The Italian Doctor's Wife

Had Lucia really persuaded her own brother to be the donor? Surely she never would have done that.

But if she had…

Abby sank her teeth into her lower lip, refusing to face the awful possibility that Nico might be Rosa’s father.

It was too shocking even to contemplate. She could see instantly that a man like Nico, an Italian who’d had the sanctity of the family injected into his veins from the cradle, wasn’t going to sit back and allow his child to be brought up by a single mother. What had Lucia been thinking of?

And he’d said something about taking Rosa from her.

The colour drained from her face and she lifted a hand to her mouth. She was going to be ill.

Muttering an apology, she stood up hastily and sprinted to the toilet where she was violently sick. For endless moments she hung over the bowl and then finally she sank onto the floor of the bathroom, her eyes closed, every muscle in her body aching from her body’s physical reaction to Nico’s shocking announcement.

She had no idea of how long she sat there. Time was of no consequence. All she could think of was the fact that he just might be Rosa’s father. And if he was then he was going to claim her.

Her baby.

Panic swamped her like a tidal wave and she wrapped her arms around her body, trying to settle her churning stomach. She had to stay calm, she told herself, clutching her shaking knees to her tummy and gulping in a lungful of air. Nico was exceptionally clever and so emotionally controlled that if she didn’t get a grip and concentrate, he’d run rings around her.

She was still wrestling for control when Rosa suddenly cried out.

Struggling to her feet, she splashed her face quickly and ran down the hall as fast as her shaking legs would allow.

Pushing open the door of Rosa’s nursery, she stopped dead. Nico was standing there, speaking softly in Italian, Rosa held firmly against his shoulder. The little girl lifted a chubby hand and patted his blue-black jaw, gurgling with laughter and blowing bubbles.

Abby watched in dismay.

Did her daughter have no sense of self-preservation? She should have been behaving like the child from hell so that there was no way on this planet he’d want to take her away. Instead of which, Rosa was being her usual sweet-natured self and she could see that Nico was totally enchanted by the little girl.

He held her against his broad chest with one large hand while he used the other to tease the baby gently.

Abby shook her head in disbelief as she watched them together. What a contrast. There was no sign of the hard, ruthless, male who had been prowling around her sitting room only moments earlier. With the baby Nico was a different person—incredibly gentle, tolerant and mildly amused by her antics.

Looking at the two of them together, Abby felt her heart sink into her boots.

How had she not noticed it before?

Rosa was the spitting image of Nico. They had the same jet-black hair, the same incredible dark eyes. Only the mouth was different. Rosa’s mouth was a small rosebud whereas—Abby glanced at him and then glanced away quickly, her face suddenly hot—Nico’s was tough and sensual, and it wasn’t something that she wanted to focus on. Whichever way you looked at it, physically Rosa resembled Nico closely.

Which meant that he was probably telling the truth.

The realisation hit her in the pit of her stomach and she sank against the doorframe for support. Even if she’d been thinking of contesting his claim to be the child’s natural father, one look at the two of them together would have been enough to make her realise the futility of such an exercise.

Suddenly Rosa noticed her mother and squirmed in Nico’s hold, reaching out her chubby arms towards Abby.

Distraught and not thinking clearly, Abby pulled herself together enough to cross the room and take her daughter from him.

Just feeling the familiar warmth of Rosa’s little body made her feel better. There was something so comforting about her innocent hug and the smell of her skin and hair.

‘She’s mine.’ Not wanting to upset Rosa, she spoke quietly, but her voice quivered with passion and sincerity. ‘She’s always been mine. It doesn’t matter if you’re the biological father. You can’t take her away from me.’

Her words were sheer bravado and she met his cool gaze, hopelessly out of her depth. She had no idea about the legalities of the situation and she couldn’t afford to pay anyone to tell her, not with the present state of her finances. Surely no one would give him custody? But, then again, they probably would, she reflected miserably, hugging her daughter even closer. The Santini family was loaded. When Lucia had been at school it had been bodyguards and helicopters all the way. They had enough money to buy the entire legal system if necessary. Whereas she—she closed her eyes briefly as she faced the painful truth—didn’t even have the money for one consultation with a lawyer. If she had then she probably would have already seen one about her unscrupulous landlord.