A Sicilian Husband - Kate Walker [49]
‘It only takes one time.’
‘I know that! I’m not a fool!’
The blazingly scathing glare he turned on her told her that a fool was the least insulting thing he wanted to call her, the heat of his contempt searing dangerously over her exposed skin.
‘Then don’t act like one! Face facts! You might be pregnant—and if you are then we have to decide what to do about it!’
‘I have to decide what to do about it!’
‘It would be my child!’
‘Only half yours!’
But even as she flung the words into his dark face, she knew them for the mistake they were. To Giovanni Cardella, pure, unreformed Sicilian male, any child he fathered was his and no one else’s. The woman who was given the honour of being impregnated by his seed might just get some consideration while she was carrying and nurturing the precious child, but once it was born it would be pure Cardella and nothing else. Then she might be lucky enough to be allowed a look-in on its upbringing, but little more. Unless, of course, she was the saintly Lucia.
‘But I would take care of it. I would make sure it had everything it needed growing up. I—’
‘I could do that as well!’
‘How? Where?’
Flinging his hands up in a supremely Italian gesture, Gio spun on his heel, dark eyes surveying the small, scruffy room with its well-worn furniture.
‘In some other shabby, run-down mouse hole like this? Where there’s no garden, nowhere for a child to play? No space to run around? And how would you support it? You don’t even have enough money to keep yourself—or were you expecting your parents to take care of your child as well as you?’
‘No! Never!’
‘Then what did you plan to do?’
‘I don’t know…’ It was low and miserable, just a whisper of defeat. How could she claim she’d made any plans when the truth was that the fear she might be pregnant had run round and round in her head during the past week? And each time it had haunted her thoughts she had struggled to think what to do if she was, but never, ever come to any conclusions.
‘I don’t know. I didn’t think.’
‘You didn’t think,’ Gio echoed darkly. ‘You can say that again. Well, will you at least make the effort to think now?’
‘I’m not giving you my baby!’
‘Did I ask you to?’
With an obvious effort he adjusted his tone down a degree or two, imposing a ruthless control that calmed his voice, softened its intonation.
‘We don’t even know if you’re pregnant yet—but we have to consider the possibility. All I ask is that you come to Sicily with me so that I can keep an eye on you, at least until things become clear one way or another. You’ll be well cared for, looked after.’
‘Supervised to make sure that I don’t do anything to harm your child, don’t you mean? Or, even worse, sleep with someone else and then try to pass off their bastard as a pure-bred Cardella.’
Fury flared in Gio’s eyes at her bitter comment, but he didn’t even deign to honour it with a reply.
‘Call it a free holiday if you like,’ he tossed at her. ‘You said it was a long time since you had one of those. Perhaps that will make the whole thing more appealing.’
A holiday, Terrie thought longingly. The idea was more than appealing. It sounded wonderful. A holiday in Sicily—with sun and the sea, and Gio…
Ten minutes ago, she would have snatched his hand off.
But then ten minutes ago she had still been a poor, blind, deluded fool, lost in the fantasy that he cared—at least enough to want her with him for some time.
Well, he still wanted her with him—but for his own selfish reasons.
‘So will you come?’
He had to be joking!
‘It seems an eminently sensible solution to me. You can stay in my home for a month—just four short weeks. And if at the end of that time we know you’re not pregnant then you can go on your way and there’ll be no further complications.’
‘And if I am pregnant?’ Terrie forced herself to ask, willing