Happy Mother’s Day!: Accidentally Pregnant, Conveniently Wed / Claiming His Pregnant Wife / Meant-To-Be Mother

‘My mother is dead.’

He winced. ‘You have any other family?’

As the fierce wave of pain receded Aisling briefly opened her eyes. ‘No. Just me.’

Somehow, that smote at his conscience—that she had done this all on her own, with no one to protect her—until he reminded himself that it had been her choice to do it that way.

At least the rush-hour traffic had now died away and the baking city streets were relatively quiet, but he didn’t breathe easily until the car bumped its way round the back of the hospital.

‘We’re here.’

Aisling’s eyes flickered open as she read the sign. ‘Accident and Emergency. How apt,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘The baby was an accident—and this is an emergency!’

Gianluca nearly smiled but for once in his life, he didn’t dare—if they didn’t get amove on then his son or daughter was going to be born in a car park. But a wheelchair and a doctor and midwife had miraculously materialised out of nowhere and Aisling was being taken at breakneck speed to the maternity unit—and then chaos broke out. Or, at least, that was how it seemed to him.

There were lights and people dressed in green, battering him with questions, most of which he was unable to answer—because she had kept him in the dark, he thought, and once again that sense of dark fury washed over him.

‘Are you the father?’ a midwife asked.

At least he knew the answer to that one—though he found himself telling them in his native tongue. ‘Sì, io sono il padre!’

‘So you’ll be staying?’

Aisling’s head jerked up. ‘No!’

‘Sì,’ he contradicted with silky emphasis as he stared down into her ice-blue eyes. ‘I will be staying.’

She didn’t want him there. Didn’t want him seeing her in such a vulnerable and sorry state. Now they were putting her legs up in some kind of stirrups—how could she ever look at him again after this? She bit her lip with embarrassment and turned away as the contractions began to get stronger, and more frequent.

And by then she was past caring about anything, other than following what they were telling her to do—or, rather, telling her not to do. Like push. Or bearing down. And she, who hated control being taken from her, found that she wanted so badly to relieve these tightening bands of pain that she almost welcomed the bossy orders they were hurling at her. She might have laughed at the irony of it all if she hadn’t been so exhausted.

The room was crowded for it seemed that the royal obstetrician had been rushed in from his nearby private clinic, following a directive from Gianluca’s doctor in Rome.

‘Please!'Aisling begged. ‘I just want to have this baby!’

Gianluca shot an anxious glance at the doctor, but for once in his life he was forced to relinquish control. He wanted to help Aisling, but he could do nothing for her physically—or emotionally—because when he went to grip her hand, she pulled it away, refusing to look at him.

It was only when he sensed that the labour was close to the end, when her desperate cries echoed on the air, that she reached for him, biting her lip with pain as her fingernails pierced his skin.

‘Help me,’ she whispered. ‘Gianluca—please help me.’

Never in his life had he felt so completely powerless. ‘It’s going to be all right, cara,’ he soothed, but his voice sounded harsh.

She turned her sweat-sheened face away. He lied. For how could it ever be right?

‘Gianluca, do you want to see your baby being born?’

He turned to Aisling and the moment their eyes met she knew that she could not deny him this. And as she nodded her head with mute permission, she so wished that it could have all been different. Normal. That they could have been like other couples in this situation. But you aren’t a couple, came the painful reminder, before another, vastly superior pain eclipsed it.

Gianluca was dazed as he watched the physical process of childbirth, which seemed light years away from the desire which had brought them all to this point. One last cry from Aisling split the air. He saw a shock of jet-dark hair emerging and heard a lusty squawk and he shook his head, as if denying the evidence of his own eyes. This miracle.

But when a slimy and wriggling bundle was swathed and placed in his arms, Gianluca looked down, and his heart turned over with love.

CHAPTER TEN

‘YOUR partner is waiting to collect you, Aisling.’

‘Thanks.’ With hands which were trembling slightly, Aisling picked up the baby.

It was pointless correcting the midwife. Let her believe that she and Gianluca were cosy partners if it fitted the happy-ever-after version. The sad truth was that they said very little of any consequence to each other. His soft, murmured words were for his son alone—and his brilliant, charismatic smiles for the nursing and medical staff to whom he was so grateful.

‘Fancy him trying to keep that donation to the special care baby unit quiet!’ cooed the midwife. ‘And theatre tickets for the entire department, too! You’re one lucky woman, Aisling.’