Page 13 of Bound by Their Christmas Baby

Abby waited, her breath unconsciously held, for him to elaborate.

But in the end he shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. You are no longer his responsibility.’

‘I’m no one’s responsibility,’ she said stiffly, instantly rejecting that assessment.

‘Wrong, cara. You are mine.’

‘No.’ Abby’s denial was swift.

‘You are the mother of my child.’

Her hackles rose. ‘I’m a woman you spent one night with, a year ago.’

‘Sì. And you fell pregnant. I should have prevented that. I was experienced. This is my fault.’

‘Your fault?’ Now her maternal instincts roared to life. ‘I don’t consider Raf anyone’s fault. He’s a blessing.’

Gabe grimaced, uncharacteristically on the back foot. ‘I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.’

But she wasn’t to be placated. She had to set the record straight while she had a chance—if she didn’t control this, the situation could quickly move beyond her control. ‘You don’t owe me anything, Gabe. I’m not asking for a handout.’

‘You live like this,’ he said slowly, gesturing around the room, ‘and you think I don’t owe you anything?’

Frustration burst through her. ‘I know this place isn’t…’

‘It’s a dump.’

The insult hurt. ‘It’s home, for now.’

He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression intractable.

‘You say you wanted to tell me about the baby?’

She nodded.

‘And what did you expect me to say?’

Abby frowned, but her silence only seemed to spur him on. He took a step closer, his expression grim.

‘What did you want from me?’

She swallowed, and tried to find the words of the speech she’d imagined she’d give him, if ever he learned the truth. ‘Raf is your child too, and I respect the fact you might want to be involved in his upbringing.’

‘Oh, yes?’ he murmured, but there was a sharpness to the response, an underlying firmness she didn’t understand.

‘Your life is in Italy and we live here, but I mean, you visit the States and I guess, when he’s older, he could come over…’

Her sentence tapered off into silence. His eyes held hers for a long, icy moment. Then, with a guttural sound of disgust, ‘Look at this place, Abigail!’ He glared at her. ‘Why is it so cold? Why is the heating off?’ He stalked into the kitchenette and ripped open the fridge. ‘What are you existing on? I see two apples and one bread roll. What did you have for dinner?’

She bit down on her lip and ridiculous tears moistened her eyes. She dashed at them angrily. ‘I’m not crying because I’m sad,’ she clarified. ‘I’m mad! And I’m tired! And you have no right turning up on my doorstep at midnight only to throw insults at my feet!’

‘What did you think I would do? How am I supposed to react?’

‘I…’ She glared at him. ‘I don’t know. I just had to tell you.’

He dipped his head forward in silent concession. ‘I’m grateful that you did. And for the fact you haven’t used our son to attempt to blackmail me.’

‘Blackmail you?’ she repeated, aghast, flicking her fair hair over one shoulder. ‘What would I blackmail you for?’

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