The Italian's Secret Child Read online

  He inspected his glass, held negligently between his fingers. When he looked up again, she saw his dark eyes still danced with amusement. “Just because a man is single and chooses to live alone doesn’t necessarily mean he’s without companionship, cara.”

  “Well, of course it doesn’t!” she said, stung. Not for a moment had she thought he’d given up women, just because he’d grown tired of her! “How naive do you think I am?”

  “Quite a lot more than you’d like me to believe,” he said with unflinching candor. “You are, by nature, without guile. Everything you feel is laid out for the rest of the world to see—and to trample on, should it feel so inclined.”

  She raised her glass again, took another mouthful of the grappa, and savored it as he’d instructed her to do, before allowing it to slide down her throat. “You think you know me so well, Matteo,” she told him, her tongue finding its way with difficulty around her words as the warmth of the liquor ran through her blood, “but the fact of the matter is, you couldn’t be farther off the mark.”

  “I know you’re easily crushed, and very vulnerable to rejection. I rather think that’s why, so soon after I left you, you married a man old enough to be your father. Because he represented safety and stability and constancy. All those things which, at the time, I couldn’t—or wouldn’t—give you.”

  “If it makes you feel better to believe that, go right ahead.”

  Oh dear! Had she slurred her reply a little? Turned “makes” into “makesh”?

  But if Matteo noticed she’d had a little trouble articulating clearly, he gave no indication. “How did you meet him, anyway, this short-term late husband of yours? You always said you planned to attend the college where your father teaches.”

  “I changed my mind and moved to the west coast. Charles was one of my university profs.”

  “Wasn’t it professionally unethical for a man in his position to become romantically involved with one of his students?”

  “You’re a fine one to talk about ethics!” she snorted, downing another sip of brandy. “At least he had the decency to stand by me when he found out about the….”

  Oh, good grief, that tore it! Aghast at what she’d almost let slip, she shrank against the back of the couch and clamped her lips together.

  “Do go on,” Matteo prompted gently. “When he found about what, Stephanie?”

  If, a moment before, she’d felt a pleasant buzz from the brandy, it very quickly evaporated and left her horribly clear-headed. Marshaling her thoughts and all too aware that she’d painted herself into an impossible corner, she decided brazen nerve offered the only avenue of escape.

  “When he found out we were expecting a baby, Matteo. Yes, we had to get married, as they used to say in the old days.”

  “I see.”

  “Well, don’t look so shocked! It happens to the best of couples. And after all, you were the one who introduced me to the joys of sex, so you shouldn’t be too surprised that I developed quite a taste for it.”

  “As you appear to have for grappa,” he said grimly, moving her glass out of reach. “Keep your voice down, cara. There’s no need to inform the whole room of your adolescent exploits.”

  She peeped around the lacquered screen, saw the heads of other guests turned her way, and wanted to die. But she’d weathered worse humiliation, and she’d survive this.

  Drawing the tattered threads of her dignity around her, she looked him straight in the eye and said stiffly, “You’re quite right, Matteo. I’m afraid the brandy’s gone to my head. I’ve made an utter fool of myself, and offended you into the bargain.”

  “Don’t concern yourself about me. I have broad shoulders. But your husband…!” He made a sound of disgust. “For a man his age to take such advantage of a girl—”

  “It wasn’t like that,” she felt conscience-bound to explain. “Charles was a good man. But at the time that we met, we were both…fragile. I took it rather hard when you and I broke up. Teenagers are apt to think their lives are over when their first love comes to an end, and I was no exception.”

  “And what was his excuse? That he was in the throes of a midlife crisis and looking for a child-bride to restore his youth?”

  “He was a recent widower. His wife and daughter had been killed in an automobile accident just three months earlier. I suppose, if you must put a label on it, we were both on the rebound. We wanted to be close to someone again. Have someone to lean on, someone who understood our pain and made it go away. By the time we realized there aren’t any shortcuts, that you can’t just plug in another face and another name, and expect to cobble your life back together and make it the same as it was before, it was too late. We were married.”

  “And had a son.”

  “Yes,” she said evenly. “We had a son.”

  “Who wasn’t reason enough for his parents to work at saving their marriage.”

  “Sometimes, Matteo,” she said on a sigh, doing her utmost to cut through the deceit and utilize whatever grains of truth she could find, “the only way to move forward is to cut your losses. That’s what Charles and I did.”

  “Regardless of the cost to your boy.” He shook his head. “I confess, I don’t understand the logic of it all. Surely it’s always in the best interests of a child to have both his parents in his life?”

  Trying very hard to keep her voice steady, Stephanie said, “I’m not sure what makes you such an expert on family dynamics, but this much I do know. Charles and I did not reach our decision lightly, and I do not have to justify it to you, or anyone else. Simon is a happy, well-adjusted child who knows he is dearly loved, and in the end, that’s all that counts.” Very deliberately, she placed her coffee cup on the trolley, picked up her purse, and rose from the couch. “And since we’re never going to see eye-to-eye on the matter, there’s no point in continuing this conversation. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to go home now.”

  “Of course,” he said, getting to his feet also. “I can see that you’re tired.”

  Tired? Emotionally drained was more like it! Clinging for dear life to the marble banister, she went ahead of him down the stairs. Now that the immediate threat of exposure was past, delayed reaction set in, and she felt weak all over at the realization of how close she’d come to making a complete disaster of her and Simon’s life.

  She and Matteo exchanged not a word during the drive back to the villa, although she was aware that he glanced at her occasionally. But she stared straight ahead and refused to acknowledge him.

  Given her way, when he drew the car up outside the Villa Elenna, she’d have hopped out and disappeared through the gates with no more than a cursory “good night.” He was too quick for her, though. The vehicle had barely cruised to a stop before he was out of the driver’s seat and coming around to open her door.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Dinner was excellent and I had a very nice time…for the most part.”

  “Perhaps we can do it again before you leave.”

  She hesitated, torn between temptation and caution. In the end, the latter won out and she turned toward the villa’s big iron gates, knowing that the sooner she was safely on their other side, the better off she’d be. “Let’s not push our luck, Matteo. As you must have gathered, I don’t deal too well with criticism, and you don’t appear willing to keep your unwelcome opinions to yourself.”

  She had no inkling how closely he’d followed her until his breath feathered over the nape of her neck. “And if I promise to steer well clear of your past affairs, and concentrate solely on the pleasure of your company, would you then change your mind?” he asked, resting his hands on her shoulders.

  She quivered beneath his touch and he, recognizing the indecision tormenting her, tightened his hold and spun her around to face him. “Say ‘yes,’ Stephanie,” he urged.

  She lifted her face, intending to fell him with a haughty stare and a second refusal. Instead, her mouth blundered against his, and she was lost.

>   The night turned black, but inside her head a thousand brilliant falling stars exploded. Helplessly, she clutched at him. Dug her nails into the swell of muscle at his shoulders and prayed for deliverance from the melting hunger assailing her.

  His hands slid to her waist and pulled her hard against him.

  “Say ‘yes,’ he muttered again.

  “Yes,” she whispered, so hopelessly caught up in the sheer wonder of the moment that she’d have done anything to prolong it. Feeling him pressed against her again, his mouth moving restlessly over hers, hungry, demanding, was the only thing that mattered. “Yes!”

  It was as if a dam burst then, sweeping aside layer after layer of hurt and resentment in a torrent of pure, cleansing emotion. All the long, empty years of lying alone in her bed, wondering if she’d ever again know the kind of soaring pleasure she’d once found with him, dispersed in the heat of his kiss like thistledown on a summer breeze.

  She dared to slip her arms around his neck; to touch his hair and inhale the scent of his skin. To taste his mouth as freely as he tasted hers. To fit her body to the shape of his, limb to limb, and heart to heart.

  At last, cradling her face between his hands, he stared down at her, his dark eyes glimmering in the moonlight. “Has it really been ten years, carissima?” he murmured. “Somehow, it seems it was just yesterday that I made you mine. Can we not pick up where we left off, and see where it might lead us?”

  She traced the shape of his mouth with trembling fingers, all too vibrantly cognizant of where renewed passion would lead. To greater heartbreak for her, and utter disillusionment for him. Because from everything he’d said tonight, she knew without a shadow of doubt that he’d never forgive her for having kept his son from him.

  “Better not to tempt fate,” she said, blinking away a sudden rush of tears. “Better to leave things as they are.”

  For a second, she thought he would argue the point, and braced herself to resist him. But at the last, he stepped back and let her go. “For tonight, perhaps,” he said. “But I give you fair warning now, Stephanie: tomorrow is another day, and I’ve never been a man to concede defeat easily.”

  Looking down now at her beautiful sleeping child, despair at the unkindness of fate washed over Stephanie in unrelenting waves. If she and Matteo were destined to find lasting love, why couldn’t it have been then, when she had nothing to hide and nothing to fear, instead of now when so much history lay between them?

  “It isn’t fair!” she mourned silently, turning away from Simon’s bed, then gave a strangled gasp as her face, pale in the dim light, swam before her in the ornate gilded mirror hanging over the dresser.

  No, it isn’t fair. And whose fault is that, Stephanie? Who’s the one who ran away because she was too cowardly to stay and face the consequences of her actions? Who cared more about what her family might think, than she did about how the father of her child might react to news of her pregnancy? her reflection inquired.

  Shamefaced, she whispered, “I did.”

  Exactly! that remorseless other self replied. You’re the one who started the lies. Now you’ll have to live with them.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE next morning, her grandmother took Stephanie aside and said, “While you were all out last night, your grandfather and I had a visitor. The widow from next door stopped by to invite everyone over for lunch today, and I accepted. She specifically said to be sure to let you know that Simon’s included.”

  Stephanie wished she could come up with a good reason to decline, not because she had anything against the widow next door, but because she had no wish to risk running into Matteo again. If she’d learned nothing else last night, she knew with absolute certainty that she had to keep her distance from him. He was as addictive as a narcotic, and every bit as harmful.

  Noting her hesitation, her grandmother said with a wry laugh, “Corinna’s a perfectly lovely woman. Your grandfather was quite smitten by her. I think you’ll like her, Stephanie.”

  “I’m sure I will.” Stephanie chewed her lip, weighing the pleasure of a social occasion at which her father and older brother would feel obligated to put on their best party manners, against the very slight chance that she might cross paths with Matteo. He rented the gardener’s cottage, after all, not part of the main house, and might very well not even be on the premises that day.

  “Then why the indecision? Is spending time with the rest of us so very tedious, my love?”

  “No, of course not!” she said contritely, knowing full well what high hopes her grandmother had pinned on their family reunion.

  “Then you’ll come with us?”

  “Yes. I’m looking forward to it.” And she absolutely would not allow thoughts of Matteo to intrude and spoil the occasion.

  “Wonderful! Corinna expects us at noon, and said we’ll be lunching in the garden and should dress casually.”

  Later that morning, after spending an hour in the pool with Simon, Stephanie surveyed her wardrobe and wondered exactly what, in the widow’s eyes, constituted “casual.” Although shorts and halter tops were common enough among the tourists she’d seen, residents of the island, particularly older women, seemed inclined toward a more formal style of dress. That being so, she decided to err on the side of caution, and chose a navy striped dress with elbow length sleeves and a hem which just skimmed her knees, and flat navy sandals.

  The rest of the family had assembled on the terrace when she came downstairs with Simon. “Well, let’s get this over with,” her father declared, looking much put-upon, while her mother fluttered anxiously in the background. “I hope you’ll remember your manners, Simon. If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s a child who misbehaves. Remember to eat with your mouth closed and keep your elbows off the table. And don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.”

  “That’ll do, Bruce,” Stephanie’s grandfather ordered, before she could get in a word, which was just as well since those bubbling on the tip of her tongue were scarcely fit for Simon’s young ears. “I think we’ve all seen enough of the boy this last few days to know that Stephanie’s done a first-rate job of teaching him what’s what.”

  On that congenial note, they all trooped down the steps and headed for the next door property. “This shindig had better not last all afternoon,” Victor said dourly, as they passed under the flower-draped pergola at the fork in the path. “Lonely widows bleating on about their dead husbands aren’t my idea of entertainment.”

  Overhearing, his grandmother said, “You might be in for a pleasant surprise, Victor. Not everyone is as self-involved as you appear to believe.”

  “Women are,” he replied. “Why else do you suppose I’ve never married?”

  Bringing up the rear with Simon and her mother, Stephanie said bluntly, “I can think of a few reasons, Victor, but I imagine it’d be a waste of breath trying to explain them to you, since your mind’s made up and you don’t care to be confounded by facts.”

  Her mother let out a nervous titter, Drew buried a grin, but her father and Victor looked thoroughly outraged. Victor’s failed relationships might be legendary, but it was unheard of for anyone in the family to dare suggest he might be more to blame than the hapless women he became involved with.

  “I suppose, having managed to screw up your own marriage, that you’re the voice of experience?” he sneered.

  “At least I’m not afraid to admit I made a mistake.”

  “Some of us choose not to make mistakes at all, Stephanie,” her father pronounced.

  “And some of us are human,” she retorted, ignoring his affronted glare. For heaven’s sake, how old did she have to be, before he accepted that, while she’d always be his youngest offspring, she’d long since outgrown childhood? Would he ever show any respect for her opinions, or leap to her defense as he repeatedly leaped to Victor’s?

  Probably not, but how much did it matter after all this time? She’d made a life outside her father’s sphere of influence, and as long as she
had Simon, she didn’t need anyone else’s approval.

  Comforted by the thought, she tucked her hand more firmly around her son’s and, when a turn in the path brought into view a charming miniature villa fronted by a courtyard, she marched past without turning a hair. If that was where Matteo lived, he could hang from the upper balcony and yodel, if he so chose. If she could emerge unscathed from a verbal altercation with her father, she could certainly weather anything Matteo De Luca served up.

  Set in manicured gardens, the main house was an architectural masterpiece of classic curves and lemon stucco walls draped in bougainvillea. A long, oval swimming pool lay at the foot of a shallow flight of steps which led up to a terrace filled with ornate wrought iron furniture, and shaded by bright orange umbrellas.

  As the guests approached, a brilliantly feathered parrot hopped up and down on its perch in a bamboo cage, and screeched raucously, “Ciao! Avanti! Avanti!”

  Right on cue, a woman emerged from the villa and came down the steps to meet them. “Buon giorno!” she called out in a rich, melodious voice. “Signor e Signora Leyland, I’m delighted you’re here.”

  “Ciao!” the parrot squawked again, fixing Simon in a malevolent yellow stare. “E sposato?”

  The woman laughed merrily. “No, Guido, the young signor is not married!”

  Still eyeing Simon, Guido hopped closer to the bars of his cage and ruffled his crest in a ludicrous parody of flirtation. “Come si chiama, innamorato?”

  “He wants to know your name, signor,” the woman said, with a smile.

  “Simon Matthew Leyland-Owen,” Simon dutifully replied, at which Stephanie cringed a little. Her decision to name him after his father, and to match his initials to his parents’, suddenly didn’t seem such a smart idea.

  If the woman picked up on the coincidence, she made no mention of it. “Ciao, Simon.” See-mon, she pronounced it, drawing out the word and somehow turning it into a song. “I am Signora Russo, but you may call me Corinna.” She squeezed both his hands, then extended a graceful arm in a gesture which embraced the rest of them. “It is my pleasure to welcome all of you to the Villa Aurelia!”