He allowed her that small, defiant move and stood back and watched while she splashed water on her face-soaking the front of her robe in the process-and gargled some mouthwash. She pretended he wasn’t there and exited the bathroom to return to the living room with her spine straight and her chin up.
“Maybe you should lie down or something,” he suggested, and she swallowed down her irritation as she glanced over her shoulder to find him watching her from the bathroom door.
“Why are you still here?” She trudged the short distance to her room, shrugged out of her wet robe, and hung it from a hook on her wall to dry. Unfortunately, he followed her. Could the man not take a hint?
He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and glanced around her bedroom, taking in the clothes that were draped over every surface, the posters of ballet and contemporary dancers that adorned her beige walls, and the ragged pointe shoes that were hanging from one of the posts of her gorgeous, antique, queen-size four-poster bed. She loved that bed, had brought it with her from her old bedroom in the house when she moved out. It cost the earth to transport it every time she moved, but she would never sell it or leave it behind.
“I can’t figure out if this room is a teen dream or nightmare,” he mused, and leveled that killer gaze on her again. “A bit juvenile, isn’t it? Do you plan to move out of this dump before you have the baby?”
“None of your damned business. Please leave,” she demanded wearily. He sighed impatiently and turned to walk the short distance to her bedroom door.
“Mike Grayson, my attorney, will be in touch.” He threw the words over his shoulder as he reached for the front door. She trailed him back into the living room and was startled when he unexpectedly turned around again to look at her. “Eat something. You look like hell.”
And with that parting shot, he was gone, leaving Cleo feeling absolutely drained in his wake. Her legs turned to liquid as she finally allowed herself to relax, and she sank down onto the sleeper couch.
The door opened again seconds later and surprised the hell out of her. She jumped-instantly back on alert-when his head popped through the opening.
“And lock the damned door!” he ordered before leaving again. She stared at the closed door in complete disbelief, before forcing herself up to do just as he’d commanded. More as a deterrent against any more unwelcome visits from him than out of any real fear of an intruder.
Ten days and one simple cheek swab later, Dante sat in his office and stared at the discreet, still-closed envelope he held in his hands. He knew what it would say; he’d known since that first meeting with Mike. A mercenary woman would have demanded far more from him than Cleo had.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said aloud. And it didn’t. It couldn’t. This kid wouldn’t be his in any way except biologically, and he could live with that. He could quite happily live with that. Why should he sacrifice his freedom for what amounted to a stupid mistake? Cleo chose to keep the baby, and Dante chose not to know the child. They could both live with that.
And someday-when it was old enough-the kid would have to live with that too.
He would have to live with the knowledge that his father had chosen not to know him. Or love him.
Dante noticed, almost impassively, that his hands had started to shake, and he dropped the envelope onto his desk and clenched his fists to control the tremble. He picked it up again seconds later, took in a huge gulp of air, and tore it open-the violence of the gesture akin to ripping a Band-Aid off a wound.
He unfolded the slip of paper carefully, reading through the scientific jargon before getting to the most relevant bit.
Cannot be excluded as the father of the child . . . probability of paternity 99.9992%
Right.
He refolded the paper precisely along the original lines and noted that his hands were trembling again. He meticulously placed it back into its envelope and then smoothed it carefully flat on the desk’s surface before tucking it away into the breast pocket of his jacket. Once there, it felt like it was burning a hole into his chest, so he removed it again and shoved it into his desk drawer. He locked the drawer and tucked the key into his breast pocket.
He had anticipated this; he had known it was coming, so now he could continue with his life as planned. This matter was already taken care of; Mike had only been waiting for confirmation of the child’s paternity before he made the financial arrangements. It was out of Dante’s hands now. He could get back to business. He could build more hotels; go out with gorgeous, glamorous women; and one day-years from now-even marry one of them. That woman would be the mother of his children. Simple and uncomplicated, that’s how he liked his life. And the woman he chose to be his wife would have to be equally simple and uncomplicated. Someone who could make his life easier without needing constant attention and validation. Cleo and the baby were just obstacles to overcome before he could get back out onto the open, uncomplicated road of his life again. He need never think of them again.
Only . . .
He couldn’t help but recall the last time he’d seen Cleo, and he wondered if she’d found another job. And if she’d moved into a better, more secure apartment yet. Were the tips of her glossy black hair still that horrendous shade of pink?
Did she still suffer from morning sickness?
What wonders did week fourteen hold?
Mierda!
He had to stop thinking about this. He picked up his phone and thumbed through his contacts before finding the name he was searching for.
“Nicki, querida, this is Dante. Do you want to meet for a drink later?”
He was going to get this situation out of his mind in a time-honored tradition. With booze, babes, and lots and lots of sex.
Cleo read the test results, laughed, then cried a little and laughed again before tearing the paper up and tossing the pieces in the bin. She would probably hear from Grantley Bingham, her grandparents’ really ancient attorney, soon. Mr. Bingham had kindly offered to help her out for a fraction of his usual fee because he felt he owed it to her grandparents. He’d been dealing directly with Dante’s attorney and had informed her that things were going along swimmingly at the moment.
The old man was sweet, and despite knowing her for her entire life, had remained completely nonjudgmental and professional throughout their proceedings. He had merely congratulated her on her pregnancy and kept giving her unwanted advice on everything from morning sickness to baby names.
Cleo rested a hand on the still-flat surface of her abdomen. She still suffered from morning sickness, but luckily it wasn’t too debilitating anymore. Even though her book told her that her energy should be returning, she continued to feel lethargic, which she put down to a mild case of depression. She didn’t have a job yet, and once she started showing it would be even more difficult to find anything. Luc and Blue had been pressing her to move in with them, and it was becoming the likeliest scenario for her.
Luc had been seriously pissed off with her when she’d told him that she’d quit her job, and he’d put it down to “Cleo being her usual irresponsible self.” Cleo had said and done nothing to correct him.
Cleo was scared and felt alone and lonely, despite Cal’s constant and overbearing presence and Luc and Blue’s smothering. Most nights she woke up in an absolute panic, with cold sweat dripping down her body-terrified of screwing up her baby’s life-and she had absolutely no one to talk to about that.
She had her first dating ultrasound coming up in a couple of days and hadn’t even told Blue about it. The appointment was for midday, and she didn’t want Blue to take off any more time from work to go with her. Luc managed a small IT company in a rundown industrial part of town, and the place always seemed to fall completely apart when he wasn’t there. She could take Cal, but quite frankly, she’d rather go alone; he tended to irritate her when she felt even remotely stressed.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.