Page 50 of Bound by Their Christmas Baby

He winced. ‘A grave error on my part.’ His eyes held hers. ‘I am sorry, tempesta. I should have listened to you.’

How could she fail to be moved by his apology? She lowered her lashes to the meal and speared a piece of vegetable, but inside she was warming up from the centre.

But not for long.

‘I could have killed your father, you know,’ he said, so conversationally that Abby almost laughed. Except it wasn’t funny—not even remotely.

‘He was the man who should have been there for you, who should have loved you, and he was no better than my own father. He threw you out into the cold—and threw Raf out too. How you can not hate him is beyond me.’

She shook her head sadly. ‘Because he’s my father,’ she said simply. ‘And I see him for what he is. Flawed, yes. Broken, undoubtedly. But there is goodness in him too, and kindness. He’s just been too battered by life’s ill winds to remember that.’

Gabe let out a noise of frustration. ‘You make excuses for him because you are not brave enough to face the truth and accept that he is a disappointment. You are too frightened to live in a world in which you reject your father.’

‘I think it takes more courage to fight for who you love,’ she said with quiet strength. ‘To hold onto the truth of what you believe, deep in your heart, even when all evidence is to the contrary. I know my dad. I know how he feels. I understand why he acts as he does. And I forgive him that.’

He swore. ‘Do me a favour, Abigail? Never say such things about me. Never make excuses for me as though I need them. I know I am cold and ruthless and cynical—my father’s son in many ways—and that I am—and always will be—a loner in this life. I am happy with that. I don’t need you digging deeper and pretending there is more to me.’

‘A loner?’ she murmured, the smile on her lips heavy. ‘Hardly. You’re a father, and soon to be a husband.’

‘Yes,’ he said with a curt nod. ‘But our marriage is not about love; it is about common sense and practicality. Isn’t that proof of my coldness?’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ABBY BARELY TASTED the scampi, though she was sure they were delicious. Everything looked to have been prepared with care and using only the finest ingredients, but her mind was reeling.

It shouldn’t have surprised her. She knew that what Gabe said was true. And yet her own visceral sense of despondency forced her to look deeper and acknowledge what she’d probably known all along.

Why had she been willing—no, desperate!—to go to bed with him? Because the connection she’d felt was that mythical, much talked about love at first sight. She’d looked at Gabe and known that they were meant to be together. That there was more to their meeting than a random happenstance and her father’s financially motivated manipulations.

It was him and her.

Fate had conspired to give them a baby, linking them for ever. Surely there had been something predestined and magical at work there, for now that she knew the story of his parentage she didn’t doubt that Gabe would always take great care not to conceive a child.

‘I’m sorry you have been worried about money,’ he said, apparently having no idea that Abby was still brooding over his revelations.

‘Yeah, well, working in a kitchen doesn’t pay very well.’

‘I don’t mean in New York,’ he said. ‘I’m talking about here in Italy.’ His frown was grim, self-condemnatory. ‘I overlooked this detail, and I truly regret that.’ He reached into the bag beside him and pulled out a black wallet, slender and long.

‘I’ve had cards drawn in your name.’ He passed the wallet to Abby and she opened it reflexively. ‘You’ll have no spending limit, of course. Buy whatever you need.’

The words were said without any expectation of a response but Abby sharply rejected the sentiment.

‘There’s cash too.’ He nodded, indicating a huge wad of hundred euro bills. ‘And I’ll have one of my assistants take on your workload. Anything you need—money, holidays booked, cars, if you wish to go back to America and see…your father, or anyone, she will arrange.’

A shiver ran down Abby’s spine. The delineation was clear—she was his wife in name only. Oh, and in his bed. But when it came to troubling himself with her concerns, he was washing his hands of it.

Abby folded the wallet and placed it in the centre of the table. ‘I don’t need any of that.’

He leaned forward. ‘You have already proved to me that you are not mercenary, but think this through, Abigail. Do you want to come and ask me for money any time you want to book a trip? To go on holiday?’

She swept her eyes shut. She had thought, of course, stupidly, that they would do such trips together. But of course Gabe was setting out a life that was far more private. Separate.

A loner in this life.

Her heart twisted. Just like that, the difficulty of her position became glaringly obvious. She had fought it, she had resisted, but such efforts had proved impossible. She was in love with him and he felt nothing for her, beyond responsibility. He was trying to right the wrongs of the past, to prove to himself that he was different to his father, Lorenzo.

Her future yawned before her, long and cold, save for the love of their son. Raf alone could make this bearable for her.

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