Page 35 of Hidden Heir With His Housekeeper

There was noifabout it. Theywouldbe sharing a meal again, because one thing was for damn sure—he had no intention of letting her out of his sight any time soon.

Bea listened to the waiter reel off a list of special dishes, grateful for the interruption. She sat ramrod-straight and stared at the horizon, unnerved by the luxury of the deserted restaurant, which felt like revisiting another life—and the intense scrutiny of the man opposite her. She couldfeelhis gaze on her and sense his forceful presence across the table. Which was unnervingly reminiscent of their one night together.

His attention had been so exhilarating then, and it still had the power to make her skin prickle and her heartbeat throb low in her abdomen even now.

If only she could read him as easily as he seemed to be able to read her.

She knew he was furious with her for not contacting him about the baby. She also understood that reaction and had been ready to confront it. But somehow his silent assessment now made her more uneasy than his temper had earlier.

She picked up the menu—to stop her hands trembling—and made herself glance his way.

Just as she had suspected, he was watching her, but his fierce expression was more thoughtful than hostile.

She let go of the breath clogging her lungs. It would be better if this didn’t have to be a confrontation.

She was glad she’d spoken up about his choice of restaurant, though, even if he had steamrollered over her objections. Because she had sensed a willingness to negotiate which hadn’t been there when he’d demanded she go to lunch with him.

Progress?Of a sort.

The waiter stopped talking and she picked the only entrée she could remember from the list. Mason ordered the same.

The waiter took the menus and left. But as Bea went to place her now unoccupied hands in her lap, Mason leaned across the table and snagged her wrist.

His touch, as always, was electric, and she couldn’t control the instinctive shudder as he opened her fist and ran his thumb across the calluses on her palm.

She tugged her hand free, feeling stupidly embarrassed when she had nothing to be embarrassed about. She worked for a living now. Why should she be ashamed of that?

‘How long have you been working as a maid?’ he demanded.

Her cheeks heated. ‘I’m not housekeeping staff any more. I’m the housekeeping manager.’

His lips quirked, the half-smile making the muscles in her spine stiffen. Maybe she’d overestimated his newfound respect for her.

‘Okay, how long have you been the housekeeping manager?’

‘Not long, only since Signora Bianchi had to take leave when her husband had a stroke,’ she said. ‘I stepped up because Marta didn’t want the extra responsibility,’ she added, eager to fill the charged silence, and give him more of an insight into who she was now. ‘Marta has two young children and Fabrizio was only offering an additional five euro an hour to take the position for the rest of the summer.’ She barrelled on. ‘It means having to organise the rotas, ensure all the rooms are ready each day before three and train new staff,’ she continued. ‘Plus, I have to ensure the cleaning supplies are always sufficiently stocked and arrange the laundry...’

He held up his hand and she hesitated, ready for him to say something contemptuous or dismissive, but instead he murmured, ‘You sound like you know a lot about the job.’

‘I... I do. I like it,’ she offered, surprising herself with the admission.

Over the past five months she’d learned so much—how to ensure the marble didn’t streak when you rinsed it, how to fold the bed sheets until they bounced, and all the other cleaning hacks which earned her good tips and made sure her rooms were scrupulously clean and delivered on time. A lot of the work was drudgery and not something most former society princesses would aspire to, but she was immensely proud of the temporary promotion. She liked the greater responsibility. And the extra money had also been very welcome. She lived frugally, but it was difficult to keep within her means and she needed to save more for when the baby arrived—because she hadn’t worked long enough in Italy to qualify for more than the most basic maternity benefits.

‘Really?’ His scarred eyebrow lifted. ‘You actually enjoy cleaning up other people’s mess?’

And there it was, the contempt she had been expecting. It upset her to realise it hurt more than it should. His opinion of her didn’t matter. It never had.

‘I was talking about the promotion,’ she shot back. ‘But actually, no, I’m not ashamed of cleaning. It’s a job. And it means I’m not dependent on anyone any more.’

He gave a slight nod, his gaze narrowing as if he were seeing something he had never noticed before.

Pride swelled in her chest.

Even though his approval didn’t matter, it felt important he see how much she had changed from that clueless, eager-to-please girl who had thrown herself at him. And convinced herself that losing her virginity to a man like him would somehow validate her as a woman. When she was the only person who could do that.

‘I get it,’ he said eventually, tapping his fingers on the table. ‘Is that why you chose to hide out here and you didn’t tell me about the pregnancy? Because you wanted to prove you could survive on your own?’

His tone was surprisingly non-confrontational, coaxing even, but she could hear what he hadn’t said—that he thought she had been playing at being independent just to annoy him.

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