The Italian's Unexpected Baby / Secrets Of His Forbidden Cinderella

She shuddered with dread at the thought of Alessandro’s reaction. Disbelief? Displeasure? He was not going to be pleased, of that Mia was completely certain. And, judging by the way he handled hostile takeovers, he was going to expect Mia to fall in with his plans, whatever they would be.

And what would they be? Would he want to, heaven forbid, get rid of their child, considering him or her an inconvenience he couldn’t abide? Or would he throw money at her, to make her go away? She knew he would want to do something, but she had no idea what it would be.

And what did she want? Never to see Alessandro Costa again, preferably. Perhaps he wanted the same thing. Hopefully they could come to an agreement, even if this wasn’t a scenario either of them had envisioned or wanted.

Of course, she had to get in touch with him first, and Mia didn’t really know how to do that. She’d never had his personal information and she certainly wasn’t going to find it online. The best she could hope for was to call the headquarters of Costa International and hope the message was passed on. After that…it was surely up to him. The thought comforted her. All she could do was try, surely.

The next morning, Mia made the call to Costa International in Rome, and got the switchboard.

‘I’d like to speak to Alessandro Costa, please.’ She tried to make her voice sound confident and firm, and had a feeling she failed.

‘I’m afraid he’s not available.’

‘This is important and personal. Is there another number on which I could reach him?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

Mia bit her lip, fighting both frustration and a treacherous relief. She’d tried… ‘Then may I leave a message?’ she asked, and the receptionist’s voice was toneless as she answered.

‘Of course.’

‘And can I be sure it will get to him?’ Mia pressed, determined to make a good effort. ‘It’s important.’

‘Of course.’

She left her name and number. ‘Please do give him the message,’ she said, knowing she was probably annoying the receptionist but needing, as a matter of principle, to communicate the urgency of the matter. ‘It’s important.’

‘He’ll get the message,’ the receptionist assured her in a bored voice, and then disconnected the call.

Mia sat back, feeling the tiniest bit relieved. She’d made the effort. She’d tried to be in touch. If Alessandro didn’t get the message…

Guilt needled her at the thought. She knew she could ask her boss for his personal details, although whether he’d be willing to give them out, she didn’t know. Still, she supposed she could try harder.

But the grim truth was, she didn’t want to. She knew what it was like to be controlled by a man, someone who dictated what she wore and ate and did. Her father had done all of the above, simply because he could. Mia had lost track of the times he’d insisted she change her clothes, or told her she couldn’t go out, or insisted the dinner her mother had made was inedible when it had been fine. Her entire childhood had been one of barely endured oppression, and she could not bear the thought of opening herself up to that again.

Alessandro might not be as odiously domineering as her father, but already in their short relationship he’d told her what to do, what to wear, where to go. It was obvious to Mia that he was someone who liked being in control, not just of his employees, but everyone in his life. And she could not let him be in control of her, or her child. Not like that.

She’d tried. She’d left a message, she’d said it was important. And that, Mia told herself, pushing away the guilt that still pricked her, was all she could do.

A year later

He hadn’t meant to look her up. He’d excised her from his mind and memory, or done his very best to, even if some nights he still woke up with dreams of her lingering in his mind like an enticing mist, making him remember. Making him want.

In his waking hours, he thought of her not at all, an act of sheer, determined will, and yet, a year later, as he returned to the office of Dillard Investments that he’d done his best to avoid for the last twelve months, he realised some part of him had been thinking of her all along.

Alessandro had worked hard this last year to incorporate Dillard’s clients and assets into his ever-increasing portfolio. He hadn’t been back to London in all that time, but now, with another recent British acquisition under his belt, he had needed to return to the former office of Dillard Investments, now part of Costa International.

As he strode through Henry Dillard’s old office he tried not to look at that desk. Yet even when he was determinedly not looking at it, he was remembering. Remembering Mia’s innocent and yet overwhelming response, the way her body had clasped his in complete embrace and surrender. The dazed look in her eyes afterwards, the way her fingers had fumbled as she’d buttoned her blouse. And the next day, when she’d asked for a transfer before he’d been able to order it himself.

A year on, Alessandro could reluctantly acknowledge that perhaps he should have taken a bit more care with Mia’s rather abrupt transfer. And now she was on the other side of the world, admittedly by her own choice, but he hadn’t even checked whether she’d settled in or was enjoying her job.

It would be the right thing, Alessandro mused, to check on her, just to see how she was doing, that she was enjoying Los Angles and her position with the Arras Hotel Group.

He wouldn’t have to talk to her; she wouldn’t even have to know. He could ask Eric Foster, the CEO of the Arras Group, a man he’d put in place to run the half-dozen exclusive hotels located on the west coast of America that he’d taken over five years ago. This was nothing more than a courtesy call, a way to clear his conscience…if it needed clearing in the first place.

And yet, as he dialled the number, he felt his heart rate quicken. What if he was put through to Mia herself? What if she was happy to hear from him?

As if, on both counts. He was a fool for thinking it, for wanting it even a little.

‘Mia James?’ Foster sounded surprised when Alessandro mentioned her. ‘She was working out wonderfully, of course. I knew she would, if you’d recommended her.’

‘Was?’ Alessandro frowned, a sense of unease clenching his gut. ‘Isn’t she still working for you?’

‘Not at the moment.’ Taylor let out a little laugh that Alessandro didn’t understand. ‘She stopped about three months ago, but she’s expecting to be back this summer, no pun intended.’ He let out another laugh, and Alessandro’s frown deepened, his body tensing.

No pun…? What was that supposed to mean? ‘Has something happened to make her take such a leave of absence?’

‘Has something happened?’ Taylor repeated, sounding surprised. ‘I guess you don’t know…no reason why you would, although I thought she was a personal friend of yours…’

‘Know what?’ Alessandro demanded, brushing the man’s other words aside. He was not about to explain his relationship, or lack of it, to Mia James in any detail whatsoever.

‘Sorry, sorry. She’s on maternity leave. She had a baby three months ago. A little girl.’

For a second Alessandro couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. He felt as if his brain were short-circuiting, misfiring. A baby. A baby three months ago…nine months after their night together.

It was impossible. Impossible. She’d been on the pill. She would have told him. Surely, no matter what had or hadn’t happened between them, she would have told him. It couldn’t be…

‘Right, I must have forgotten that.’ His voice, attempting joviality, sounded forced. ‘Of course.’

‘I hope she comes back,’ Taylor said. ‘She’s a good PA. The best I’ve ever had.’

‘Yes.’ Alessandro’s mind felt as if it was buzzing, full of static and white noise. He could not form a single coherent thought. ‘Yes,’ he said again, and then he disconnected the call. He flung the phone across his desk, glad when it clattered noisily across the surface. He half wished it would break, that something would, because he realised he was furious.

Furious, because Mia James might have had his baby and not even told him. Not ever told him. His fists clenched as his blood pumped through his body in hectic, vengeful thuds. How dared she? How dared she? To not tell him something so critical, so utterly important… To deprive him of knowing his own child…

Unless it wasn’t his child?

A little girl. His mind raced as he paced the confines of the room like something caged. Could it be another man’s? Yet she’d been a virgin, no other men in the picture as far as he knew, but of course he didn’t know…anything. And yet he couldn’t believe Mia would have gone with another man so soon after. Surely it was his. Surely…

There was only one way to find out.

He took his private jet to Los Angeles that night, cancelling half a dozen meetings without a word of explanation. The flight felt endless, his mind going in pointless circles as he considered what he would say to Mia.

If it was his child, his daughter, then he knew what he wanted, and he knew he’d do anything, anything, to see it happen. He’d grown up without a father, and it had tormented him for all his childhood. He would never, ever allow a child of his to experience that same sense of loss, confusion, and grief. He’d never walk away from his own flesh and blood the way his father had, without a single thought or care.

But perhaps the baby wasn’t his. A thought that, irrationally, gave him a little lurch of disappointment, even as he recognised that his treatment of Mia had been less than admirable. Could he really blame her if she’d met someone else and forgotten him?

A limo picked him up at the airport and drove him to the address of Mia’s apartment that he’d had on file. It was a beautiful, balmy evening, the sun setting over the ocean, its placid surface shimmering with crimson and gold, palm trees silhouetted against a darkening sky.

The apartment building where Mia lived was a two-storey stucco house with an apartment on each floor and a pool in the back. Hers was on the second floor, and he mounted the steps with grim determination. Rapped once, short and hard. Waited.

A few seconds later he heard light footsteps, and then the slip of a chain before the door opened. Mia stood there, the questioning smile on her face morphing into an expression of complete and utter shock.

‘Alessandro…’ His name came out in a whisper.

‘You should have told me.’ The words came out before he could stop them.

Her face paled and one hand fluttered to her throat. ‘How did you…?’

‘So it is mine?’ he interjected grimly, and her eyes sparked.

‘It is a she, which you probably already know, considering you’re here.’

‘Yes, I do.’ He’d forgotten her fire, and how it annoyed and impressed him in equal measure. ‘Are you going to let me in?’

Wordlessly she stepped aside, closing the door behind him. Alessandro looked around the room, noting its bland corporate furnishings softened by familial touches—a colourful mat and baby’s activity gym on the floor, a pink bouncy seat in one corner, a wicker basket of bright toys by the coffee table.

He turned to Mia, taking in how she had changed. Her hair was pulled back loosely, golden tendrils framing a rounder, softer face. Her figure was rounder and softer too, more womanly. She was dressed in a tunic top and capris, casual clothes he realised he’d never seen her in. Of course, he’d barely seen her at all. He’d known her for two days. Two short, incredible, life-changing days.

Neither of them spoke; she regarded him nervously, wiping her palms down the sides of her flowing top.

‘Where is she?’ he demanded.

‘Sleeping in her nursery. Alessandro…’

‘You should have told me.’ He couldn’t get past that. ‘No matter what did or didn’t happen between us, you should have told me.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t forgive that, Mia.’

‘You can’t forgive?’ Her nervousness fell away as she stared at him incredulously. ‘You have some cheek, Alessandro Costa.’

Now he was glaring as well, both of them with daggers drawn, only moments into their meeting. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘What makes you think I didn’t try to tell you?’ She planted her hands on her hips, her eyes furious slits of bright, bright blue. ‘Why do you assume?’

He shook his head slowly. He wasn’t buying that. ‘If you’d tried, I would have known.’

‘Oh, really? You, the head of a huge, sprawling multibillion-dollar organisation? You think a message from a nobody PA would have been passed on?’

He frowned. ‘So how did you try to reach me?’

‘The only way I knew how,’ she snapped. ‘Through the switchboard of Costa International.’

His frown deepened, but he still couldn’t concede the point. ‘There must have been a better way…’

‘And what way would that have been?’ Mia challenged. Now she was the one who sounded angry and aggrieved, the one who was in the right, and yet Alessandro felt she couldn’t be. She couldn’t be. ‘You didn’t exactly want to keep in touch, did you? I didn’t have any of your contact details, and I was under the distinct impression you never wanted to lay eyes on me again. Which was fine by me, because I didn’t want to lay eyes on you.’

Which, absurdly, stung, even though he knew it shouldn’t have. It wasn’t as if they’d had a relationship, or even been friends. ‘A baby changes things, obviously,’ he snapped. ‘A baby changes everything.’

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