Page 61 of The Italian's Pregnant Enemy (A Diamond in the Rough)

She moved to him. Rested her head on his chest, then her hands. She could feel his heart thundering. Could feel the weight of all this inside him. She felt it in herself.

She wanted to fix it. She knew she couldn’t. Not because in this she doubted herself or felt inadequate, but because she didn’t know if there was a cure for the kind of horrendous pain he’d been put through by the person who was supposed to care for him.

“Neither will I,” she whispered. “I promise you, I am going to love your child. And take care of him. I promise.”

He wrapped his arms around her. And held her.

“I know. I will take care of you both. You have my word.”

But not his love. She could understand it now. Just a little bit more. A little bit better. Why that word specifically felt loaded. Like a lie. One it didn’t seem anyone said it to him since? She didn’t have to ask that.

They hadn’t.

She knew they hadn’t. Her father barely said it to her, and often only did when she said it first, not because he didn’t feel it, but because he wasn’t an overly emotive man. He would never say it to Dario. He would say he was like a son to him, clap him on the shoulder. Hug him, as he had the other night. But he wouldn’t freely say that he loved him. And so Dario had gone and challenged all this time, and he had to work through his own issues.

And he had come out the other side with them only partly worked through.

“I’m going to pack up my essentials,” she said, moving away from him.

“I have staff to do that.”

“We don’t need staff, Dario. I’m happy to spend the day with you if you’re happy to spend it with me.”

And that was how she found herself packing with Dario looming around. Asking if she really needed to bring all these things.

It was amusing. A stark contrast to the heavy moment early. It was strange and wonderful they could share these things. The dark, the light and the in-between.

“When did you decide to leave that family?”

“I was there for four years,” he said. “Mostly because I didn’t know what else to do. I ran away. I lived on the streets for nearly a year after that. We were very near a large cruise ship harbor. And I started hanging around. I pretended I was older. Someone at the port helped me manufacture some papers.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Is your name really Dario Rivelli?”

He smiled. “That is what the paperwork says.”

“But is it your name?”

“It is now.”

“You’re kidding me. You live under an assumed identity?”

“More or less.”

“I was calledboyby the family that I lived with. I was called nothing by the people on the streets. And I was given a new identity at thirteen and I have clung to it ever since” He knew his own name. He just didn’t want her to know it.

“So you sailed to America on a cruise ship.”

“Yes. I did a few contracts. Three months doing passenger cruises. Mostly I did food service. I found I was quite good at it.”

“I bet.”

“I looked maybe seventeen. It was beneficial. Then the cruise company was moving the ship to sail from New York down to the Caribbean. I decided to sail over on the understanding that I would be continuing on. But instead I got off the ship. And I stayed in New York.”

“Were you homeless in New York?”

“For a while. I moved between shelters, bus stations and the park. I managed to get myself a place in a very questionable part of the city. One room. No room for anything but a mattress. Shared bathroom down the hall. But it was mine. And you have no idea what that meant after everything.”

“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t. I can’t. I’ve always had everything.”

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