My Shocking Monte Carlo Confession / A Scandal Made In London

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.

She tugged her arm out of my grasp. I could see she hadn’t expected that demand. I could also see she wanted to refuse the request.

Satisfaction and a strange sense of regret powered through me.

I was right. I had not been her first. She didn’t know if the child was mine or Remy’s. Why else would she want to avoid a DNA test? Either she knew the boy was Remy’s or she didn’t know which of us had fathered her child.

For all I knew, she might have slept with us both that day.

The memory of her face from five years ago, so open, giving and compassionate, flashed before me. I dismissed it. Just another lie. Another act.

She blinked furiously, as if close to tears, but then her chin firmed and she stared back at me.

‘Okay,’ she said, surprising me with her capitulation. Clearly she had decided to gamble with the possibility I was the boy’s father.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, the emotions confusing me again.

Did I secretly want to be the child’s father? How could that be true when I’d never intended to become a parent? When I knew Remy had always been the best of us. That it would be much better if he could claim this legacy now not me.

I shut down the foolish rush of yearning that the boy was mine.

It made no sense. And, anyway, until I had the results of the test, I did not have to deal with this confusing tangle of emotions.

‘But I want it conducted discreetly,’ she said. ‘And I don’t want my son to know what’s going on until...’

She glanced down at her hands. They were clasped together, the knuckles white. ‘Until I’ve had a chance to prepare him,’ she finished, releasing her fingers and shoving her open hands into the back pocket of her jeans.

She forced her chin up to meet my gaze.

The defiant yet oddly defensive stance pressed her breasts against the soft cotton of her camisole.

I bit into my lip, determined not to let the inevitable endorphin-rush distract me. And found myself drowning in those mossy eyes when our gazes met, the way I had all those years ago.

Damn it, Galanti, snap out of it. She’s an actress and a gold-digger.

But with her face devoid of make-up she looked so young, as young as she had been that night, still a teenager, and it was harder to make myself believe it. I could see the sprinkle of freckles across her nose, could remember her sweet sighs as I kissed every one of them before devouring those plump lips which had tasted of cherry cola and eagerness.

‘Once you have the proof you need, what do you intend to do?’ she asked.

I frowned at the direct question, the guilelessness of it disturbing me. Until I got a grip.

It’s just an act. She looks artless, innocent, but she’s playing you. No one is ever really honest. There’s always an agenda. Once you’ve found out exactly what her agenda is, you’ll be back on solid ground again.

Obviously it made no sense that she would keep the boy’s existence a secret from me for five years, and had never contacted me for the severance cheque, if this was a simple case of extortion.

But maybe her agenda was more sophisticated than that. Was she playing a longer game, to get more? And why did I really care anyway? As long as I took control of the situation, it didn’t matter what her agenda was, because my agenda was the one that would prevail.

‘I don’t know,’ I replied, even though I knew what I wanted was likely to conflict with what she wanted.

Never show your hand until you are ready to play your cards.

It was a motto I had lived by for a long time. It had won me considerable amounts at the high-stakes game in my friend Dante Allegri’s casino and had also been a guiding principle in my business and personal life.

‘I wasn’t expecting to find out I had a four-year-old son today,’ I said.

Or that Remy had one, I added silently to myself, even though that strange yearning for the boy to be mine was still pulsing in my chest. I’d figure that out later too. ‘Once I have the information, I’ll be in touch.’

Whatever the outcome of the DNA test, I planned to claim the child as a Galanti. And punish her for not having told me of the boy’s existence a lot sooner. I also planned to have her thoroughly investigated.

Is she sleeping with Renzo?

The question popped into my head as something wholly unfamiliar tore through my insides. Something visceral and indiscriminate. I had to curl my fingers into fists to stop me from acting on the sudden urge to capture her face in my hands and claim those lush lips with my own—driving my tongue into the recesses of her mouth until she clung to me the way she had before and I plunged deep into her....

I tensed and shoved my fists into the pockets of my jeans, shocked by the direction of my thoughts.

Dio, I needed to get laid. Clearly the shock of seeing the child, of seeing her again, had had an unpredictable effect not just on my emotional equilibrium but on my libido.

I was off-kilter, not a condition I was used to, which explained this forceful and inexplicable reaction.

She nodded, apparently taking my answer at face value.

‘I... I understand,’ she said.

No, you don’t, but you will.

Whatever the result of the DNA test, she had kept the child’s existence from me for five years. And for that she would pay.

‘I should go,’ she said, strangely polite. ‘Cai is waiting for me. Let me know what you need and when for the test. I think it’s just a swab. I can make it into a game to explain it to Cai.’ She huffed out a breath to stop the babble of information, but her nervousness was visible in her trembling fingers as she pushed the shock of ruddy curls away from her face.

This was not an act. But then, if she had any idea what I was thinking, she had a lot to be nervous about.

‘I’ll... I’ll speak to you again about Cai, when you’re ready,’ she said.

Walking over to the sofa, she picked up a large bag, rummaged inside and produced a card. ‘This is my work number. I’ll...we’ll...be back in the UK by tomorrow night. And you can contact me there most week days between nine and five. Or my PA will take a message.’

She handed me the card and our fingers brushed. I managed to stifle the sudden jolt of reaction. Her, not so much.

Why did that make me want to smile, despite everything?

The tug of amusement died, though, as I read the address on her business card and recognised the location of Camaro’s R&D headquarters in London.

The surge of possessiveness was as visceral as that strange pulse of jealousy and lust, but I explained it to myself as I watched her sling her purse over her shoulder.

I might be unclear at the moment about how much of a father—or an uncle—I was capable of being to this child. But he would need to live in Monaco, to understand his Galanti heritage. And that would mean his mother would have to come too.

It would be no hardship offering her a position in our R&D operation, if her credentials were as good as Freddie had suggested, and I did still need a reserve driver. That situation hadn’t changed from when I’d first walked into this room. Even if everything else had.

‘Goodbye, Alexi,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry...’ She paused, her regret looking surprisingly genuine. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Cai sooner. That was wrong of me. Call me when you’re ready.’

I nodded as the emotion I’d been keeping so carefully at bay swelled against my ribs.

I watched her disappear back into the changing area, probably to collect her racing suit. I strode out of the lounge area. The emotion threatened to choke me as I headed towards the track’s parking lot and away from the car hangars where the boy was with his babysitter.

You need to take stock, to know exactly what you’re dealing with before you proceed.

But, even as the mantra ran through my head, all the conflicting emotions churned in my stomach: grief, longing, desire, anger, confusion. My fingers shook as I fished my key out of my pocket and clicked the fob.

As I climbed into the car, fired up the engine and drove away, I knew my whole life had changed in the space of one afternoon. The reality of that fact was reinforced by the tug of something vivid and inescapable—was it lust, regret, longing or grief? Who the hell knew?

But the force of it was dragging me back into the past harder than the G-force in the driver’s seat of our newest model when it hit two hundred miles per hour.

I had been running from myself, and my sins against Remy, for five years, maybe longer, and now the truth of what I’d done, what we’d both done to him, had caught up with me.

In the shape of one boisterous little boy and a woman I had never been able to forget—unlike any other, even my own mother—even though I had tried.

CHAPTER FOUR

Belle

Dear Mlle Simpson

The results of the test carried out on May 20th by The Royal Harley Street Clinic on the DNA of your son, Cai Remy Simpson, and Mr Alexi Gustavo Galanti show a 99.98 percentage probability that he is the father of your child.

As a result of this information, Mr Galanti has asked me to inform you that he has arranged for you to fly out to Monaco on his private jet on May 23rd for a meeting with him, myself and the rest of his legal team at Villa Galanti so we can outline how he plans to proceed.

I enclose details of the travel arrangements and your overnight stay at the villa.

A car will collect you at your home address at ten that morning.

Salutations distinguées,

Etienne Severo, avocat

I READ THE email from Alexi’s lawyer which had arrived while I’d been busy packing Cai’s lunch box and trying to cajole him into putting on his shoes that morning.

I hadn’t had time to panic about it then, but I had lots of time to panic about it now as I read it for the five-thousandth time.

I hadn’t done any work this morning. My fear at the curt demand choked me. Alexi expected me to drop everything and come to Monaco to find out how he planned to proceed in two days’ time. And to stay overnight at Villa Galanti. He’d given me virtually no time to arrange leave or childcare, and there had been little mention of Cai. While I was grateful he hadn’t asked me to bring Cai, the impersonal nature of the solicitor’s letter, and the laying down of battle lines contained within it, disturbed me.

I had expected Alexi’s high-handed, dictatorial approach. Of course he mistrusted me. I’d kept his son’s existence from him, and what evidence did he have I would ever have told him but for a chance encounter? But in the last few days I had hoped that, once Cai’s parenthood was established, he would contact me personally—that his first priority would be getting to know the innocent four-year-old child at the centre of this situation.

I read the email again, scanning it for any evidence of warmth or empathy towards his son. Even if I didn’t deserve any sympathy, surely Cai did? But the words remained as cold and compassionless as when I’d first read them.

A prickle of anger burned under my breastbone, which made an unfortunate bedfellow for the panic which had consumed me all morning.

Part of me wanted to refuse his demand. I didn’t want to go to the Galanti mansion—there were so many memories there waiting to hijack me—and demanding I go alone and stay the night at the villa could only be a ploy to unsettle and unnerve me.

I closed the email app on my phone as the anger fizzled out.

Whatever Alexi’s agenda was, and however scared I was about the outcome of this ‘meeting’, I couldn’t keep running away from the confrontation I had avoided for so long. I had hoped Alexi would be reasonable. Clearly that wasn’t going to happen, but I owed it to my son to hear what his father had to say.

I could feel Alexi’s anger with me in the lawyer’s words. And I had to face that in order to move forward now.

Because I’d seen how confused, how emotional, Alexi had been when I’d revealed Cai’s identity to him nearly a week ago. Even though he’d tried exceptionally hard to hide it, I had blindsided him.

And I had to accept he had a right to be angry with me.

I dialled Jessie’s number. My cousin picked up on the first ring.

‘Hey, Belle,’ she said, her warm voice already helping to release the pressure which had been strangling me ever since my fateful meeting with Alexi—a pressure which had become unbearable ever since his lawyer’s email had arrived.

‘Hi, Jess. I need to go to Monaco day after tomorrow and stay overnight... Could you look after Cai while I’m gone? I know it’s super-short notice and I—’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Jessie interrupted. ‘You know I love to look after him. What time do you need me there?’

I rattled off the details.

Cai hadn’t done anything wrong, even if I had. Cai’s welfare always came first—and if Alexi’s ‘plans’ for me and our son turned out to be not in Cai’s best interests I would tell him so.

I didn’t like the implication in the lawyer’s email that Alexi planned to tell me how he was going to handle this situation and I would just be expected to follow his orders. But it shouldn’t surprise me.

Alexi had always been pushy and, well, frankly domineering and determined to get his own way. He’d been like that ever since I’d first known him as a teenager on the rare occasions when he’d deigned to notice the housekeeper’s infatuated daughter, so it was no surprise he was even more of a dictator now.

I had toyed with the idea of hiring a lawyer to accompany me to Villa Galanti but had decided against it. Why make this even more confrontational than it already was? I would not be signing anything at this meeting, and he couldn’t force me to do so, because I was now the opposite of that infatuated teenager.

So I would go to Monaco, to his meeting, listen politely to what he had to say, deal with his anger, his enmity and his legal team and then, once I returned to the UK, I would hire my own lawyer to thrash out the child custody arrangements.

The anxiety thrummed under my breastbone again.

I earned a very good salary from Camaro. But I still had student loans to pay, not to mention Cai’s childcare and a large mortgage for our tiny flat in west London. I wouldn’t be able to afford a legal team anywhere near as fancy as Alexi’s... I took a steadying breath.

Don’t go getting ahead of yourself.

I didn’t even know yet what he wanted to do. It was quite possible he wouldn’t even want any custody. He hadn’t exactly seemed overjoyed at the news he had a son. Just stunned, wary and then angry. I might well be panicking about nothing. Perhaps this meeting was simply to punish me for not telling him about his child.

‘Why are you going to Monaco? Is it a work thing?’ Jessie’s calming voice drew me back to the present before the panic started to choke me again.

‘Sort of,’ I attempted to lie, but my response didn’t sound convincing even to me. I had always been a terrible liar.

‘It’s not to do with Alexi Galanti, then?’ Jessie’s question had my belly knotting.

‘How do you know about him?’ I rasped.

‘I looked him up after he freaked you out so much in Barcelona.’

‘Right,’ I said. I thought I’d managed to hide that from Jessie. ‘So you noticed that, huh?’

‘Yes, I noticed that, Belle. I also noticed his resemblance to Cai. Is he his father?’ She’d never asked me the question before, and I’d been pathetically grateful for that over the years, but I could see now that was just more evidence of what a coward I’d been. Jessie had a right to know. She’d helped me get back on my feet when I’d turned up on her doorstep pregnant, destitute and distraught.

‘Yes, he is,’ I said.

‘And I’m assuming he knows that too, if he’s an observant man.’

Alexi was certainly that. ‘He insisted on a DNA test.’ His mistrust still stung, but I was trying to make that not about me.

Alexi had never really trusted anyone, especially not women, not since his mother had run away and left his brother and him alone to deal with their alcoholic father.

‘The results came through from his lawyer this morning,’ I continued. ‘He’s arranged for me to fly to Monaco to talk about his plans.’