More the pity that his sister, Allegra, had dissolved her agreement with the prince of that country and married Renzo’s friend—Spanish duke Cristian Acosta, who would be no help to him in this situation—instead.
He should let it go. Likely the woman was lying. Even if she weren’t…what should it matter to him?
A sharp pang in the vicinity of his heart told him he clearly hadn’t had enough to drink. So, he set out to remedy that. But for some reason, grabbing a hold of the bottle of Scotch reminded him of what the stranger had said before she’d left.
She worked at a bar. She worked at a bar near the Colosseum, and if he wanted to find her he could look there.
He took the stopper out of the Scotch bottle. That would all be very well and good if he in fact wanted to find her. He did not. There was no point in searching for a woman who was—in point of fact—probably only attempting to scam money out of him.
But the possibility lingered. It lingered inside him like an acrid smell that he couldn’t shake. One that remained long after the source of the odor was removed. He couldn’t let it go because of Jillian. Because of everything that had happened with her.
He gritted his teeth, setting the bottle back down. Then, he strode toward his closet, grabbing a pair of shoes and putting them on quickly. He would get his car, he would go down to the bar, and he would confront this woman. Then, he would be able to come back home and go to bed, sleeping well, knowing with full confidence that she was a liar and that there was no baby.
He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. Perhaps he was being overly cautious. But given his history, he felt he had to be. He had lost one child, and he would not lose another one.