Page 30 of Hidden Heir With His Housekeeper

The indignation protecting Bea from her shock at seeing him again—alive and well and as much of a judgemental bastard as she remembered—was joined by a healthy dose of disgust.

A part of her wanted to lie, to tell him no, this baby wasn’t his. Because he seemed less than pleased at the prospect. And her baby deserved the best of everything, including a father who wanted it to exist.

Discovering she was pregnant four and a half months ago had been an enormous shock, because she had totally convinced herself the early signs of her pregnancy were all phantom ones. That her tiredness, her one light period and her tender breasts were just a result of the shock to her once pampered system of having to get up before dawn and do manual labour for eight hours straight.

But the confirmation of her condition and the options available to her—delivered in Dr Rossi’s measured voice—had also been a massive wake-up call. Because, as she’d come to terms with her new reality and realised she didn’t want a termination, she had also realised that every single cowardly, self-serving, foolish, reckless, impulsive mistake she made from now on would have consequences. Not just for her, but also for her defenceless child.

She’d been determined, before that life-changing moment in Dr Rossi’s office, to prove she could make a life for herself here. But discovering she was going to have a child had nearly broken her resolve. She’d been so close to calling her sister to beg for her help. She had even considered—in a particularly low moment during a gruelling shift cleaning up after a debauched party in the Honeymoon Suite while battling low-grade morning sickness—returning to her father’s house in London. But somehow, she had powered through the panic and the anguish, and the physical exhaustion of early pregnancy, and come out the other side a better, more focused person.

She’d worked slavishly in the months since, enough to get a temporary promotion when Signora Bianchi had to take some time off, and she had even managed to move out of the bunk room into a place on the hotel grounds. She was no longer the society princess Mason Foxx had treated with such contempt. Nor was she the pathetic, easily cowed girl who had allowed herself to be bullied her whole life, and who had run away rather than stand up for herself.

She was a stronger, more determined person now. Maybe she still didn’t have a long-term plan for her life—and her baby’s life. And maybe she still struggled to deal with confrontations, which was why she hadn’t contacted Mason months ago. But she had made the decision to have this baby. Alone. So she did not need him to be a part of its life.

So, while it would be wrong to lie to him about his part in making this child, she could give him a way out.

‘You don’t have to be the father,’ she said, reasoning desperately. ‘If you don’t want to be.’

The frown on his face became furious. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean? Either I’m its...’ He paused, looking unsure of himself for the first time since she’d met him. His Adam’s apple bounced as he swallowed, as if he was struggling to even say the wordfather... ‘Either I got you pregnant, or I didn’t,’ he continued. ‘So, which is it?’

‘If you’re asking me if your sperm createdmychild,’ she said, pressing her palm over her belly to protect her bump from that judgemental glare. ‘Then yes, it did.’

He swore again, making her stiffen.

‘But, as far as I’m concerned, that’s where your involvement ends,’ she added. But her voice was no longer steady, all her resolve and determination—and the courage she’d worked so hard to earn over the last five months—fading in the face of his fury.

‘Like hell it does.’ His gaze raked over her belly, then he scrubbed his hands down his face. ‘There’ll be a kid walking around in this world with my DNA. That makes me involved.’ She noticed the tremor in his fingers before he jammed his hands into his pockets. Something about the evidence of his panic downgraded her own.

This man had treated her appallingly all those months ago. And she hadn’t deserved it. He’d never given her a chance to defend herself. So what right did he have to behave like the injured party now?

‘When were you planning to let me know you were having my kid?’ he demanded, but she could hear the tremor in his voice too.

And suddenly she understood. He was trying to hide his fear behind a wall of outrage. She’d had months to get used to the news, he’d only had five minutes. While she didn’t believe he was a good man, after the way he’d discarded her so callously, it occurred to her that he was probably in shock.

The knot in her belly loosened, and the weightless feeling of inadequacy—which had marred so much of her childhood and adolescence whenever she’d appeased her father—dissolved a little more.

‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘When I was ready to face your anger, I guess.’

His brows shot up his forehead and he swore again, but colour slashed across his cheeks before he marched through the terrace doors.

Was that shame she had seen in his face? Or was she projecting?

She followed him onto theterrazzo, surprised to find him sitting on one of the loungers, his forearms perched on his knees, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He didn’t look angry any more, or even shocked. He looked shattered.

‘I’m not angry.’ His gaze met hers, then drifted down to focus on her bump. When his gaze returned to her face, she saw something in his eyes that shocked her even more than his surprise appearance at the Portofino Grande.

Uncertainty. Confusion. And awareness.

‘I’m just...’ He raked his hair back from his face and stared out at the bay again, the blank stare making her sure he couldn’t see the famous harbour, or the verdant coastline framing the sea. ‘Hell, I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now.’

She sat on the lounger opposite him, the spurt of sympathy surprising her. But she understood how scary it was not to be able to process your emotions—because she’d spent so much of her life unable to process her own. And she had the sneaking suspicion that Mason Foxx rarely even examined his emotions, let alone processed them. So there was that.

‘I understand,’ she said. ‘I was shocked too when the doctor confirmed the test results.’

His head swung round, the accusatory stare destroying the brief truce. ‘And when was that, exactly?’

Her pulse rate leapt and the tension in her stomach returned. She stood and brushed shaky palms down her uniform, determined to steady herself. She needed to fortify herself before she dealt with his anger—because she was probably in shock too.

Making this baby had been an accident, but it was one she was more than prepared to live with.

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