‘He doesn’t look like Remy, Alexi. I never slept with your brother. You were my first lover...’ My only lover, I almost added, but bit into my lip to stop that truth coming out.
Alexi didn’t need to know no other man had ever made me feel the way he had. The way he could still make me feel if the heat pulsing deep in my abdomen was anything to go by.
I needed to tell him the truth now—but never again did I intend to make myself as vulnerable as I had been before. And my sexual history—or lack of it—was none of his business.
‘Cai’s not Remy’s son...’ I continued, because he looked suspicious now as well as confused, the brittle cynicism turning his features to stone. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to continue. ‘He’s not your brother’s son, Alexi. He’s yours.’
CHAPTER THREE
Alexi
I STARED AT Belle, stunned by her revelation.
I had known, as soon as the child had run into the room and grasped his mother’s legs, that the boy was a Galanti. His round, open face, thick thatch of dark curls and sunny demeanour as he’d bombarded his mother with questions and requests had been so like Remy at the same age, it had been like seeing a ghost.
A ghost of the brother I’d lost, the brother I still missed, the only person who had ever really known me.
Shock had come first, but my surprise had quickly been overcome by the rush of an emotion I couldn’t name and, more terrifyingly, couldn’t control. It was sharp like the grief, loss and guilt which had dogged me for five years but was tangled up with joy—the joy of seeing that happy, uncomplicated face I’d thought I would never see again once more.
Not Remy’s child, my child. That was what she’d said. But I didn’t believe her. Or, rather, I didn’t want to believe her.
How could this child be mine? I was not a father, could never be a father, did not deserve to be a father.
How did I know she wasn’t lying? She said I’d been her first, but how could that be when she and Remy had been like each other’s shadows ever since her mother had first come to work for us? Remy had loved her, that much I did know. But...
The desire which had been lurking rippled through me as I recalled the intense physical connection of our one night together—the feel of soft skin, her staggered sobs as I’d entered her, the riot of pleasure cascading through me as I came...inside her.
I hadn’t used a condom—hadn’t been sober enough or smart enough to think about it. And the next day, when I had intended to check on her, Remy’s crash, his death, had made me forget everything except my guilt at taking his girl, at using her to salve my own loneliness...
I dragged a hand through my hair and studied her face, trying to get my thoughts in order and quell the rioting pulse of emotion, the relentless desire for her, that was still there despite everything.
Did it really matter which one of us had fathered the child? If he was a Galanti I needed to protect him, give him the family name, make him my heir. And find out why she had not told me of his existence until now.
Had she ever intended to tell me?
Her face was a picture of stubborn integrity, but I could see the flicker of guilty knowledge in her eyes.
My usual cynicism returned full force. What was I thinking? Of course she hadn’t told me the truth about the boy’s parentage. The same reasons she had come on to me that night still applied. I had no evidence of the innocence she claimed. Had she bled? I was fairly certain she had not. Although I’d been too ashamed of my own actions, the shocking pleasure of our union, to be absolutely sure.
One thing was certain, though. She had responded to me with an intensity that had taken my breath away. I still had dreams about her soft, breathy sobs as her body had contracted around mine, forcing me to a climax so staggering that just the echo of it had woken me up on so many nights since then, sweaty and desperate, my groin aching, my erection as hard as iron.
Was that normal for a novice? How would I know? I’d never been a woman’s first before. Had certainly never wanted that responsibility. And I didn’t want it now. So I rejected her claims in favour of the narrative I had settled on five years ago.
‘Seriously? You expect me to believe you never slept with Remy?’ I said, my voice carefully devoid of the emotions churning in my stomach and tightening my ribs.
She blinked, stiffened, the flicker of distress in the green depths quickly masked but there nonetheless.
What the hell? Was she really that easy to read? Or was she simply a consummate actress?
‘I’m telling you I know Cai is your son, not Remy’s—whether you believe it
or not is up to you.’
She went to walk past me but I grasped her arm, the emotion thundering so hard against my ribs now that the struggle to control it—to stop her from seeing it—was impossible. I couldn’t stay here. I needed to get away, to think, to clear my head and decide what needed to be done now. And most importantly of all regain the emotional equilibrium that had become an integral part of who I was since my brother’s death.
‘There’s a simple way to find out the truth. I want a DNA test done,’ I said.
I needed to know. Was the boy mine or my brother’s? Once I had the full facts at my fingertips, I could begin to figure out how I was going to deal with this staggering revelation.