The Italian Boss's Secret Child(23)

He looked back at the mantle, mentally seeing one more photograph-a  beaming Philly holding a tiny child-another chance at life and a future.

Didn't Philly want her mother to see that photograph already? Or was she  more worried about the absence of another? His eyes flicked over the  wedding photographs. He could almost see the space where Philly's  wedding photo would slot in alongside her brother's. Was the prospect of  an illegitimate child the reason why Philly was holding off sharing the  news with her mother?

Was she trying to save her mother hurt by not telling her the truth?

Something shifted inside him, sliding away to reveal a solution which  was on the one hand so unexpected, yet at the same time so logical. He  could help. He wanted to help. And he would have Philly in the bargain.                       
       
           



       

'Maybe all hope isn't gone,' he said, taking Daphne's hand in his own  before sitting down. 'Maybe there's still a chance for something good,  something that could give us all hope.'

She peered up at him, her dark-ringed eyes curious and hopeful at the  same time. 'Whatever do you mean? Why are you here, Mr DeLuca?'

'I have something to tell you,' he said, struck by the fragility of her  bird-like hand, her thin bones covered by barely more than a paper-thin  cover of dry skin. He covered her hand with his other as if to keep her  warm. 'Actually, I have something to ask of you.'

He paused, momentarily wondering if he was doing the right thing, but  one look into her eyes told him that for the first time in what seemed  like for ever he was doing something that mattered, something that had a  beneficial effect beyond just the bottom line. And yet it would still  get him what he wanted.

He took a deep breath before he continued.

'Would you give me the honour of allowing me to marry your daughter?'





CHAPTER ELEVEN





THERE. He'd said it. And it didn't feel so bad. In fact, taking in her  sudden gasp of delight, the following smile which lit up the older  woman's face, it felt pretty damned good.

It was the most logical solution. Philly obviously couldn't cope here,  with a sick mother, a full-time job and a baby coming. And marriage  would mean the baby would carry his name while Philly would bear none of  the stigma attached to being a single mother.

It solved everything. Sure, he'd never intended getting married; in  fact, he'd done all he could to avoid it. And he'd spent most of his  lifetime alone-it wasn't as if he needed anyone-but if it meant that his  child would be brought up the way he wanted, then maybe it would be  worth sacrificing his independence just this once.

Because he'd get to spend his nights with Philly. That would at least be  some compensation. He would have settled for mistress, but he'd marry  her if that was what it took.

A key grated in the front door lock and he glanced at his watch,  surprised at the late hour and realising just how much time he'd spent  aimlessly driving around today.

'I'm home,' came Philly's voice from the small entrance hall. She  sounded tired. She should have come home when he'd told her. Except he  wouldn't have been here now if she had.

He rose to his feet and swung around alongside Daphne, his hand resting on the back of her chair.

'What are you doing here?' Philly felt the hair on the back of her neck  stand up as she took in the cameo, her mother and Damien together, empty  tea cups on the table where they'd sat opposite each other, much too  cosily.

She should have known something was up when she'd spotted the sleek  black coupé across the road. A car like that in this street was as  unlikely as Damien stopping by for a cup of tea. And yet he was here …

'What's going on?'

'Sweetheart,' her mother said, battling her way to her feet with  Damien's help by way of his hand under her elbow. 'Congratulations. I  had no idea.' Her mother pulled her close, so close she could feel her  wasted ribcage pressing into her through the thin cotton housecoat.

She glared at Damien over her mother's shoulder. 'You told her?' she said.

'Of course he told me,' said her mother, resting both her hands on  Philly's shoulders. 'How else could he ask for my permission? Oh, you've  made me so happy, I can't quite believe it. How soon do you plan to be  married?'

'Married?'

She blinked as her insides lurched crazily. She'd imagined he'd spilt  the beans about the pregnancy, but this …  This wasn't happening. This  didn't make sense. She opened her mouth, about to deny it, about to say  there'd been some kind of mistake, when her eyes jagged with Damien's  and the denial she expected to find echoed within his was nowhere to be  seen. Instead, their dark intense depths seemed aflame with victory even  as they threw out a challenge.

'Oh, married,' she said, wanting to sound as rational as possible for  her mother's sake while her mind reeled with insane possibilities.  'Well, Damien and I have to talk about that. Just like we have a lot of  other issues to resolve. Don't we, Damien?'

He smiled in response, one eyebrow arched, and not looking half as  uncomfortable as she would have preferred him to. What was he up to?

Her mother broke the impasse. 'Well, this is wonderful news but I'm  afraid I need to lie down for a little while now before dinner. All this  excitement has worn me out. But I'm sure you two have plenty to catch  up on. So if you'll excuse me, I'll just have a nap.'                       
       
           



       

'Of course,' said Philly, kissing her mother on the cheek. 'I'll see you get comfortable. We can have a late dinner tonight.'

Daphne turned to Damien, who dropped a kiss on her cheek likewise. 'Oh,'  she said in response, 'if I were twenty years younger, I think I'd  fancy giving you a run for your money myself.'

'If you were twenty years younger, I'd be taking you up on that.'

Her mother laughed like she hadn't heard for ages and Philly was half  tempted to enjoy the sound. It was just so good to hear her mother  laughing, let alone flirting. But she knew how fragile her mother was.  How devastating it would be for her to realise this was all just some  game Damien was playing.

Why was he doing this? What on earth was he trying to prove? She  wouldn't see her mother hurt for anything or anyone. And this bizarre  idea about marriage wasn't going to help anyone. Damien had had his  chance earlier today and he'd made it more than clear then that he  simply wasn't interested. So what was he doing here, putting thoughts of  weddings and goodness knew what else into her mother's head?

Had he really not said a word yet about her pregnancy as she'd first  feared? It was far too early to tell her just yet. What the hell was he  playing at?

She saw her mother settled on her day bed and returned to the living room, white-hot fury building within her with every step.

Damien was waiting for her, still standing, the look on his face like a  cat that had just caught a mouse. Well, this mouse was about to fight  back.

'Welcome home,' he drawled, one side of his mouth curving up mockingly. 'Hard day at the office?'

'Don't "welcome home" me. We need to talk,' she said, her voice a low snarl.

'Sure,' he said easily with a shrug, as if he hadn't the least idea what she would want to talk about. 'Shoot.'

'Not here. Outside.' She didn't want any chance of her mother  overhearing this conversation. She stalked through the kitchen to the  rear entrance, leading the way to the small timber deck without looking  back. But she knew he was there. She could feel his smug expression  laughing into her back as he shadowed her out the door. She'd wipe that  smug look off his face if it killed her.

She turned and somehow the deck had shrunk. The small outdoor table and  chairs still took up the same space but Damien consumed the rest as he  leaned his length over, propping his arms on the railing and looking out  over the sun-dried back lawn and the fringe of shrubs lining the fence.

How dared he look so relaxed and at peace with the world? How dared he  turn her life upside-down with a click of his fingers? And how dared he  fool with the emotions of a frail, sick woman?

The fury inside her only mounted as he continued to gaze out, ignoring  her completely. She crossed her arms over her chest but the action only  seemed to magnify the crazy thumping of her heart.

'What are you doing here?'

He turned slowly, almost lazily, towards her, as if her question and  tone were no more than the buzzing of an annoying insect somewhere  nearby.

'That doesn't sound like the kind of greeting I'd expect from the woman I've just become betrothed to.'

'I never said I was going to marry you. What the hell is this all  about-some kind of warped payback because I said no to your earlier  demands?'

'You're having my baby, aren't you?'

'And what's that got to do with it?'

'That's got everything to do with it.'