Page 4 of A Baby Scandal in Italy

‘Are you staying in Rome?’ When Ivy gave him the name of her hotel, he said curtly, ‘I’ll arrange for you and the child to be driven to your lodgings. Wait here in my office until my personal assistant comes to escort you down to my car. I suggest you return to England immediately, and I strongly advise you not to try to contact me again. Stalking is a criminal offence for which there are serious penalties.’

Rafa studied Ivy’s crestfallen face. He was certain she was a liar and he did not trust her. There was no reason why he should feel bad about dismissing her claim that he’d fathered her sister’s child. But he sensed that her story about her sister dying was genuine, and he felt a reluctant tug of compassion.

‘I’m sorry about Gemma,’ he said brusquely. ‘My father recently passed away and I understand the pain of grief.’

The amber flecks in Ivy’s eyes glowed as fiercely as flames. ‘Keep your pseudo-sympathy, Mr Vieri,’ she snapped. ‘IknowGemma told me the truth, which makesyoua liar.’

CHAPTER TWO

IVYHATEDRAFAELVIERI.Hatedhim for planting a seed of doubt in her mind about her sister’s claim that he was Bertie’s father. Gemma had always told the truth. Even when Ivy had been diagnosed with a type of blood cancer, Gemma had researched information about the illness and had honestly answered her questions about what chemotherapy would be like and her chances of survival. Gem had been a rock when Ivy had needed support and now, through tragic circumstances, she could repay Gemma by bringing up her son.

Rafael was Bertie’s father, Ivy was certain. But he had refused to accept responsibility for his child. ‘We’ll be fine on our own,’ she muttered, more to reassure herself than the baby, who was dozing in the carrier as Ivy walked back to the hotel. She had declined to get into the car when the driver had held open the door, partly through stubborn pride—she did not want to accept anything from Rafa after the humiliating scene in his office—but also because the car had not been fitted with a baby seat so she’d had no option than to trudge through the crowded city streets.

‘Signorina Bennett.’

Ivy turned her head when she heard someone call her name. A sleek, black saloon had pulled up next to the pavement and a man of about fifty or so emerged. He was smiling as he walked towards her, but there was concern in his voice when he spoke.

‘Do you have far to go, Signorina Bennett? You must be tired, carrying the child in the midday heat.’

‘Who...?’ Ivy began.

‘Forgive me.’ The man smiled again. ‘I was in the boardroom of Vieri Azioni when you introduced Rafael Vieri to his baby son. Everyone was surprised by your revelation that the chairman and CEO has a secret child. But I was even more shocked that Rafa dismissed your claim as a joke.’

‘As if I would joke about something so serious.’ Her temper simmered when she remembered that Rafa had accused her of staging a stunt. She was barely aware that the stranger—had he told her his name?—had led her over to a café where there were tables outside beneath an awning that provided welcome shade from the sun.

‘Please, sit down.’ The man pulled out a chair. ‘May I call you Ivy? I’m sure you could do with a cold drink. Would you like something to eat?’

A waiter walked past carrying an exotic ice-cream sundae. Ivy eyed the dessert wistfully. She was still feeling tense after meeting Rafa Vieri and craved a sugar hit. Her companion—she was too embarrassed to admit that she hadn’t been concentrating when the man had introduced himself—laughed. ‘Ah, who can resistgelato?’ he said. ‘Allow me to order for you the chocolate flavour with whipped cream and hazelnuts.’

The dessert sounded heavenly. Ivy sat down and gave a deep sigh. Her shoulders ached from the weight of Bertie in the carrier, particularly her left shoulder that she’d injured a few months ago while she had been rehearsing a dance routine.

It felt like a lifetime ago that she had been a dancer on a cruise ship. She felt a pang, thinking of her friends in the dance troupe. She missed her old life, even though it had been hard work, performing in shows twice a night, seven nights a week. But she had Bertie now, and she couldn’t spend long periods of time away at sea. She loved him as much as if he were her own baby, and when he was old enough she would tell him about the wonderful woman who had given birth to him.

Bertie stirred and opened his eyes. They had been blue at birth, but now they were grey, the same colour as Rafael Vieri’s eyes. Ivy did not want to think about how Rafa’s eyes had gleamed with cold contempt when he’d raked them over her. She did not understand why he affected her. Sure, he was handsome, but she’d met other good-looking guys and hadn’t felt the intense awareness that had hit her like a tidal wave when she’d met Rafa. She did not like him, and she was angry that he’d refused to accept Bertie as his child. She was confused that, despite his obvious flaws, she was attracted to him.

The waiter set a decadent ice-cream sundae in front of her and Ivy forgot her worries for a few minutes while she tucked in. Thankfully, Bertie had fallen back to sleep. Her companion murmured, ‘Rafa denied that he is the baby’s father.’

‘He told me not to contact him again.’ She put her spoon down, feeling slightly sick from the rich ice-cream.

‘It seems unfair that you must bear the responsibility and financial burden of bringing up the child alone.’

‘I don’t know what I’m going to do,’ Ivy admitted dismally. She had been prepared for Rafa to be shocked at first, but she’d hoped he would come round to the idea that Bertie was his son. ‘I need to find a job, but childcare is expensive, and then there’s rent and all the other living costs.’

‘There is a solution to your money worries. Newspapers would be prepared to pay you well for your story.’ When Ivy looked puzzled, her companion leaned across the table and said in a low voice, ‘I can put you in touch with a journalist who works for a leading news agency. All you would need to do is explain that Rafa Vieri has rejected his son and abandoned you. No one could blame you for accepting an opportunity to earn money that you desperately need for the baby.’

Ivy shook her head. ‘If I did that, the circumstances of Bertie’s birth would be made public. I won’t take the risk that when he is older he might find out from an old news story that his father did not want anything to do with him.’

Even though it was the truth. She hoped that in the future, if Bertie was curious about his father, she would be able to think of an explanation for Rafa’s lack of interest in his son.

The man got to his feet and handed Ivy a business card. ‘Think about it and, if you change your mind, call this number and talk to the journalist.Arrivederci, Signorina Bennett.’

‘Wait...who are you?’ She looked up from the card that bore the name of a well-known Italian newspaper and a contact number for the senior reporter, Luigi Capello.

Ivy watched the man walk back to his car and wondered why his face seemed vaguely familiar, and why he was keen for her to go to the newspapers with a story that did not show Rafa Vieri in a good light. But, by the time she arrived back at her hotel, Bertie was crying, her shoulder was throbbing and she did not give the matter another thought.

Maybe it was the heat. The hotel room did not have air-conditioning. Or perhaps Bertie sensed that Ivy was stressed. Whatever the reason, the baby was unsettled all night and by morning they were both exhausted. Every time Ivy moved, she felt a sensation like a red-hot poker jabbing into her shoulder.

Bertie finally fell asleep after his nine a.m. feed. Ivy held her breath when she carefully placed him in the cot, praying he would not stir. She winced as her injured shoulder protested, and then cursed beneath her breath when there was a loud knock on the door. Concerned that it was the hotel manager to complain about the baby crying in the night, she shot across the room to open the door before whoever was on the other side knocked again.

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