Happy Mother's Day! - By Sharon Kendrick Page 0,45

won’t change my mind. There isn’t an alternative.’

He moved in for the kill. ‘Oh, but there is.’ Gianluca paused for maximum impact, as he always did before making an important announcement.

‘Oh?’

‘You will marry me,’ he said. ‘M-marry you?’ ‘Sì, cara. Mi sposa.’

Just for one mad split-second she allowed her heart to soar. To imagine that he meant it in the way that most proposals of marriage were meant. But the look on his arrogant face spoke of no emotion other than the most fundamental one of possession. Ownership. As he owned hotels and properties. He wanted to own his son and, in order to do so, he must first marry his son’s mother.

‘It is the only sensible solution,’ he drawled.

Aisling swallowed down the hurt. ‘You think so?’

‘All I know is that marriage will give me equal rights in Claudio’s life. Come on, Aisling—surely you, as a practical woman, can see the justice in that?’

Aisling stared at him, knowing she didn’t have a leg to stand on. The trouble was that she could see it from Gianluca’s point of view. Already, he loved Claudio with a passion she suspected was rare for this powerful man. Did she really have the right to deny him the legal right to participate in his child’s life?’

Aisling swallowed. ‘But marriage is.’

‘Is what? It’s practical, for a start—something which should appeal to you, Aisling. It’s a legal document. A contract.’

And there she had been—stupidly believing that marriage was about love and romance.

‘And two people looking after a baby is easier than one on their own,’ he continued softly.

Had he noticed her awkwardness around Claudio, then? Did he think her incapable of being left to care for a baby? But that was a question she dared not ask, and so she stuck to one she did. ‘And just where do you propose we live?’

Gianluca narrowed his dark eyes. ‘There is only one place for us to live,’ he said softly. ‘And that is in Italy.’ ‘Gianluca—’

‘You think I will tolerate Claudio being brought up in cramped conditions in London when he can have all the space he needs in rural Umbria—with the freshest air in the world for his little lungs?’ he demanded. ‘I have a large house in the Umbrian hills with enough staff to provide you both with every comfort you desire.’

‘But my independence?’ Aisling ventured and saw his mouth twist with derision as she recognised that it was the wrong word to use. She wanted to explain that she felt frightened—as if she were submerging her own identity in a sea of other people’s expectations—but she saw the repressive look in his black eyes and knew that he wasn’t interested in her needs. And why should he be? It was his son and only his son which mattered to Gianluca.

‘Is there no other solution?’ she asked weakly, realising that her normal strength and resilience had been sapped by birth and circumstances. And didn’t the thought of being taken care of for the first time in her life have an appeal she couldn’t deny?

‘You are on maternity leave,’ pointed out Gianluca smoothly. ‘So what is there to keep you and Claudio in England right now? You have already told me that you have no family.’

He made her sound as disposable as a paper handkerchief! She stared at him, aware that he seemed to have taken over and yet unable to fault his logic. What was keeping her in England, other than pride? And wasn’t pride pointless? She knew Gianluca well enough to understand that he would crush her pride underfoot if it interfered with how much he could see his son.

‘And, of course, I can arrange for a nanny,’ he continued. ‘To help you.’

‘A nanny?’ she repeated dully.

‘We’d need a nanny whatever happened,’ he said smoothly. ‘With two working parents it’s inevitable. You do still want to work, I assume?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she answered stiffly.

But Aisling was uncomfortably imagining some freshfaced beauty looking after their baby. Someone who could supplant her? Who would inevitably fall for her billionaire boss? She felt as if she were in a fog—fighting to see the clear horizon. ‘But … but …’

Gianluca raised his brows in autocratic query. ‘What is it, Aisling?’

She stared at him before asking the question. The other big one which was nagging away at the back of her mind. ‘What kind of marriage did you have in mind?’

Their eyes met for a long moment and then his gaze swept over her once more, only this time