Office Scandals: The Petrelli Heir / Gilded Secrets / An Inconvenient Affair

Izzy’s quietly dignified response had taken the wind out of the old lady’s sails, but she had made a quick recovery. ‘In my day a girl like you wouldn’t be wandering around as bold as brass like she has nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘She doesn’t have anything to be ashamed of, Aunt Maeve.’ It was her father who came to Izzy’s rescue, putting an arm around her and drawing her in close.

‘Don’t you go looking at me like that, Michael. One of the few good things about being old is being as rude as I like—would you deprive me of one of my last pleasures?’ She held out her empty glass and glanced at the whisky bottle on the dresser. ‘So, girl, who is the father?’

Izzy had not satisfied the old lady’s curiosity. She hadn’t told anyone the identity of the father—how could she?

Izzy’s blue eyes were shadowed with shamed anguish as she responded to Lily’s cry of protest and loosened her grip just as the organist pulled out all the stops. Izzy knew better than most what it was like to grow up without a father and it was something she had always vowed not to do to a child of hers should she ever have one.

With the rest of the congregation Izzy rose to her feet. Were his eyes trained on the exposed nape of her neck or was it her guilty conscience that made her skin prickle and tingle? Tingle the way his long fingers had once made her—she pushed the thought away and took a deep breath. With Lily on one hip, she stared blankly at the service sheet clutched in her free hand, knowing she was a whisper away from tipping over into outright gibbering panic.

She had to stay calm.

She had to think.

The father of her baby was sitting behind her. What was she meant to do now?

Take a leaf out of her mother’s book and write him a letter?

Casually drop into the conversation, Oh, by the way, this is your daughter? Now that would be a real ice breaker, but could it be listed under small talk?

She choked on a bubble of hysterical laughter, the sound drowned out by the hymn being sung.

Realistically Izzy knew, always had known, that should this unlikely event occur she had to accept the real possibility that he might not even remember that night two years ago. So maybe doing nothing was a possibility? Just wait and if he said nothing leave it …?

She reluctantly discarded the tempting idea. This was Lily’s father. What had Rory called him … Roman? At least she had a name now and knew that he was Italian, although she’d already had an idea about his nationality. During their night together he had whispered wonderful things to her in throes of passion; she might not have understood the things he had said, but she had recognised the language.

She remembered everything.

She tried to push away the hot, erotic images crowding in—she had to focus.

On what, Izzy—your impending public humiliation?

Her chin lifted. She would take what was coming, but not Lily. She would protect Lily.

Lily, who looked so like her father, which was good news for her because she’d grow up to be the female version of him—stunning—but bad news because surely everyone seeing them together would know.

And he’d seen Lily.

He had to know!

Was he sitting there in shock?

No point speculating; she just had to stay calm and play this by ear. A wedding was hardly the place to introduce a man to his daughter.

Was there a good place?

He might be here with his girlfriend or wife even …! Feeling sick now, Izzy closed her eyes and tried to remember who had been sitting next to him, but couldn’t.

Could things get any worse? She’d slept with a stranger and got pregnant—please let him not have been married!

A question that might have been better asked before you ripped off his shirt.

Ignoring the sly insert of her conscience or what was left of it, Izzy touched a protective hand to her nape.

Nothing in his expression had suggested he even recognised her. Was it really possible he didn’t remember their night together? Or maybe he might have developed a convenient amnesia to avoid embarrassment. If so should she play along with it? Everything in Izzy rebelled against the idea.

Why was she torturing herself? He might feel even worse and as embarrassed about that night as she was, sitting there now wondering if she was a potential bunny boiler about to mess up his life.

If so he’d feel relieved when he realised she didn’t want anything from him. Rich men could be pretty protective of their wealth and she could recall now the word billionaire coming into the conversation when the family had discussed Rory’s good fortune at securing a placement within the Petrelli company.

Great, she couldn’t have had a one-night stand with a teacher or a plumber. No, she had to pick out a billionaire Italian!

At the end of the ceremony Izzy got to her feet when everyone else did, clutching her daughter to her chest. She slung a furtive look over her shoulders but chickened out at the last minute and tucked herself in between Rory and Emma in the slow-moving file of guests leaving the church, doing her best to be invisible. When she finally worked up the courage to look again Roman Petrelli was gone, the occupants of the pew behind having already vacated their seats.

She touched Rory’s sleeve. Her half-brother turned his head. ‘Your friend … is he?’

‘Friend …? I do have more than one …?’

‘Duh!’ Emma, who was eavesdropping, inserted with a roll of her eyes. ‘Who do you think she’s talking about? The utterly gorgeous hunk, Roman, of course! Such a sexy name, but not as sexy as the man himself. Did you get a look at his eyes?’ She pressed a hand to her heart and sighed dramatically. ‘You know, I could really do with a walk on the wild side.’

‘Izzy isn’t as shallow as you,’ her brother retorted, adding, ‘Could you do with a hand there, Izzy?’

‘Thanks.’ Izzy slanted a grateful smile at her half-brother as she relinquished a squirming Lily to him. ‘She wants to get down and she’s really strong.’

‘Me, shallow—I like that,’ Emma interrupted, adding with a warm look at Lily, who was pulling her uncle’s nose, ‘All the Fitzgerald women are strong.’ She sent a conspiratorial grin to Izzy. ‘The only place Rory is Roman Petrelli’s friend,’ Emma confided, directing a sisterly smile of sweet malice at her brother, ‘is in his dreams. Rory only asked for him to be invited because he wants to suck up. Do you really think he’s going to give a geek like you a job, Rory?’

‘I’m a geek with a mind like a steel trap and great charm—why wouldn’t the man give me a job?’

‘As if!’

‘Let’s put it this way, little sister, I’m more likely to get a job off him than you are a night of passion.’

‘Wanna bet?’ Emma drawled, her eyes sparkling challenge.

‘Like taking money off a baby.’

Izzy shook her head to clear the images flying around like a swarm of wasps in her brain. Images that involved her lovely innocent half-sister and a predatory Roman Petrelli. The sick feeling they left in the pit of her stomach had nothing to do with jealousy, she told herself in response to the nip of guilt. She was simply looking out for her sister.

Emma was only eighteen and was not nearly as sophisticated as she liked to pretend, and Roman Petrelli was … an image of him lying on the bed, the toned musculature of his bronzed torso delineated by a sheen of sweat, flashed into her head and the word that came to her was … perfect.

‘Please,’ she reproached. Her laughter sounded forced to her own ears but the squabbling siblings didn’t seem to notice. They just grinned and continued the argument until they got outside into the fresh air and the stakes in their bet had reached the extreme scale of silly.

‘Let me have Lily,’ Emma begged as they stepped aside to join the other guests in the sun.

‘No, better not, Emma—she’ll ruin your hair, and that dress …’ Izzy pointed out, holding out her arms to take her daughter.

‘Good point!’ agreed Emma. ‘I must look beautiful for Roman … How old do you think he is?’