Then Alex saw her. And the bounce of his leg abruptly stopped.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LUCY!” The expressions crossing Alexander’s pale face in waves—recognition, shock, horror, anger—would have been comical, if Lucy had been in the mood to laugh. “What are you doing here?”
He looked her over in amazement, from her seven-hundred-dollar ankle boots to her black stockings and cobalt wool shift dress. Her hair was pulled back from her face, showing her chic gold hoops beneath loose dark tendrils that had escaped in the tumult of the helicopter ride. Wearing contacts, her eyes were rimmed with kohl and mascara and her lips were darkened with a classic, subdued shade of autumn wine.
Alex stared at her as if he could barely recognize her. Then his eyes narrowed.
“You should never have come here,” he said coldly.
“I had no choice.” She held her Ferrazzi satchel closer to her body so he wouldn’t see how her hand trembled. Inside the bag, she could see the legal documents that would terminate his parental rights. And next to that—the photo of Chloe that would finally make him realize that he loved his child. “I have something to show you—”
He stood up from his bar stool. “I don’t know how you managed to scrape together enough cash to get to Rome, but you’re leaving. Right now.”
So he knew how desperately poor she’d been, trying to raise their child. Part of her had hoped he had no idea. That would have made his crime a little less awful. But he’d known all along, and hadn’t lifted a finger.
He was really a selfish, shallow bastard…
But he’s Chloe’s only chance for a father, she told herself desperately. Any father is better than none.
Wasn’t it?
“Why do you want me to leave, Alex? Are you afraid your fiancée might find out about our baby?”
He grabbed her arm roughly. “For the last time, I’m not that kid’s father. Do you understand?”
It was now or never.
With a deep breath, Lucy reached for the photo. It showed Chloe sitting beneath the little tree Lucy had bought for half-price on Christmas Eve just over a week ago. She was holding up her hippo with one hand, a frosted cookie with the other and flashing a big, happy smile that showed nine pearly teeth. The picture showed Chloe’s character. Her joy.
“Look.” She shoved the picture into his hand.
“What the hell is this—” He started, then stopped.
Lucy held her breath. Her plan was working. Finally, after everything, Alex would realize what a precious gift Chloe was. He would look at her picture and decide to be a decent man—a decent father…
“Her name is Chloe,” Lucy blurted out. “She just had her first birthday. She’s the sweetest baby, Alex, so smart and loving and fun. But she needs a father. She needs you.”
Narrowing his eyes, he slowly looked up at her.
“Christ, what’s it going to take to get through to you? I don’t want her. And I don’t want you.”
Opening his hand, he let the photo drop. As if in slow motion, Luc
y watched her baby’s photo float through the air.
“Now get the hell out of here. I’m with someone new. You and your little brat are nothing to me—”
The picture landed on the floor. She saw her precious baby’s photo stepped on by a group of passing businessmen, then scattered beneath the point of a woman’s five-inch stiletto.
The woman wearing the stiletto spoke in an icy voice. “Alexander, who is this?”
Alex paled. “Violetta. My darling.”
She moved toward them on her viciously sharp heels, and Lucy leaped for her baby’s picture. Snatching it from the floor, she cradled it in her hands. Mud had been trodden across her daughter’s chubby, smiling face. An eye had been ground into oblivion by Violetta’s shoe.
“Answer my question, Alexander.” The fashion designer came closer, staring at Lucy with a sneer. Blond and tall, she looked rich, beautiful and miserable. “How do you know this person?”