She understood that his belief that he could not have children must have hurt him—especially when he was the last surviving man in his proud Italian family. But he had hurt her—throwing her out onto the street when she had done nothing wrong, and then coercing her into a marriage that he’d never meant to be permanent.
He should have told her the truth. Instead he’d misled her—first making her believe she was responsible for birth control that in reality he thought was unnecessary. Then making vicious accusations when she had never, ever given him any reason to doubt her. Then finally, worst of all, he had shamelessly used his knowledge of her troubled childhood to manipulate her.
Suddenly a wave of anger rose up out of nowhere, startling her with its intensity. He’d trusted a medical report over the woman he had shared his life with. He’d never given her a chance.
She stared up at him balefully. He had treated her appallingly, and she had let him get away with it. Well, not any more.
At last he finished his conversation with his assistant, slid his phone back into his pocket and sat down on the rug.
‘You haven’t eaten,’ he said, finally looking at her again.
As she met his gaze a crackle of energy passed between them.
His eyes widened in surprise, and she knew he had recognised the anger that was building inside her.
‘When we get back you must have the fertility tests repeated.’ The sound of her own voice thrumming with intensity startled her. But she continued to stare him down, determined to make him see that she meant business.
‘Why would I subject myself to that humiliation again?’ Vito bit out, the planes of his face tightening as he spoke. ‘In the circumstances, don’t you think it would be better to let sleeping dogs lie? Or are you simply masochistic enough to want incontrovertible proof of your infidelity?’
‘I want proof of my innocence!’ Lily snapped. ‘And, if you won’t have those tests repeated, I’ll get a DNA test after the baby is born.’
‘Are you mad?’ Vito demanded. ‘If I won’t submit to a fertility test, what makes you think I’ll be party to a DNA test?’
‘I’ll go to Giovanni,’ Lily declared. ‘His DNA will prove a family connection.’
Vito cursed violently in Italian and surged to his feet, hauling her up by her arms.
‘You go too far!’ His words throbbed with barely contained fury, and suddenly Lily felt herself quaking under the sheer force of his rage. Of course she’d never do anything to hurt Giovanni, but Vito’s refusal to listen to reason was driving her to distraction.
Then, with one powerful arm around her waist and one hand gripping her upper arm, he started marching her away, back in the direction of the chair-lift.
Everywhere they made contact she could feel Vito’s thunderous energy burning into her body. It felt like she was caught up in an escalating storm, still waiting in trepidation for it to reach its maximum force.
In barely any time they reached the main footpath, and Vito eased his grip slightly as two young male hikers approached them. He hailed them in English, then quickly switched to fluent German as he identified their nationality.
Lily couldn’t catch everything he was saying, but, as he thrust a wad of euros their way and pointed back to the abandoned picnic-hamper in the meadow, she understood what had just transpired. Vito was so used to issuing orders and being obeyed that apparently he’d thought nothing of paying the young men to clear away their mess.
She didn’t have time to ponder what it must be like to be Vito—so powerful and self-assured that he expected complete strangers to jump to do his bidding—because at that moment he continued walking her briskly towards the chair-lift.
They flew back to Venice in virtual silence, and the days that followed were miserable for Lily. Refusing point-blank to engage in conversation with her, Vito kept well away. He left for work early, returned late at night, and only spoke to her when absolutely necessary.
She felt like she was trapped in a nightmare, and there was no escape that she could see. At first she thought she must leave Venice—but it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t just the gnawing ache that filled her soul at the thought of leaving Vito, there were other things to consider.
Her pregnancy was too advanced for it to be easy to travel, and the idea of arriving in London with a baby due to arrive so soon was frankly terrifying. At least here in Venice she was already under medical care.
And the other thought that kept plaguing her was how devastated Giovanni would be. She knew the baby was his true great-grandson—but if she left she didn’t know what Vito would tell him. Although she still felt horribly betrayed by how Vito had used her, she shared his desire to make his grandfather happy. So she’d have to wait for the baby to come before she could do anything.
As the days went by, the anger she’d felt towards Vito in the alpine meadow slowly ebbed away, and she was left feeling dejected and lonely.
Time seemed to drag on interminably, sometimes making it feel like she was going to be pregnant for ever. She still had more than a month to go, and she honestly didn’t know how she was going to get through it.
She visited Giovanni every morning, travelling on the canals both ways, and in the afternoons she took refuge in her supply of paperback books. She slept a lot. And, in between sleeping, reading and visiting Giovanni, she sat in the baby’s nursery, trying not to think about the implications of Vito’s stunning revelation that he believed himself to be infertile.
At first it had been like a light switching on in her mind, because it finally explained why he’d assumed she’d been unfaithful. Then she had felt anger at his lack of trust in her. Now she felt something different.
Unwanted.
If Vito hadn’t believed himself infertile, he would never have married her.