He raised his dark brows. How calm she sounded. How utterly in control. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. I can do bits of work from home for the time being—and then I can go in part-time.’
Gianluca’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something in this cosy little scenario?’
Aisling stared at him. ‘Such as?’
‘Where does my son’s welfare come into all this?’ he demanded. ‘And where do I fit in?’
She heard the fiercely possessive note in his voice when he said ‘my son’ like that and her heart sank. None of this was happening as it was supposed to and Aisling wanted to reassure him—to tell him that she wasn’t going to deny him his child, but she wasn’t going to crowd him with unrealistic demands, either. She certainly wasn’t going to become one of those troublesome ex-girlfriends who was always looming into his life like a spectre, with a baby in tow.
‘You know you can see the baby whenever you like!’ she protested.
‘How very generous of you, mia cara,’ he replied, with soft sarcasm. ‘But aren’t you forgetting simple geography?’
Aisling nodded because she had been anticipating this, too. ‘Okay—so you live in Italy and I live in London—but the world has shrunk, Gianluca. You know it has. You can see Claudio …’ But her words trailed away as he leaned forward, eyes blazing black fire.
‘When? A weekend a month? A holiday in the summer? My boy growing up unable to speak Italian? You expect me to tolerate such
a situation?’ He looked around and made an arrogantly sweeping gesture with his arm. ‘And you expect me to stand back and allow you to bring him up somewhere like this?’
‘What’s the matter with it?’ she questioned, stung—for she was very proud of her little home. ‘There’s nothing wrong with where I live!’
‘I’m not saying there is—it’s fine for a working woman, but not one who has a young child. There’s only one bedroom, for a start! Where’s he going to crawl when he’s able to? Out in that minuscolo—tiny little garden? Or straight into the traffic outside?’
‘Loads of people bring up children in London!’
‘Not my child,’ he said flatly. ‘Unless you’re expecting me to buy you a house? Is that what you are angling for?’
She stared at him, recoiling from the suggestion. ‘I won’t take your money—not for a house!’ she said proudly. ‘You can contribute towards his upkeep, if you insist.’
Upkeep. It was such a soulless little word and one which crystallised the idea which had been forming in the back of his mind since she had first told him that she was pregnant. Knowing that it was the only way to guarantee that he would not be pushed to the sidelines, according to her mood or whim.
‘I’m going to insist on a lot more than that, cara,’ he vowed softly.
Aisling sank back against the chair and eyed him warily. ‘You won’t change my mind. There isn’t an alternative.’
He moved in for the kill. ‘Oh, but there is.’ Gianluca paused for maximum impact, as he always did before making an important announcement.
‘Oh?’
‘You will marry me,’ he said. ‘M-marry you?’ ‘Sì, cara. Mi sposa.’
Just for one mad split-second she allowed her heart to soar. To imagine that he meant it in the way that most proposals of marriage were meant. But the look on his arrogant face spoke of no emotion other than the most fundamental one of possession. Ownership. As he owned hotels and properties. He wanted to own his son and, in order to do so, he must first marry his son’s mother.
‘It is the only sensible solution,’ he drawled.
Aisling swallowed down the hurt. ‘You think so?’
‘All I know is that marriage will give me equal rights in Claudio’s life. Come on, Aisling—surely you, as a practical woman, can see the justice in that?’
Aisling stared at him, knowing she didn’t have a leg to stand on. The trouble was that she could see it from Gianluca’s point of view. Already, he loved Claudio with a passion she suspected was rare for this powerful man. Did she really have the right to deny him the legal right to participate in his child’s life?’
Aisling swallowed. ‘But marriage is.’
‘Is what? It’s practical, for a start—something which should appeal to you, Aisling. It’s a legal document. A contract.’
And there she had been—stupidly believing that marriage was about love and romance.