Married For Revenge: Roccanti's Marriage Revenge / A Deal at the Altar / A Vow of Obligation

‘But what Julian did was criminal. He assaulted you. You father should’ve reported him to the police.’

‘Dad didn’t want to risk the newspapers getting hold of the story. It’s ancient history now.’ Zara’s tone was dismissive and she lifted her chin. ‘And I thought I had learned my lesson with Julian, but then I met you.’

‘What happened between us in Italy is over and done with—’

‘Is it? It may be over but it’s not forgotten,’ Zara pointed out, her quiet voice harshening with the antipathy she was struggling to restrain. ‘And I’m not going to give you the chance to cause me any more grief.’

Vitale realised that in the light she saw him now, only the ultimate sacrifice was likely to convince her of the strength of his intentions. With every fibre of his being he baulked at that option, for marriage was a hell of a price to pay for a contraceptive oversight. Yet how else could he make sure that he had a permanent place in his future child’s life? How else could he acquire the legal rights with which he could always protect his child from any threat? And how could she possibly cope well as a single parent without adequate family support? Yet if he married her, he would lose the freedom he valued, the choices he luxuriated in and the privacy he had always cherished. Suppressing his reluctance and his resentment, Vitale recalled his own wretched childhood and accepted that no price was too high if it protected his unborn son or daughter from the risk of growing up in a similar hell.

Vitale studied Zara carefully. ‘Will that answer still hold good even if I ask you to marry me?’

Zara jerked in astonishment, her brow furrowing, her eyes wide as she decided that that must be his idea of a joke after what she had told him about Julian using a marriage proposal to gain her trust. ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘I am perfectly serious—I’m asking you to be my wife,’ Vitale countered with cool assurance. ‘In the hope that we can raise our child together.’

‘Not so long ago you told me that you avoided women with wedding rings in their eyes and that that’s why you’re still single,’ she reminded him ruefully.

‘But then you fell pregnant with my child and naturally my priorities altered,’ Vitale pointed out drily. ‘We can’t turn the clock back. We have to look to the future.’

Her appetite having disappeared in tune with the tension rising in the atmosphere, Zara pushed aside the dessert and stood up, her eyes dark with strain. If an offer of marriage was his attempt at restitution he could forget it—she was not about to be taken in again. ‘No, absolutely not. You don’t need to worry. The baby and I will be fine on our own. Thankfully I’m not a helpless teenage girl with no idea how to manage—’

Vitale was not convinced by that argument. He sprang up to his full commanding height, the vital force and energy of his gaze welded to her. ‘We have to talk this out. Don’t leave.’

Zara veiled her eyes and fought to recapture the composure he had cracked with his astonishing proposal. ‘I wasn’t leaving yet. I’ve brought the villa plan with me. If you’ve finished eating we can look at it now.’

Desperate for a distraction, Zara removed the plan from the tube and spread it on the unused portion of the polished table. She explained the meaning of various symbols she had used and discussed possibilities. Vitale was impressed by the intricate detail of the design, not having appreciated that she would actually be drawing the plans with her own fair hand.

‘Those borders—could some of them be left empty?’

Her brow furrowed. ‘Yes, of course, but—’

‘The lady whom I hope will be living there,’ Vitale began with uncharacteristic hesitancy lacing his dark deep voice, ‘may have an interest in the garden and if the planting is not quite complete that may encourage her to get more involved.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ Zara remarked, insanely curious about the identity of the individual, for he had been careful to keep that information confidential when they had been together in Italy. His innate reserve would always seek to impose distance between them, she registered. He was not a man given to casual confidences and he kept his own counsel. Working out what made him tick would always be a challenge for her.

Zara laughed when Fluffy nudged her ankle with one of her toys and Vitale watched in surprise as Zara threw it and the rabbit played fetch. ‘She loves games,’ she told him, a natural smile chasing the tension from her lush mouth.

Vitale watched her stroke the rabbit’s head with delicate fingers. She was so gentle with the little animal and it clearly adored her. ‘I was serious about the proposal,’ he asserted, exasperated that she could think otherwise.

‘Being pregnant isn’t a good enough reason to get married,’ Zara replied doggedly, her senses awakened by the faint aromatic hint of his cologne assailing her nostrils because he was standing close to her. Even the scent of him was awesomely familiar. Her spine stiffened as tingling warmth pooled at the heart of her, her body instantly reacting to the proximity of his. He was pure temptation but she was too much on her guard to betray the weakness he could evoke.

His frustration increasing, Vitale stared down at her with brooding dark eyes. ‘It is very important to me that I should be in a position to play a proper part in my child’s life—’

‘You don’t have to marry me to play that part—’

Thinking of his destroyed childhood with his cruel stepfather, Vitale barely repressed a shudder of disagreement. ‘If we’re not married, if we stay separate, we will both end up with other partners and it will be much more difficult—’

‘But other people manage it,’ Zara sliced in flatly even as her heart clenched at the very thought of him with another woman.

It was going to happen, possibly had even happened already, she scolded herself angrily. Vitale was going to be with other women and she had to adapt to that idea. That the idea bothered her was just some weird jealous and possessive prompting, most probably because he had become her first lover. On the other hand, a scheming little voice murmured somewhere in the depths of her brain, if you married him, nobody else could have him. She stifled that inner voice, embarrassed by its foolishness.

The following morning Zara attended an appointment with her GP. He confirmed the test results and sent her off to see the practice nurse, who gave her a bunch of leaflets packed with pregnancy advice. They were still clutched in her hand when a man walking past her in the street knocked her shoulder, loosening her grip so that the sheets spun across the pavement in an arc. As the man sped on without noticing Zara stooped to pick up the leaflets.

‘Zara?’ a familiar voice queried and Zara straightened, recognising the elegant brunette. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you round this neighbourhood. Didn’t I hear that you’d moved to another part of town?’

Meeting Ella’s big blue curious eyes, Zara reddened. ‘Yes, I have—’

‘Oh, my goodness, are those for you?’ Ella exclaimed, flicking one of the leaflets, which clearly showed a pregnant woman, with a manicured fingernail and accompanying the question with a delighted squeal. ‘Are you pregnant?’

‘I’m meeting someone in ten minutes. Lovely seeing you again, Ella,’ Zara fielded with a bright smile, stuffing the informative leaflets into her bag and walking on without further comment. Her cheeks were hot as she queried her bad luck at running into one of the biggest gossips she knew at the wrong moment.

Vitale was not having a good day either. He had offered to fall on his sword like a proper little soldier when he had asked her to marry him. The sacrifice had been necessary: she was carrying his baby and he had a deep need to be a genuine part of his child’s life. But it would also entail sharing his life. When had he ever dreamt of sharing his life with another person?

When had he ever longed for a child of his own? He had never wanted those things and his entire life had been devoted to achieving emotional self-sufficiency. He told himself that he should be grateful that she had turned him down. He should walk away while he could, avoid getting personally involved. He should be content to ensure that his only responsibility towards her and the child was financial. Why could he not settle for that eminently practical option? Realistically what were the chances that Zara would some day bring a man into her life as brutal as Vitale’s late stepfather?

Zara was at Blooming Perfect going through the accounts with Rob when Jono phoned her and drew her attention to a paragraph in a gossip column. Although she was grateful for the warning her heart sank and she went out to buy the paper and there it was, clearly the result of a tip-off from Ella or one of her pals, the loaded suggestion that party girl and socialite Zara Blake might be expecting a baby. Her phone rang again: it was her mother asking her to come home for a chat.

Zara knew what she was going to be asked and she definitely didn’t want to go and face the music. Unfortunately being adult and independent demanded that she not avoid the inevitable, no matter how unpleasant it might prove to be. Monty and Ingrid Blake were going to be even more disappointed in her than they already were. An unmarried pregnant daughter was no consolation for one who mere weeks ago had been set to marry a Greek billionaire in the society wedding of the year.

‘Is it true?’ Ingrid Blake demanded the instant her daughter entered the sparsely furnished drawing room where elegance counted for more than comfort.

Her heart beating very fast, Zara glanced nervously at her father standing by the fireplace, his still-handsome face set hard as granite. ‘Yes, I’m pregnant.’

‘We’ll organise a termination for you straight away,’ her mother said without an ounce of hesitation.

Zara straightened her slight shoulders and eased them back. ‘No. I want to have my baby.’

‘Who’s the father?’ Monty Blake growled.

‘I’m sorry but I don’t want to discuss that.’

‘I bet you don’t, you brainless little—’ the older man launched furiously at her, a red flush of rage staining his cheeks.

Her tension palpable, Zara’s mother rested a soothing hand lightly on her husband’s arm. ‘Don’t let her upset you, darling … She’s not worth it—’

‘You’re telling me, she’s not!’ Monty Blake seethed, grinding his teeth as he strode forward, his face a mask of fury. ‘It’s out of the question for you to have this baby.’

Struggling not to back away from her enraged parent as she had so often seen her mother do without any happy result, Zara stood her ground.

‘Listen to your father for once, Zara,’ Ingrid ordered thinly. ‘You simply can’t have this baby! Be reasonable. Once you have a child in tow, your life will be ruined.’

‘Did Tom and I ruin your life?’ Zara asked painfully, deeply hurt that her mother could so immediately dismiss the prospect of her first grandchild being born.

‘Don’t you dare mention your brother’s name, you stupid little cow!’ Monty Blake spat at her, erupting into a white hot rage at that fatal reference and swinging up his hand to slap her hard across one cheekbone.

Eyes filling with fear and pain, Zara was almost unbalanced by the force of that blow and she had to step back to stay upright. Her hand crept up to press against her hot, stinging cheek. ‘Don’t you dare hit me,’ she told her father angrily. ‘I should call the police on you—’

‘Don’t be silly,’ her mother interrupted in alarm at such a threat from her daughter. ‘You asked for it.’