsteps behind him as they made their way to the kitchen. The house itself was old. Stonework dating back centuries. But inside, all of the modern conveniences had been supplied. He made his way to the large stainless steel fridge and opened it. “You may have your pick of what’s inside.”
As soon as he said that, he realized that most of the food was still ingredients, and not exactly a meal. But surely, there would be something. Then he remembered that his housekeeper often left portions in the freezer for him just in case.
He didn’t often eat at home, and he would just as soon go out if there was no staff on hand to make him something. But he was not going back out tonight.
He looked until he found what looked to be a container of pasta. “Here you go,” he said, setting it down in front of a wide-eyed Esther.
He didn’t stay to see what she did after that. Instead, he strode from the room, taking the stairs two at a time and heading toward his office. He paced the length of the room for a moment, then turned to his desk, taking hold of his phone and dialing his ex-wife.
It took only two rings for Ashley to answer. That didn’t surprise him. If she was going to answer, of course she would do it quickly. Otherwise, had she intended to ignore him, she would have done so steadfastly. She was nothing if not extreme.
“Renzo,” she said, sounding bored. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You may not find it such a pleasure to speak to me, Ashley. Not when you hear what I have to say.”
“I have not actually found it a pleasure to speak to you for quite a few months.”
“We were only married for six months, so I hope that’s an exaggeration.”
“It isn’t. Why do you think I had to find other men to satisfy me?”
“If you are talking about emotional satisfaction, I have several answers for that. However, if you mean to imply that I did not satisfy you physically, then I’m going to have to call you a liar.”
Ashley huffed. “There’s more to life than sex.”
“Yes indeed. There is, in fact, the small matter of the woman who is currently downstairs in my kitchen.”
“We’re divorced now,” Ashley said, her voice so sharp it could cut glass. “Who is or is not in your kitchen—or bed—is none of my concern.”
“It is when it’s Esther Abbott. A woman who claims that she had an agreement with you. For her to carry our child.”
There was a pause. He was almost satisfied that he had clearly succeeded in rendering Ashley speechless. It was such a difficult thing to do. Even when she had been caught in bed with someone else, she had done her best to talk, scream and cry her way out of it. She was not one to let it rest. She was never one to let someone else have the last word.
Her silence now was telling. Though, of her absolute surprise, or of her chagrin at being found out, he didn’t know.
“I thought it might save us. But that was before... Before the divorce