Her lips pulled in a smile that was enigmatic, reminding him of the Mona Lisa.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
He leaned back in his chair, refusing to allow his groin to stir as it was pulling, refusing to acknowledge that now he was besieged by recollections of their night in London – five months apart had done little to quell the strength of those memories, nor of his desire for her.
“I thought you didn’t want to see me again?” he drawled, his eyes roaming her face fully, marking some small changes there. A fullness to her cheeks that made her look younger than her twenty-five years.
Those same cheeks heated pink. “It’s important.”
The tone of her voice drove anything else from his mind. “Carlo?”
“Dad’s fine,” she rushed to assure him. “That’s not why I’m here.”
He expelled a breath slowly. “I’m glad. So why have you come?”
“Straight to it?”
“I don’t see any point in prevaricating.” A frown dragged at his mouth. “We’ve probably said all we need to one another?”
“Not quite,” she cleared her throat, then bit down on her lower lip anxiously. She was nervous?
He hadn’t seen her like this in a long time. Their wedding night? More feelings he chose to ignore hammered against him.
“Well?” He prompted, after several moments of tense silence.
Her eyes showed a hint of anguish.
“You’re making me nervous,” he said with a small laugh, shaking his head ruefully. “Spit it out.”
It broke the ice between them. She smiled; a genuine smile that spread warmth over him, waking up parts of him he hadn’t known to be dormant.
“Yes, you’re right.” She nodded awkwardly. “This won’t take long.”
“What won’t?”
“What I came here to say. Or show you.”
“You’re speaking in riddles. What do you want to show me?”
“First of all, I need for you not to panic.”
“Do I seem like someone who would panic?” And then, a moment later, “What, have you got your arms tattoed or something?”
Her smile was taut. “Not quite.”
Her fingers trembled a little as she reached for her scarf, unhooking it so his eyes flicked to the hint of cleavage revealed by her shirt. A moment later, she stood, pushing out of her jacket, so that it was impossible to miss the roundedness of her stomach, but it took him several seconds to connect that shape with any kind of meaning.
Alessia had always been slim, just like her mother, without a propensity to carry weight even as a teenager. But then, was it…did that mean? He stared at the swelling of her stomach, his heart crashing against his ribcage.
“You’re pregnant.” It was a statement, not a question, and yet she nodded anyway.
His first thought was that the baby was his, but then – what if it was someone else’s? What if she was here telling him as a courtesy? What if she’d reconciled with that feckless creep she’d been planning to marry?
“How far along are you?” The words were said with urgency.
She closed her eyes for a moment, sucking in a deep breath which did little to quell his own anxiety. “Five months.”
He swore under his breath. The timing was right, unless she’d rolled straight from his bed to another man’s?