Page 135 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

‘I’m pregnant—no caffeine or stimulants,’ she answered, her voice clipped.

He went into the kitchen, resolving to have a coffee machine delivered before his next visit. As it was, he opted for tea—only to discover that that, too, was decaffeinated. He made himself a cup, then went back into the living room, cup in hand. She was still curled up on the sofa, looking tense and baleful.

He lowered himself into an armchair, crossed one leg over the other, and made a start on his cup of tea.

‘Your friend Megan told me you have not lived in London long,’ he opened. He was going to stay civil, whatever the provocation. Anything else was not helpful. ‘You never did mention, when we first met, what you do for a living.’

He saw two reactions in her. One was a distinct flare of colour in her cheeks as he referred to the evening when they had first so fatefully encountered each other. The other was a tightening of her expression—as if she didn’t want to expound on the subject.

‘I’ve been doing some casual office work for the PR company Megan works for,’ she replied, but he could tell she said it with reluctance.

‘Do you plan to continue?’ he asked. He kept his voice studiedly neutral.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘I don’t know what I’ll be doing. Other than having a baby.’

Vincenzo let his eyes rest on her a moment. So, here it was, then—what he had been expecting. For all her vehement protestations that she didn’t want anything to do with him, she did, in fact, expect him to keep her.

He didn’t reply, only went on calmly sipping his tasteless tea. Letting his gaze rest on her. Letting himself be deflected from his purpose by something that was completely irrelevant.

She truly is beautiful—radiantly so.

His glance went to her waistline. Nothing showed. Yet within her body his child was growing...

He felt something go through him, but he did not know what it was. He set it aside. He had enough to deal with.

He finished his tea. On the still silent screen he could see the old film end, and Siena reached absently for the remote and turned the TV off.

He got to his feet. ‘It’s a fine afternoon—pleasantly warm for England. How about taking a walk in the park?’ he asked.

He crossed over to the sofa, picked up her own empty tea mug, and took them both through into the kitchen. Then he returned to the living room. She hadn’t moved.

She looked up at him. ‘You’ve seen I’m OK, so why don’t you leave now?’

‘Because,’ he said pointedly, his gaze levelled on her just as pointedly, ‘we have things to discuss.’

Her face tightened. ‘No,’ she said, ‘we do not.’

Vincenzo took an impatient breath. ‘Stonewalling is pointless. There are practicalities to be decided upon.’

She shook her head vigorously. ‘No, there are not. I am only in this damn flat until I find somewhere else. After that you can wash your hands of me.’

‘But not,’ he said even more pointedly, his gaze boring down at her, ‘of the baby.’

Anger flashed in her eyes—and frustration too, he could see. She opened her mouth again, and he was pretty sure she was going to offload the same diatribe—tell him that she wanted nothing to do with him, that he should clear out and get back to Italy.

Well, that was not going to happen, and she had better take that on board.

He held up a hand.

‘Let us walk and talk at the same time,’ he said, making an effort to keep his voice even. He gestured towards the door. ‘Shall we?’ he said.

She got to her feet with visible ill grace, slipping her feet into the canvas shoes on the rug in front of the sofa. Silently he handed her her bag, lying on a sideboard within his reach. She all but snatched it. He went through into the entrance hall, holding open the door for her. She marched through, head high, making straight for the stairs. Vincenzo locked the door and followed her.

Of all the women in the world he knew, of every one of them with whom he had ever had sexual relations, it was this bristling, critical, obstreperous and supremely uncooperative and unappreciative one that he’d got pregnant.

He couldn’t have made a worse choice.

But we did not choose, did we? We got landed with it, that’s all. And now, somehow, I have to try and find a way forward.

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