One night...

Seeing Natasha Pellegrini at her husband’s funeral propels Matteo Manaserro back to a time before she shattered his trust. Caught in a potent mix of emotion, they surrender to their explosive passion...

One secret...

Unable to share the truth about her passionless marriage, Natasha is a virgin until Matteo’s touch brands her as his.

One baby...

When Matteo discovers Natasha is pregnant, he knows they must present a united front. He may never trust her, but he’s intent on claiming his baby. Except he hasn’t bargained on their insatiable chemistry binding them together so completely!

‘For better or worse, we’re going to be tied together by our child for the rest of our lives—and the only way we’re going to get through it is by always being honest with each other. We will argue and disagree, but you must always speak the truth to me.’

Natasha fought to keep her feet grounded and her limbs from turning into fondue. But it was a fight she was losing. Matteo’s breath was warm on her face, his thumb was gently moving on her skin and scorching it, and the heat from his body was almost penetrating her clothes.

She’d kissed him without any thought, a desperate compulsion to touch him and comfort him flooding her, and then the fury had struck from nowhere. All her private thoughts about the direction he’d taken his career in converging at the realisation he’d thrown it all away in the pursuit of riches.

And now she wanted to kiss him again.

As if he could sense the need inside her he brought his mouth close to hers, but not quite touching—the promise of a kiss.

‘And now I will ask you something. I want complete honesty,’ he whispered, the movement of his words making his lips dance against hers like a breath.

His other hand trailed down her back and clasped her bottom to pull her flush against him. His lips moved lightly over hers, still tantalising her with the promise of his kiss.

‘Do you want me to let you go?’

Bound to a Billionaire

Claimed by the most powerful of men!

Felipe Lorenzi, Matteo Manaserro and Daniele Pellegrini.

Three powerful billionaires who want for nothing—in business or in bed. But nothing and no one can touch their closely guarded hearts.

That is until Francesca, Natasha and Eva are each bound to a billionaire…and prove to be a challenge these delicious alpha males can’t resist!

Don’t miss Michelle Smart’s stunning trilogy

Read Felipe and Francesca’s story in

Protecting His Defiant Innocent

Already available

Read Matteo and Natasha’s story in

Claiming His One-Night Baby

Available now!

And look for

Daniele and Eva’s story in

Buying His Bride of Convenience

October 2017

Claiming His One-Night Baby

Michelle Smart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MICHELLE SMART’s love affair with books started when she was a baby and she would cuddle them in her cot. A voracious reader of all genres, she found her love of romance established when she stumbled across her first Mills & Boon book at the age of twelve. She’s been reading and writing them ever since. Michelle lives in Northamptonshire, with her husband and two young Smarties.

Books by Michelle Smart

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

Once a Moretti Wife

The Perfect Cazorla Wife

The Russian’s Ultimatum

Bound to a Billionaire

Protecting His Defiant Innocent

Brides for Billionaires

Married for the Greek’s Convenience

One Night With Consequences

Claiming His Christmas Consequence

Wedlocked!

Wedded, Bedded, Betrayed

The Kalliakis Crown

Talos Claims His Virgin

Theseus Discovers His Heir

Helios Crowns His Mistress

Society Weddings

The Greek’s Pregnant Bride

The Irresistible Sicilians

What a Sicilian Husband Wants

The Sicilian’s Unexpected Duty

Taming the Notorious Sicilian

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Bound to a Billionaire

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

JAW CLENCHED, HIS heart pounding an irregular beat in his chest, Matteo Manaserro watched the coffin being lowered into the consecrated ground of Castello Miniato’s private cemetery.

Surrounding the open earth stood hundreds of Pieta Pellegrini’s loved ones, friends, family, colleagues, even some heads of state, with their security details standing back at a discreet distance, all there to say a final goodbye to a man who had been respected the world over for his philanthropic endeavours.

Vanessa Pellegrini, Pieta’s mother, who had buried her husband, Fabio, in the adjoining plot only a year ago, stepped forward, supported by her daughter Francesca. Both women clutched red roses. Francesca turned around to extend a hand to Natasha, Pieta’s widow, who was staring blankly at the wooden box like an ashen-faced statue. The breeze that had filled the early-autumn air had dropped, magnifying the statue effect. Not a single strand of her tumbling honey-blonde hair moved.

She lifted her dry eyes and blinked, the motion seeming to clear her thoughts as she grabbed Francesca’s hand and joined the sobbing women.

Together, the three Pellegrini women threw their roses onto the coffin.

Matteo forced stale air from his lungs and focused his attention anywhere but on the widow.

This was a day to say goodbye, to mourn and then celebrate a man who deserved to be mourned and celebrated. This was not a day to stare at the widow and think how beautiful she looked even in grief. Or think how badly he wanted to take hold of her shoulders and...

Daniele, Pieta’s brother, shifted beside him. It was their turn.

Goodbye, Pieta, my cousin, my friend. Thank you for everything. I will miss you.

Once the immediate family—in which Matteo was included—had thrown their roses on the coffin, it was time for the other mourners to follow suit.

Striving to keep his features neutral, he watched his parents step forward to pay their last respects to their nephew. They didn’t look at him, their son, but he knew his father sensed him watching.

Matteo hadn’t exchanged a word with them since he’d legally changed his surname five years ago in the weeks that had followed the death of his own brother.

So much death.

So many funerals.

So much grief.

Too much pain.

When the burial was over and the priest led the mourners into the castello for the wake, Matteo hung back to visit a grave on the next row.

The marble headstone had a simple etching.

Roberto Pellegrini

Beloved son

No mention of him being a beloved brother.

Generations of Pellegrinis and their descendants were buried here, going back six centuries. At twenty-eight, Roberto was the youngest to have been buried in fifty years.

Matteo crouched down and touched the headstone. ‘Hello, Roberto. Sorry I haven’t visited you in a while. I’ve been busy.’ He laughed harshly. In the five years since his brother’s death he’d visited the grave only a handful of times. Not a day passed when he didn’t think of him. Not an hour passed when he didn’t feel the loss.

‘Listen to me justifying myself. Again. You know I hate to see you here. I love you and I miss you. I just wanted you to know that.’

Blinking back moistness from his eyes, his heart aching, his head pounding, Matteo dragged himself to the castello to join the others.

A huge bar had been set up in the state room for the wake. Matteo had booked himself into a hotel in Pisa for the next couple of days but figured one small glass of bourbon wouldn’t put him over the limit. His hotel room had a fully stocked minibar for him to drink dry when he got there. He would stay as long as was decent then leave.

He’d taken only a sip of his drink when Francesca appeared at his side.

He embraced her tightly. ‘How are you holding up?’ He’d been thirteen when his uncle Fabio and his wife, Vanessa, had taken him into their home. Francesca had been a baby. He’d been there when she’d taken her first steps, been in the audience for her first school music recital—she’d murdered the trumpet—and had beamed with the pride of a big brother only a few months ago at her graduation.

She shrugged and rubbed his arm. ‘I need you to come with me. There’s something we need to discuss.’

Following her up a cold corridor—the ancient castello needed a fortune’s worth of modernisation—they entered Fabio Pellegrini’s old office, which, from the musty smell, hadn’t been used since the motor neurone disease that eventually killed him had really taken its hold on him.

A moment later Daniele appeared at the door with Natasha right behind him.

Startled blue eyes found his and quickly looked away as Francesca closed the door and indicated they should all sit round the oval table.

Matteo inhaled deeply and swore to himself.

This was the last thing he needed, to be stuck in close confines with her, the woman who had played him like a violin, letting him believe she had genuine feelings for him and could see a future for them, when all along she’d been playing his cousin too.

It seemed she had been with him every minute of that day, always in the periphery of his vision even when he’d blinked her away. Now she sat opposite him, close enough that if he were to reach over the table he would be able to stroke her deceitful face.

She shouldn’t be wearing black. She should be wearing scarlet.

He despised that she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and that the years had only added to it.

He studied the vivid blue eyes that looked everywhere but at him. He studied the classically oval face with its creamy complexion, usually golden but today ashen, searching for flaws. Her nose was slightly too long, her lips too wide, but instead of being imperfections they added character to the face he’d once dreamed of waking up to.

And now?

Now he despised the very air she breathed.

* * *

‘To summarise, I’ll take care of the legal side, Daniele takes care of the construction and Matteo takes care of the medical side. What about you, Natasha? Do you want to handle publicity for it?’

Francesca’s words penetrated Natasha’s ears but it took a couple of beats longer for her brain to decipher them.

She’d struggled to pay attention throughout the meeting Francesca had called, the outbursts of temper between Daniele and Francesca being the only thing that had kept her even vaguely alert.

‘I can do that,’ she whispered, swallowing back the hysteria clamouring in her stomach.

Ignore Matteo and keep it together, she told herself in desperation.

God, she didn’t know anything about publicity.

She knew Francesca thought she was doing the right thing, inviting her to this meeting of siblings—and the Pellegrinis considered their cousin Matteo to be a sibling—and that Francesca assumed she would want to be involved.

Any decent, loving widow would want to be involved in building a memorial to their beloved husband.

And she did want to be involved. For all his terrible failings as a husband, Pieta had been a true, dedicated humanitarian. He’d formed his own foundation a decade ago to build in areas hit by natural disasters; schools, homes, hospitals, whatever was needed. The Caribbean island of Caballeros had been hit by the worst hurricane on record the week before he’d died, wrecking the majority of the island’s medical facilities. Pieta had immediately known he would build a hospital there but before his own plans for it had fully formed his own tragedy had struck and he’d been killed in a helicopter crash.

He deserved to have this memorial. The suffering people of Caballeros deserved to benefit from the hospital Francesca would steamroller into building for them.

So Natasha had striven to pay attention, not wanting to let down the loving Pellegrini siblings who’d been a part of her life for as long as she could remember, since her father and Fabio had been old school friends. She’d never had siblings of her own and as soon as it had been announced she’d be marrying into the family the closeness had grown, even during the six long years of their engagement.

If only Matteo weren’t there she’d have been better able to concentrate.

There had not been one occasion in his presence in the past seven years where she hadn’t felt the weight of his animosity. Polite and amiable enough that no one could see the depths of his loathing, whenever their eyes met it was akin to being stared at by Lucifer, her soul scorched by the burn of the hatred firing from green eyes that had once looked at her with only tenderness.

She could feel it now, digging into her skin like needles.

How could Francesca and Daniele not feel it too? How did it not infuse the whole atmosphere?

A part of her understood why he despised her as he did and, God knew, she’d tried to apologise for it, but it had been seven years. So much had changed in that time. She’d changed. He’d changed too, turning his back on the reconstructive surgery he’d worked so hard to specialise in and instead going the vanity surgery route. With his twenty-eight clinics worldwide and the patent on a skincare range he’d personally developed that actually worked in reducing scars and the signs of aging, he’d gone from being a dedicated professional surgeon to an entrepreneur who fitted surgery in when he had the time. Matteo had amassed a fortune that rivalled the entire Pellegrini estate and Pieta’s personally accrued wealth put together.

He’d even changed his surname.

He’d become famous with it. Tall with dark good looks, olive skin, strong jaw and black curly hair that he’d recently had cropped short, it had been inevitable. ‘Dr Dishy’ the tabloids called him. It seemed she could barely pass a newsagent or log on to the internet without seeing his seductive face blazing out at her, normally with some identikit lingerie model or other draped on his arm.

Today his usual arrogance had deserted him. Even with the laser burn of his loathing infecting her, she could feel his anguish.

Pieta had been more than a cousin and surrogate sibling. He’d been Matteo’s closest friend.

Her heart wanted to weep for him.

Her heart wanted to weep for all of them.

* * *

Matteo pulled his car up by the kerb and turned off the engine. The grand town house he’d parked opposite from stood in darkness.

Slumping forward over the wheel, he closed his eyes.

What was he even doing here?

He should be in his hotel room, drinking the minibar dry. He’d made that arrangement assuming Natasha would be staying in the castello with the rest of the family. He hadn’t slept under the same roof as her since she’d accepted Pieta’s proposal.

But she hadn’t stayed. A couple of hours after their meeting to discuss the memorial for Pieta she had made the rounds to embrace everyone goodbye. Everyone except him. By unspoken agreement—unspoken because he hadn’t exchanged more than a handful of words with her in seven years—he’d kept a great enough physical distance between them that no one would notice they failed to say goodbye to each other.

He put his head back and breathed deeply, willing his heart to stop this irregular rhythm.

What the hell was wrong with him? Why was it today of all days that he couldn’t shake her from his mind? Why today, when he was mourning his best friend and cousin, had the old memories returned to haunt him?

He could see it so vividly, leaving his room in the castello to head outside to join the rest of his family in the marquee for his aunt and uncle’s thirtieth wedding anniversary party. Natasha had left the room she’d been sharing with Francesca just a short way up the corridor from his at the same time. His heart had skipped to see her and he’d been ecstatic to see the necklace he’d sent for her eighteenth birthday there around her slender neck. He’d been disappointed not to make it to England for her party but he’d been a resident doctor at a hospital in Florida close to where he’d been to medical school. An emergency had cropped up at the end of his shift, a major car crash with multiple casualties that had resulted in all hands on deck. By the time they’d patched up the last casualty he’d missed his flight.

He’d been taking things slowly with her, waiting for her to turn eighteen before making a physical move. And then, in that cold castello corridor, Natasha in an electric-blue dress, the epitome of a chic, elegant woman, he’d realised he didn’t have to back off any more.

All the letters and late-night calls they’d been exchanging for months, the dreams and hopes for the future they’d shared, had all been leading to this, this moment, this time. It was time for their future to begin right then and he’d fingered that necklace before taking her face in his hands and kissing her for the very first time.

It had been the sweetest, headiest kiss he’d ever experienced in his then twenty-eight years, interrupted only by Francesca steamrolling from her room and clattering up the corridor to join them. If she’d been three seconds earlier she would have found them together.

Three seconds.

What would she have done, he wondered, if she had caught them in that clinch?

Because only two hours later Pieta had got to his feet and, in front of the three hundred guests, had asked Natasha to marry him. And she’d said yes.

Matteo rubbed his eyes as if the motion could rub the memories away.

He shouldn’t be thinking of all this now.

Why had he even come here, to the house she had shared with Pieta?

A light came on upstairs.

Had she just woken? Or had she been in the darkness all this time?

And was Francesca right to be worried about her?

Francesca had cornered him as he’d been making his own escape from the wake and asked him to keep an eye on Natasha while she, Francesca, was in Caballeros. She was worried about her, said she’d become a lost, mute ghost.

Although Natasha and Pieta had only been married for a year, they’d been together for seven years. She might be a gold-digging, heartless bitch but surely in that time she must have developed some feelings for him.

He’d wanted her feelings for Pieta to be genuine, for his cousin’s sake. But how could they have been when she’d been seeing them both behind each other’s backs?

Other than the few social family occasions he’d been unable to get out of, he’d cut her out of his life completely. He’d blocked her number, deleted every email and text message they’d exchanged and burned all her old-fashioned handwritten letters. The times he’d felt obliged to be in her presence he’d perfected the art of subtly blanking her in a way that didn’t draw attention to anyone but her.

He should have just said no to Francesca. Lied and said he was returning home to Miami earlier than planned.

Instead he’d nodded curtly and promised to drop round if he had five minutes over the next couple of days.

So why had he driven here when he’d left the castello fully intending to drive straight to the hotel?

* * *

Natasha pushed Pieta’s study door open and swallowed hard before stepping into it. After a moment she switched the light on. After going from room to room in complete darkness, in the house that had been her home for a year, her eyes took a few moments to adjust to the brightness.

She didn’t know what she was looking for or what she was doing. She didn’t know anything. She was lost. Alone.

She’d stayed at the wake as long as had been decently possible but all the consolation from the other mourners had become too much. Seeing Matteo everywhere she’d looked had been just as hard. Harder. Her mother pulling her to one side to ask if there was a chance she could be pregnant had been the final straw.

She’d had to get out before she’d screamed the castello down and her tongue ran away with itself before she could pull it back.

The rest of the Pellegrinis were staying at the castello and with sympathetic but concerned eyes had accepted her explanation that she wanted to be on her own.

At her insistence, the household staff had all stayed at the wake.

This was the first time she’d been alone in the house since she’d received the terrible news.

Feeling like an intruder in the room that had been her husband’s domain, she cast her gaze over the walls thick with the books he’d read. A stack of files he’d brought home to work on, either from his law firm or the foundation he’d been so proud of, lay on his desk. Next to it sat the thick leather-bound tome on Stanley and Livingstone she’d bought him for his recent birthday. A bookmark poked out a third of the way through it.

Her throat closing tightly, she picked the book up and hugged it to her chest then with a wail that seemed to come from nowhere sank to the floor and sobbed for the man who had lied to her and everyone else for years, but who had done so much good in the world.

Pieta would never finish this book. He would never see the hospital his siblings would build in his memory. He would never take delivery of the new car he’d ordered only the day before he’d died.

He would never have the chance to tell his family the truth about who he’d really been.

‘Oh, Pieta,’ she whispered between the tears. ‘Wherever you are, I hope you’re finally at peace with yourself.’

The sound of the doorbell rang out.

She rolled into a ball and covered her ears.

The caller was insistent, pressing the doorbell intermittently until she could ignore it no longer. Wiping the tears away, she dragged herself up from the study floor and went down the stairs, clinging to the bannister for support, mentally preparing what she would say to get rid of her unexpected visitor.

Please don’t be my parents. Don’t be my parents. Don’t be my parents.

Bracing herself, she unlocked the door and opened it a crack to peer through.

Certain she must be hallucinating, she pulled the door wider.

Her heart seemed to stop then kick back to life with a roar.

Matteo stood there, shining like an apparition under the brilliance of the moon.

He’d removed his black tie, his white shirt open at the throat, bleakness in his eyes, his jaw clenched, breathing heavily.

Their eyes met.

Neither of them spoke.

Something erupted in her chest, gripping her so tightly her lungs closed.

Time came to a standstill.

There they stood for the longest time, speaking only with their eyes. She read a hundred things in his; variations of pain, misery, anger and something else, something she hadn’t seen since the beat before he’d taken her into his arms for the only kiss they had ever shared seven years ago.

This was the first time she’d seen him alone since that kiss.

She would never forget the look in his eyes from across the marquee when she had said yes to Pieta’s proposal only two hours later. That would be with her until the day she died. The regret at all that had been lost would live in her for ever.

Her foot moved of its own accord as she took the step to him and placed her palm on his warm cheek.

He didn’t react. Not the flicker of a muscle.

Matteo stared into eyes puffy from crying but that shone at him, almost pleading.

All the words he’d prepared melted away.

He couldn’t even remember getting out of his car.

Her trembling hand felt so gentle on his cheek, her warmth penetrating his skin, and all he could do was drink in the face he’d once dreamed of waking up to.

A force too powerful to fight took hold of him, like a fist grabbing his insides and squeezing tightly.

Suddenly he couldn’t remember why he hated her. All thoughts had evaporated. All he could see was her, Natasha, the woman he had taken one look at nearly eight years ago and known his life would never be the same again.

CHAPTER TWO

THE WORLD AROUND them blocked itself out and, without a word being said, Matteo crossed the threshold, kicked the door shut behind him and lifted her into his arms.

Their eyes locked together. Her fingers burrowed in the nape of his neck and he carried her up the stairs and into a bedroom. There he laid her on the bed and, his heart hammering in his throat, closed his eyes and brought his lips to hers.

Her taste...

When she parted her lips and his tongue swept into her mouth, the sweet, intoxicating taste he’d never forgotten filled him and from that moment he was lost.

In a frenzy of hands and heady kisses, they stripped each other’s clothes off, items thrown without thought, a desperation to be naked and for their bodies to be flush together. Then he speared her hair with his fingers and crushed her mouth to his, teeth and tongues clashing as if they were trying to peel the other’s skin and climb inside.

There were no thoughts, no words, only this potent madness that had them both in its grip.

He cupped her small perfect breasts then took them into his mouth, her moan of pleasure soaking right into his bloodstream. He ran his hands over her smooth belly and followed it with his tongue before going lower to inhale her musky heat.

He devoured her, not an inch of her creamy skin with the texture of silk left untouched or without his kiss.

Never had he experienced anything like this, this combustible, primal need to taste her, mark her, to imprint himself into her.

To worship her.

Natasha was adrift in a world she’d never been to before, Matteo her anchor, and she clung to him as if he were all that was left to hold onto, dragging her fingers through his hair, touching every bit of smooth skin she could reach with her needy hands. Every touch seared her, every kiss scorched.

His kiss from seven years ago had flicked something on inside her, a heat that had briefly smouldered before the direction of her life had extinguished it. Now he’d switched it back on and it engulfed her, flames licking every part of her, heat burning deep inside her, an ache so acute she didn’t know where the pleasure ended and the pain began. She could cry with the wonder of it all. All those years of living without this...

And it wasn’t enough. She needed more. She needed everything.

As if sensing her thoughts, Matteo snaked his tongue back up her stomach and over her breasts, climbing higher to find her mouth and kiss her with such passion that it sucked the air from her lungs.

His hand found her thigh and pushed it out while she moved the other and wrapped her legs around him.

His erection brushed her folds and she gasped for breath at the weight and hardness of it then gasped again when he pushed his way inside her.

There was no pain, there was too much heat and fire racing through her for that, just a slight discomfort as her body adjusted to this dizzying newness.

And then there was a moment of stillness from Matteo, a pause in the frenzy.

Suddenly terrified he’d sensed or felt something wrong, she grabbed the back of his head and kissed him deeply, hungrily.

And then she forgot to worry, forgot about everything but this moment, this time, and welcomed his lovemaking, the feel of him inside her, the pleasure taking over, taking her higher and higher until the pulsations burst through her and rippled into every part of her being.

As she absorbed these beautiful sensations with wonder, Matteo’s movements quickened, his lips found hers and with a long moan into her mouth, he shuddered before collapsing on her.

For a long time they simply lay there, still saying nothing, the only sound their ragged breaths and the beats of their hearts echoing together through their tightly fused bodies.

Then, as the sensations subsided and the heat that had engulfed them cooled, something else took its place.

Horror.

She heard Matteo swallow into her neck, then his weight shifted and he rolled off her, swung his legs over the bed, and swore, first in his native Italian and then in English.

Coldness chilled her skin.

It was just as well she was lying down for if she’d been on her feet she was certain her legs would have given way beneath her.

What had they just done?

How had it happened?

She couldn’t explain it. She doubted he could either.

Feeling very much that she could be sick, she stared up at the ceiling and tried to get air into her tight lungs. If she could get her vocal cords to unfreeze she might very well swear too.

After a few deep breaths to steady himself, Matteo got to his feet and went in search of his discarded clothing.

He needed to get out of this house. Right now.

He found his shirt under her dress. One of his socks was rolled in a nest with her bra.

Nausea swirled violently inside him.

What had they just done?

Why the hell had he got out of his damned car? Why hadn’t he driven off?

He pulled on his black trousers, not bothering to do the button up, then shrugged his shirt on, not caring it was inside out.

His other sock had rolled half under the small dressing table that had only a thin glass of dried flowers on it. That this was clearly a guest room was the only mercy he could take from this.

Stuffing his socks into his jacket pocket, he slid his feet into his brogues and strode to the door. Just as he was about to make his escape a thought hit him like a hammer to the brain.

His hands clenched into fists as recriminations at his complete and utter stupidity raged through him, every curse he knew hollering in his head.

Slowly he turned around to look at her.

She hadn’t moved an inch since he’d rolled off her, her hands gripping the bedsheets, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. But then, as if feeling the weight of his gaze upon her, she turned her face towards him and wide, terrified eyes met his.

That one look confirmed everything.

It didn’t need to be said.

Natasha knew as surely as he did that the madness that had taken them had been total.

They had failed to use protection.

And he knew as surely as she did that Natasha wasn’t on the Pill. Pieta himself had told him they were trying for a baby.

A thousand emotions punching through him, he left without a single word exchanged between them, strode quickly across the street and into his car.

Only when he was alone in it did the roar of rage that had built in his chest come out and he slammed his fists onto the steering wheel, thumping it with all the force he could muster, then gripped his head in his hands and dug his fingers tightly into his skull.

Another twenty minutes passed before he felt even vaguely calm enough to drive away.

He didn’t look at the house again.

Two weeks later

It was taking everything Natasha had not to bite her fingernails. It was taking even more not to open one of the bottles of Prosecco that had been in the fridge since Pieta’s funeral. She hadn’t drunk any alcohol since the wake. If she started drinking she feared she would never stop.

Francesca was due any minute to go through the plans for the hospital they were going to build in Pieta’s memory. To no one’s surprise it had taken her sister-in-law only one week to buy the site and get the necessary permissions to develop on it. Her sister-in-law was possibly the most determined person Natasha knew and she wished she had an ounce of her drive and a fraction of her tenacity.

For herself, she seemed to have lost whatever drive she’d ever had. She felt so tired, like she could sleep for a lifetime.

Where this lethargy had come from she didn’t know, had to assume it was one of those stages of grief she’d been told to expect. Everyone was an expert on grief, it seemed. Everyone was watching her, waiting for her to crumble under the weight of it.

And despite everything, she was grieving, but not for the reasons everyone thought. Her grief was not for the future she had lost, but the seven years she and Matteo had both wasted.

Mixed in with it all was that awful sick feeling in her belly whenever she remembered how the night of the funeral had ended.

God, she didn’t want to think about that but no matter how hard she tried to block the memories, they was always there with her.

The bell rang out.

She blew a long puff of air from her lungs and tried to compose herself while the housekeeper let Francesca in.

Footsteps sounded through the huge ground floor of the house Natasha had shared with Pieta and then Francesca entered the study with her brother, Daniele. It was the figure who appeared behind her brother-in-law that almost shattered the poise Natasha had forced on herself.

As was the custom with her Italian in-laws, exuberant kisses and tight embraces were exchanged with whispered platitudes and words of comfort. Then it was time to greet Matteo.

Bracing herself, she placed a hand loosely on his shoulder, felt his hand rest lightly on her hip as they leaned in together to go through the motions of something neither could forgo without arousing suspicion. When the stubble on his warm jaw scratched her cheek she was hit by the vivid memory of that same cheek scratching her inner thigh and had to squeeze her eyes tightly shut to block the image, something she must forget.

But she could smell his skin and the scent of his cologne. Smell him. Feel the strength of his body, the curls of his dark hair between her fingers...

It had been a terrible mistake, something neither of them had needed to vocalise.

She didn’t know it was possible for someone to hate themselves as much as she hated herself. She owed Pieta absolutely nothing, she knew that, but...

She just couldn’t believe it had happened. Couldn’t believe she had lost all control of herself, couldn’t work out how it had happened or why.

It was as if some madness had taken hold of them both.

For one hour she had left behind the girl who had done everything she could to please her parents to the point of abandoning the life she’d so desperately wanted, and had found the hidden woman who had never been allowed to exist.

Protection had been the last thing on either of their minds.

They’d been stupid and so, so reckless.

Francesca hadn’t said she would be bringing her brother and cousin with her. It hadn’t occurred to Natasha to ask. Daniele and Matteo both ran enormously successful businesses that took them all over the world. She’d assumed their input for the hospital—especially Matteo’s—would come at a later date.

But then she looked properly at Francesca and understood why Daniele at least had stuck around in Pisa. Her sister-in-law looked more bereft than she had at Pieta’s funeral. More than bereft. Like the light that had always shone brightly inside her had been extinguished. Daniele would never leave his sister in this state.

And Francesca looked closely at Natasha in turn. ‘Are you okay? You look pale.’

She gave a rueful shrug. None of them could pretend they were okay. ‘I’m just tired.’

‘You’re holding your back. Does it hurt?’

‘A little.’

The housekeeper brought in a tray of coffee and biscotti, which distracted them all from Natasha’s health. They sat around the large dining table onto which Francesca placed a stack of files.

Natasha couldn’t even remember what the meeting was for. Matteo being under the same roof as her had turned her brain into a colander.

Why had he come? Was it to punish her?

Every time she’d seen him over the past seven years had been a punishment she’d accepted. She’d let him kiss her and then hours later had agreed to marry someone else, in front of him, in front of everyone. Not just someone else, but his cousin and closest friend. She’d let the moment when she should have told him about Pieta slip by in the haze of his kiss.

Would things have been different if she’d told him, either then or in the weeks beforehand when Pieta’s intentions had suddenly become clear? Or would the outcome have been the same?

She’d called and left dozens of messages but Matteo had never answered and he’d never responded. He’d cut her off as effectively as he’d wielded his scalpel.

If things had been different, though, would her life have been any happier? She’d long stopped believing that. Matteo wasn’t the man she’d thought him to be. He wasn’t a man any woman with an ounce of sanity would consider spending her life with unless she was a masochist. It wasn’t just a love of wealth he’d developed since the days she’d fancied herself in love with him; he’d developed a hedonistic streak to match it. No man who had a new woman on his arm every week could ever be content to settle down with only one.

Daniele took control of the meeting, explaining where they were with the project and how he and Matteo were planning a trip to Caballeros in the next couple of weeks. It was hoped construction would begin soon after.

‘That quick?’ Natasha found the energy to ask.

‘It’s Caballeros, not Europe,’ Daniele answered with a shrug. ‘Bureaucracy doesn’t exist there in the way we know it.’

‘Have you had any publicity ideas?’ Francesca asked, reminding Natasha of the role she’d agreed to take in the project.

‘I’m sorry, but no.’ She stared at the polished surface of the table in her shame. All she’d done these past two weeks was drift. ‘I’ll get thinking and send you some ideas over the next few days.’ She rubbed her temples, hoping she wasn’t promising something she would fail to see through. The more publicity they had for it the more donations they would receive, the more donations they received the more staff they could employ.

Dull thuds pounded behind her eyes. As Pieta’s next of kin this was her responsibility. Everything concerning her husband’s foundation now rested on her shoulders and so far she’d abdicated all responsibility for it.

She would abdicate that responsibility for ever if it was in her power.

At some point soon she would have to think things through clearly but right now her head was so full yet so loose that she could hardly decide what she wanted to eat for her breakfast never mind make decisions that carried real importance.

She couldn’t carry on like this. She didn’t know if it was shock at Pieta’s death or what had happened with Matteo that had her like this but she had to get a grip on herself.

There was a whole new future out there waiting for her and sooner or later she needed to figure out what she wanted from it. So far, all she knew with any real certainty was that she would spend it alone. She would never remarry. She would never allow anyone, not a man, not her parents, to have control over her again.

Francesca raised a weary shoulder. ‘There’s no rush. The end of the week will be fine.’

Eventually the ordeal was over. Chairs were scraped back as her family by marriage rose to leave. Following suit, Natasha rose too but as she stood, a wave of dizziness crashed over her and she grabbed hold of the table for support.

Francesca, who’d been sitting next to her, was the first to spot something amiss and took hold of her wrist. ‘Are you okay?’

Natasha nodded, although she felt far from okay. ‘I’m just tired. I should probably eat something.’

Francesca studied her a while longer before letting her go. ‘You know where I am if you need me.’

Considering that Francesca looked as bad as Natasha felt, the suggestion was laughable, but it had come from her sister-in-law’s kind heart so she would never laugh at her even if she had the energy.

Burning under Matteo’s equally close scrutiny, she found she could only breathe normally when the front door closed behind them.

Needing to be alone, she sent the housekeeper out to do some errands and sent silent thanks to Pieta for agreeing with her request that their other staff not live in. How sad was it that she had to request such things, like a child asking a favour from a parent?

Everything about her marriage had been sad. Its ending was the least of it. She’d had no autonomy over any of it.

Now the dizziness had passed she realised she was famished. She’d felt a little nauseous when she’d woken and had skipped breakfast, which had saved her the worry of deciding what to eat, and had managed to forget to have any lunch.

Opening the fridge, she tried to think what she fancied to eat. The housekeeper had stocked up for her and there was choice. Too much choice. After much dithering she took a fresh block of cheese out, then found the biscuits to go with it.

Her stomach was growling by the time she unwrapped the cellophane from the cheese but when she took the knife to it, the smell it emitted turned the growl into a gurgle that flipped over violently.

She chucked the entire block of cheese into the bin then clutched her stomach with one hand and her mouth with the other, breathing deeply, willing the nausea away.

It had only just passed when the doorbell rang.

She stood frozen, hesitant over whether she should open it. Her house had been like Piccadilly Circus for the past two weeks and all she wanted was to be on her own.

It rang again.

What if it was her mother-in-law? Vanessa had been a frequent visitor since Natasha and Pieta had married, and had visited or called daily since his death. Whatever Natasha was going through was nothing compared to what Vanessa was living with.

And yet, even though she continued to tell herself it was bound to be her adorable mother-in-law at the door, she found she couldn’t draw the least bit of surprise to find Matteo there instead.

‘What do you want?’ she asked, tightening her hold on the door frame. There was no audience for them to pretend cordiality.

‘I want you to take this.’ He held up a long, thin rectangular box.

It was a pregnancy test.

CHAPTER THREE

THE PALE FACE that had opened the door to Matteo turned whiter. ‘I’m not pregnant.’

‘Take the test and prove it. I’m not going anywhere until you do.’

Her gaze darted over his shoulder.

‘Expecting someone?’ he asked curtly. ‘Another lover, perhaps?’

Her lips tightened but she held her ground. ‘Vanessa likes to drop in.’

‘The grieving mother checking up on the grieving widow? How charming.’ It sickened him that his aunt—like the rest of the Pellegrinis—all thought the sun rose and set with Natasha. It had been Francesca’s worry and compassion towards the young widow that had set the wheels in motion for the events that had led him here today. ‘If you don’t want her to find me here and have to explain why I have this with me, I suggest you let me in.’

A long exhalation of breath and then she stepped aside.

For the second time that day he entered Pieta’s home with the same curdle of self-loathing as when he’d entered it the first time. Revulsion. At her. At himself. At what they’d done.

Until Pieta had died Matteo had been in this house only once, when Natasha had been in England, visiting her parents.

‘Have you had a period since...?’ He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question.

Colour stained her white face at the intimacy of what he’d asked. ‘No,’ she whispered.

‘When are you due?’

Her throat moved before she answered. ‘A couple of days ago. But I’ve never been regular. It doesn’t mean anything.’

‘You’re tired. You have a backache. You used the bathroom three times during our two-hour meeting.’ He ticked her symptoms off his fingers dispassionately, although his head was pounding again. They’d made love at her most fertile time. ‘My flight back to Miami leaves in three hours. Take the test. If it’s negative I can leave Pisa and we can both forget anything happened between us.’

Neither of them said what would happen if the test proved positive.

He held the box out to her. She stared at it blankly for a moment before snatching it out of his hand and leaving the reception room they were still standing in. Her footsteps trod up the stairs, a door shut.

Alone, Matteo took himself to the day room and sat on the sofa, cradling his head in his hands while he waited. In the adjoining room was a bar where he and Pieta had had a drink together. The temptation to help himself to a drink now was strong but not strong enough to overcome his revulsion. He’d already helped himself to his best friend and cousin’s wife. He wasn’t going to add to his list of crimes by helping himself to Pieta’s alcohol.

He’d read the instructions himself. The test took three minutes to produce an answer.

He checked his watch. Natasha had been upstairs for ten minutes.

The seconds ticked past like minutes, the minutes like hours. All he had to occupy his mind were the furnishings the man who’d been like a brother to him had chosen. He couldn’t see any sign of Natasha’s influence in the decoration.

She’d once wanted to be an interior designer. He remembered her telling him that during a phone conversation held when he’d returned home after an eighteen-hour shift.

Matteo had thought he could never hate himself more than he had when he’d been ten and his dereliction of duty had ruined his little brother’s life. The loathing he felt for what he’d done with Natasha matched it, an ugly rancid feeling that lived in his guts. The loathing he felt for Natasha matched it too. Damn her, but she’d been Pieta’s wife. Hours after burying her husband she’d thrown herself into his arms and he...

Damn him, he’d let her.

He wished he could erase the memories of that night but every moment was imprinted in him. He’d woken that morning with the vivid feeling of entering her for the first time and the certainty that something had been wrong. It was a feeling that nagged at him more, growing stronger as time passed.

He rubbed the nape of his neck and cursed his fallible memory.

Natasha had been no virgin. She’d been married, for heaven’s sake, and had been trying for a baby with her husband.

Another five minutes passed before he heard movement.

She appeared in the doorway.

One look at her face told him the answer.

‘There’s got to be some mistake,’ Natasha croaked, clinging onto the door frame for support. ‘I need to do another test.’

She’d stared at the positive sign for so long her eyes had gone as blurry as the cold mist swimming in her head.

For two weeks she’d refused to believe it could happen. She’d refused to even contemplate it.

They had been reckless beyond belief but surely, surely nature wouldn’t punish them further for it? Surely the guilt and self-loathing they both had to live with was punishment enough?

Eyes of cold green steel stared back at her. It was a long time before he spoke.

‘That test is the most accurate one on the market. If it’s showing as positive then you are pregnant. So that leaves only one issue to be resolved and that’s determining who the father is.’

Afraid she was going to faint, she sank onto the floor and cuddled her knees.

‘When did you and Pieta last...?’ The distaste that laced his voice as he failed to complete his sentence sent a wave of heat through her cold head.

For the first time in her life she didn’t know what to say or do. Whenever life had posed her with a dilemma the answer had always been clear. Do what her parents wanted. It was why she’d married Pieta.

But now her parents were the least of her considerations.

‘Do I take your silence to mean that you and Pieta were active until his death?’

How could she answer that? She couldn’t.

‘If your last period was a month ago then it stands to reason you and I were together when you were at your most fertile. However, all women’s cycles differ to a certain degree so if you and Pieta were intimate until his death there’s a good chance he could be the father. Who else is in line?’

Her head spinning at the medical knowledge that meant he had a much better understanding of how her body worked than she did, she didn’t understand what he meant. ‘What?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. Who else have you had sex with in the past month?’

She recoiled. ‘That’s offensive.’

His laughter crackled between them like a bullet. ‘Don’t get me wrong, you’re playing the grieving widow admirably but you were like a dog on heat with me so it stands to reason there have been others.’

A dog on heat?

She covered her ears, digging her nails into her skull.

A dog on heat?

How had he not known? And him a doctor?

There had been a moment, when he’d first entered her, that he’d stilled, but it had only been a moment, and then she had kissed him again, as desperate for him to continue what they’d started as she had been terrified he would figure out the truth.

‘I’m waiting for an answer.’ His curt voice cut through her thoughts. ‘How many others?’

She remembered a time so long ago when his rich voice, the Italian accent faint behind the impeccable English, had always softened around her. She guessed that’s what happened when you created a business reputed to be worth billions out of nothing, your basic humanity was thrown in the gutter along with your principles.

‘No one.’ She raised her head to look him square in the eye. ‘There has been no one else.’

He stared back for the longest time before nodding and getting to his feet. ‘A scan will pinpoint the date of conception to a degree of accuracy so we can use that to determine who the likely father is.’

His cutting tone sliced through her.

Then the thought of a scan, of seeing the little one growing inside her...

Suddenly it hit her that she was pregnant.

She was going to be a mother.

Placing a hand to her belly, she blurred out Matteo’s bitter face and imagined the life growing inside her.

Hello, my little one, she said silently to it, overwhelming joy spreading through every part of her.

She’d wanted a child for so long. After everything that had gone on with Pieta she had thought it would be a long and torturous road to get there if it ever happened and if she’d ever decided to take the road he’d wanted to conceive one. But it had happened as if by magic.

She was going to have a baby.

‘How can you be smiling at such a time?’ Matteo said acidly. ‘Is this amusing to you?’

The smile she hadn’t even known she was wearing fell but as it fell her spine straightened.

Whatever the future held for her, even if it was only humiliation, she had her little seed to think about. She couldn’t fall into despair. She would be strong. She would be a mother.

‘I’m pregnant,’ she said, eyeballing him. ‘You cannot know how long I have wanted this so, yes, I will smile and rejoice at my child’s conception because it is a miracle.’

His jaw clenched, Matteo eyed her back with mirrored loathing. ‘You intend to keep it, then?’

Of all the stuff he’d thrown at her, this was by far the cruellest. ‘How can you ask such a thing?’

He breached the distance between them and placed a hand round the nape of her neck. Bringing his face close to hers as if examining her, he said with icy quiet, ‘Because I know you, Natasha. You’re selfish. You think only of yourself and what advances you.’

Stunned into silence at his closeness, at the warmth of his skin on hers, the fingers almost absently stroking her neck, memories of their one time together crashing through her, Natasha had to blink to get her brain back in gear. Breathing heavily, not taking her eyes from his, she raised her arm to find the hand laid so casually on her and dug her nails in as hard as she could as she shoved it away.

Raising herself to her full height, which was almost a foot shorter than his six-feet-plus frame, she said as icily as she could through the tremors in her voice, ‘You don’t know me at all. If you did you wouldn’t have to ask if I wanted to keep it. I will do more than keep it. I will raise it and I will love it.’

Once she had longed for this.

If her eighteen-year-old self had been told that in seven years she would be carrying Matteo’s child she would have danced for miles with joy.

But she couldn’t tell him that. He wouldn’t believe her if she did.

He rubbed the flesh of his hand where she’d stabbed him with her nails.

‘I hope for your child’s sake that your words aren’t as worthless as they usually are but time will tell on that. I’ve a friend who runs a clinic near mine in Florence with the newest, most accurate scans. I’ll take you there. She’ll be able to pinpoint the date of conception to at least determine if I’m in the frame as father. Her discretion will be guaranteed and I think one thing we can be in agreement on is the need for discretion.’

Natasha forced herself to breathe.

Everything was happening so quickly. She couldn’t let him railroad her but likewise she had to do what was best for her and her baby and until she’d decided what she was going to do, she needed all the discretion she could get.

Oh, God, the implications were too awful to think about.

How many lives were going to be ruined when the truth came out?

The worst of it was she would never be able to tell the full truth. No one could know.

Like Matteo couldn’t know that she already knew of an excellent clinic, this one in Paris, where discretion was also guaranteed.

And he couldn’t know that he was the only man in the frame for the father of her baby.

Fighting back another bout of dizziness, she nodded sharply. She had to keep it together. ‘When?’

‘In a fortnight. The baby’s heartbeat should be detectable by then.’

‘So soon?’ She’d known for twenty minutes that she was pregnant and he was saying her baby’s heart was already forming? That was just mind-blowing.

He nodded grimly. ‘Pregnancy is taken from the date of your last period so in a fortnight you will be classed as six weeks pregnant. Only the scan will be able to give us a reasonably accurate conception date.’

‘And I’ll be able to hear the heartbeat?’

‘We both will.’ His face a tight mask, he headed for the door. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

Only when she heard the door close did she sink onto the sofa and hang her head between her knees.

Soon she would be hanging it in shame.

All the people who were going to be hurt, Vanessa, Francesca... Ever since she’d married Pieta she would catch them looking at her belly, knew they were searching for the signs of swelling, the signs of life growing inside her. Since he’d died the stares had become more obvious. She knew how badly they wished she was carrying Pieta’s child. Francesca was already suspicious.

She sat back and rubbed her temples.

She didn’t have a clue how to handle this. Whatever she did, everyone would be hurt. Hopes were going to be raised then not just dashed but crushed. Then there was the Pellegrini estate itself...

This was too much.

Overwhelmed by the jumble of thoughts raging through her head, Natasha burst into tears.

It had to be like this, she told herself, hugging her belly, the urge to protect her little seed already strong, even if only from her tears.

The real unvarnished truth would destroy every single one of them, Matteo included.

Better to take it on the chin and have the world, including her own parents, think her a slut than for that to happen. She could hardly bear to think of the disdain and disappointment in their eyes when they learned she was pregnant and that Pieta wasn’t the father.

Marrying Pieta was the only thing she’d done in her twenty-five years that had pleased them. It had given them the opportunity to brag to the world that the great Pieta Pellegrini was their son-in-law and it was an opportunity they never let pass by.

Natasha dried her eyes and blew out a long breath.

All the tears in the world wouldn’t change things. She was going to be a mother and that meant she had to be strong for her child’s sake.

And all the tears in the world didn’t change the fact that it was better for the world to think her a slut than for everyone to know that Matteo was the only candidate for father of her baby.

The world could never know that she had been a virgin until the night she’d buried her husband.

* * *

The clinic Matteo had booked them into was tucked away in a beautiful medieval building in the heart of Florence. To the unwitting passer-by it could be home to any of the numerous museums and galleries the city was famed for.

The interior was a total contrast. No one entering could doubt they were in a state-of-the-art medical facility.

The cool receptionist made a call and moments later Julianna, the clinic’s director, stepped out of a door to greet them.

Matteo had met Julianna, a tall, rangy woman in her midforties, a number of times at conferences. They welcomed each other like old friends, exchanging kisses along with their greetings.

Then he introduced her to Natasha and they were taken through to the pristine scanning room where everything was set up for them.

‘Are you happy for Dr Manaserro to stay in the room while we do this?’ Julianna asked Natasha in English.

Her eyes darted to him with an inflection of surprise before she shrugged her slim shoulders. He doubted she’d ever heard him addressed by that title before.

‘You will be a little exposed,’ Julianna warned.

Another shrug. ‘He can stay if he wants,’ she answered tonelessly.

Matteo experienced a pang of guilt that was as unwelcome as it was unexpected.

Today was the first time he’d seen Natasha in two weeks. In the intervening period, other than arranging this scan, he’d done his best to forget her and the pregnancy.

The chances of him being the father were extremely slim, he’d reasoned. Even if the scan confirmed that he could be, he still knew it wasn’t likely. They’d only been intimate the once whereas Natasha and Pieta must have...

His guts twisted violently as he thought of all the times they must have been together over the years. Pieta and Natasha had been actively trying for a baby. Pieta had told him that the last time he’d seen him.

And she was happy to be pregnant. She’d called it a miracle. Was that because of her longing for a child or because she was happy that a part of Pieta might be living inside her? Surely she must have felt some affection for her husband, whatever her actions the night of his funeral?

Surely she wouldn’t have reacted like that if she’d thought there was any chance he might be the father?

Dio, he shouldn’t be thinking like this. It felt too rancid inside him.

Since she’d accepted Pieta’s proposal hours after their one kiss, he’d pushed Natasha out of his mind, never thinking of her, never thinking of her and Pieta together. Only when he’d been in her presence had his loathing of her come out of the compartment in his head he’d put her in, and on those occasions he’d learned to hide it by ignoring her wherever possible. He’d moved on very quickly and in any case Pieta was too good a friend and too close a cousin for Matteo to let a woman come between them.

Pieta hadn’t known Matteo and Natasha had been building a long-distance closeness which, looking back, had been strange as he and Pieta had often swapped stories about women. At the time it had felt too...special to be spoken of, which with hindsight had been comical. He must have been caught in a bout of sentimentality and had made sure never to have such ludicrous thoughts again.

If it was indeed Pieta’s child then he too would celebrate to know a part of his best friend lived on, even if the mother the child had to live on through was a deceitful bitch.

It had to be Pieta’s. The alternative...

It would destroy everything.

So he’d left her alone and fought the urge to call every five minutes and make sure she was eating and sleeping properly.

Looking at her now, he didn’t think she’d had a square meal since he’d last seen her.

‘Okay, Natasha, you are looking at this as a dating scan, I believe?’ Julianna said.

She nodded.

‘Have you seen a doctor or a midwife yet?’

She shook her head.

‘Are you thinking of having the child here or in England?’

Her eyes darted to him again.

Julianna smiled reassuringly. ‘It’s okay, there are no right or wrong answers.’

‘I haven’t thought that far ahead,’ she whispered.

‘You have plenty of time to decide but you should be monitored. The obstetrician we employ here is the best in Florence or I can recommend a female for you if that would suit you better?’

Matteo, feeling perspiration break out on his back, had to bite his tongue to stop himself from cutting in. Now they were here, the ultrasound screen switched on, he wanted to get this over with.

But that appeared to be the end of the questioning.

‘Are you ready to do this?’

‘Yes.’ It was the most animation he’d heard in Natasha’s voice since she’d opened the door to him earlier.

‘Lie down and lift your top and lower your skirt to your hips so your stomach is exposed.’

Matteo trained his eyes on the screen.

When Natasha was ready, Julianna tucked tissue around her lowered skirt and took her seat.

Even though he wasn’t looking directly at her, he saw Natasha flinch when the cold gel was applied to her stomach.

Julianna then picked up the probe and pressed it over the gel. As she worked, all three of their gazes were fixed on the screen.

‘There it is!’ she said in delight. ‘See, Natasha? There is your baby.’

Natasha craned her neck forward, trying hard to see what was there. ‘Where?’

‘There.’ Julianna put a finger to the screen. ‘See?’

Natasha really didn’t know what she’d been expecting to see—a fully formed miniature baby this soon into the pregnancy was too wild even for her imagination—but had hoped it would be more than a blob. But then Julianna pressed some keys on the keyboard on her desk and the blob came into sharper focus. It was still a blob but there was something more defined about it that got her already racing heart ready to burst out of her.

‘Do you want to hear the heartbeat?’

A moment later the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard echoed through the room.

She didn’t dare look at Matteo. If there was anything other than joy on his face it would taint this special moment for ever.

So she continued to look at her little walnut now frozen on the screen and listen to its healthy heart beating while Julianna did whatever she was doing on her computer until her eyes blurred and the beats were no longer distinguishable.

Eventually Julianna pushed her chair back and wiped Natasha’s belly clean with another, softer tissue.

‘I would say that so far everything is looking good and healthy.’

‘So far?’

The older woman smiled. ‘I am a medical practitioner. We never talk in absolutes. What I can say with all honesty is that right now your child is developing well and you should be happy with that. As for when it’s due...’ She gave a date at the end of June.

Natasha closed her eyes. When she had searched the internet and put in the date of conception, every site she had visited had given this same due date within its narrow parameters.

From the way Matteo shifted in his seat, he had done the same maths.

He knew the due date made it impossible for Pieta to be the father. The date of conception was firmly after his death.

He knew the baby was his.

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