Page 148 of Exotic Affairs: The Mistress Bride\The Spanish Husband\The Bellini Bride

Gracious, polite, giving no hint that she knew anything at all about him. She was leaving it up to him to give away as much—or as little—as he knew about her.

He didn’t return the greeting. In fact he didn’t do anything but narrow his eyes and look her over like something in a specimen jar. Her nerve-ends began to tighten. He had a face cast from iron and a thin-lipped mouth that appeared to have forgotten how to smile. Already predisposed to dislike him, what she was feeling bouncing back from him gave her no reason to alter that view.

‘You are Anastasia’s daughter,’ he eventually announced, as if he’d needed that detailed scrutiny to make absolutely sure before he committed himself to the statement.

‘Yes,’ she confirmed. ‘Is it about my mother that you wish to see me?’

He shifted his stance. It wasn’t by much but it was enough for her to know that he was intensely uncomfortable at being here. ‘Si,’ he replied. ‘And—no,’ he added. ‘By your response, I have to assume that you know about me?’

‘Your affair with my mother? Yes.’ She saw no reason to hide it.

He nodded in acknowledgement. ‘It was perhaps unfortunate that we should meet as we did last night.’

Unfortunate? ‘I think I shocked you,’ she allowed. ‘And I’m sorry for doing that.’

His eyes contained a distinctly cynical glint at her apology. ‘Until I saw you I believed the Stefan Kranst paintings were your mother. But then,’ he said curtly, ‘I did not know that you existed.’

For the first time someone had made the correct assumption about Stefan’s model. It was ironic that he was now changing his mind to suit what everyone else believed.

‘We were extremely alike,’ she said. ‘Few people could tell the difference.’

‘Were—?’ he picked up sharply.

‘My mother died two years ago,’ she explained.

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he murmured politely.

‘Thank you,’ she replied. This couldn’t become any more formal if they tried.

Shouldn’t she be feeling something? Antonia asked herself curiously. Shouldn’t she at least sense a genetic bond, even if it was only a small one? Realising she was still standing by the door, she began to walk forwards, gauging his tensing response as a man very much on his guard. What did he think she was going to do—physically attack him?

‘You even walk like her,’ he uttered.

Antonia just offered a brief smile. He wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. She looked like her mother. She moved like her mother.

‘Would you care to sit down?’ she invited politely. ‘Can I offer you a drink—espresso or—?’

‘I am your father,’ he ground out brusquely, bringing her to a breathtaking stop. Then, with a slash of a hand, ‘There,’ he said. ‘It is now in the open between us. So we may stop this civility. What do you want?’

‘I b-beg your pardon?’ Antonia blinked in astonishment.

‘You heard me,’ he said. ‘I want to know your price.’

Antonia could not believe she was hearing this. ‘But you came to see me,’ she reminded him. ‘I didn’t—’

‘It is called pre-empting your intentions,’ he cut in. ‘I decided that it would only be a matter of time before you came after me. So here I am.’ He gave a shrug. ‘All I want to know is how much your silence is going to cost me.’

Her silence? Antonia stared at him in disbelief. He had come here to face her because he thought she was about to start blackmailing him? ‘But I don’t w-want—’

‘Your kind always want.’

Suddenly it hurt to breathe. His voice held contempt. His eyes held contempt. He hated the sight of her! He didn’t even know her yet he was judging her to be mercenary. And, her kind? A flashback came to her of Marco’s mother wearing the same expression, showing the same arrogant superiority that they thought gave them the right to treat her like this!

Glancing up, he caught her expression; his own turned graven. ‘Anastasia let me down,’ he ground out bitterly. ‘You should not be here. It is most unfortunate that we have to have this conversation at all.’

Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Sickness began to claw at her stomach. ‘You thought my mother would go back to England and rid herself of me simply because it was what you expected her to do?’

‘Anastasia demanded money,’ he explained. ‘I automatically assumed she meant to use it to—rectify the problem.’

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