Page 17 of The Venetian One-Night Baby

Sabrina managed to make it back to her tiny flat without being sick. The nausea kept coming and going in waves and she’d been worried it might grip her in the middle of the party celebrations. She had decided it was safer to make her excuses and leave. Besides, it might have looked suspicious if her mother or Max’s noticed she wasn’t drinking the champagne. After all, the party girl with a glass of bubbles in her hand and a dazzling smile on her face whilst working the room was her signature style.

But it seemed Sabrina had left one party to come home to another. The loud music coming from the upstairs flat was making the walls shake. How would she ever get to sleep with that atrocious racket going on? She only hoped the party wouldn’t go on past midnight. Last time the neighbours had held a party the police had been called because a scuffle had broken out on the street as some of the guests had been leaving.

It wasn’t the nicest neighbourhood to live in—certainly nowhere as genteel as the suburbs where her parents and two older brothers lived and where she had spent her childhood. But until she felt more financially stable she didn’t feel she had a choice. Rents in London were continually on the rise, and with the sharing economy going from strength to strength, it meant there was a reduced number of properties available for mid-to long-term rent.

She peeled off her clothes and slipped her nightgown over her head. She went to the bathroom and took off her makeup but then wished she hadn’t. Was it possible to look that pale whilst still having a functioning pulse?

Sabrina went back to her bedroom and climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her head, but the sound of heavy footsteps clattering up and down the stairs would have made a herd of elephants sound like fairies’ feet. Then, to add insult to injury, someone began to pound on her front door.

‘Argh.’ She threw off the covers and grabbed her wrap to cover her satin nightgown and padded out to check who was there through the peephole. No way was she going to open the door if it was a drunken stranger. But a familiar tall figure stood there with a brooding expression. ‘Max?’

‘Let me in.’ His voice contained the thread of steel she had come to always associate with him.

She unlocked the door and he was inside her flat almost before she could step out of the way. ‘What are you doing here?’

He glanced around the front room of her flat like a construction official inspecting a condemned building. ‘I’m not letting you stay here. There isn’t even an intercom on this place. It’s not safe.’

Pride stiffened her spine and she folded her arms across her middle. ‘I don’t plan to stay here for ever but it’s all I can afford. Anyway, you didn’t seem to think it was too unsafe when you kissed me that time you brought me home.’

‘My mind was on other things that night.’ There was the sound of a bottle breaking in the stairwell and he winced. ‘Right. That settles it. Get dressed and pack a bag. You’re coming with me.’

Sabrina unfolded her arms and placed them on her hips. ‘You can’t just barge into my home and tell me what to do.’

‘Watch me, sweetheart.’ He moved past her and went to her bedroom, opening drawers and cupboards and throwing a collection of clothes on the bed.

Sabrina followed him into her bedroom. ‘Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘If you won’t pack, then I’ll do it for you.’ He opened another cupboard and found her overnight bag and, placing it on the bed, began stuffing her clothes into it.

Sabrina grabbed at the sweater he’d picked up and pulled on it like a dog playing tug-of-war. ‘Give it back.’ Tug. Tug. Tug. ‘You’re stretching it out of shape.’

He whipped it out of her hands and tossed it in the bag on the bed. ‘I’ll buy you a new one.’ He slammed the lid of the bag down and zipped it up with a savage movement. ‘I’m not letting you stay another minute in this hovel.’

‘Hovel?’ Sabrina snorted. ‘Did you hear that clanging noise? Oh, yes, that must be the noise of all those silver spoons hanging out of your mouth.’

His grey-blue eyes were as dark as storm clouds with lightning flashes of anger. ‘Why do you live like this when you could live with your parents until you get on your feet?’

‘Hello? I’m twenty-eight years old,’ Sabrina said. ‘I haven’t lived with my parents for a decade. And nor would I want to. They’d bombard me constantly with all of your amazingly wonderful assets until I went stark certifiably crazy.’

There was the sound of someone shouting and swearing in the stairwell and Max’s jaw turned to marble. ‘I can’t let you stay here, Sabrina. Surely you can understand that?’

She sent him a glare. ‘I understand you want to take control.’

‘This is not about control. This is about your safety.’ He scraped a hand through his hair. ‘And the baby’s safety too.’

Sabrina was becoming too tired to argue. The noise from upstairs was getting worse and there would be no hope of sleeping even if by some remote chance she convinced Max to leave her be. Besides, she secretly hated living here. The landlord was a creep and kept threatening to put up the rent.

Sabrina was too proud, too determined to prove to her parents she didn’t need their help. But it wasn’t just herself she had to think about now. She had to take care of the baby. She’d read how important it was for mothers-to-be to keep stress levels down and get plenty of rest for the sake of the developing foetus. Was Max thinking along the same lines? ‘Why did you come here tonight?’ she asked.

‘I was worried about you. You left the party early and I worried you might be sick or faint whilst driving home. I’m sorry. I should have offered to drive you but I was still reeling from your news and—’

‘It’s okay.’ She tossed her hair back over one shoulder. ‘As you see, I managed to get home in one piece.’

He stepped closer and took her hands in his. His touch made every nerve in her skin fizz, his concerned gaze striking a lethal blow to her stubborn pride. ‘Let me look after you, Sabrina. Come home with me.’

Her insides quivered, her inner core recalling his intimate presence. The memories of that night seemed to be swirling in the air they shared. Her body was so aware of his proximity she could feel every fibre of her satin nightgown against her flesh. Was he remembering every moment of that night? Was his body undergoing the same little pulses and flickers of remembered pleasure? ‘Live with you, you mean?’

‘We’ll have separate rooms.’

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