Dante Claiming His Secret Love-Child(28)

Gabriella laughed out loud, though it wasn't a happy sound.

What kind of phrase was that? 'A woman to whom he had … ' Was there no  word to describe what she should be to him? Not his mistress. Mistresses  didn't come equipped with babies, and besides, a mistress was a woman  whose lover owned the roof over her head, the food on her table, the  clothes on her …

Which was exactly what she had become.

She closed the refrigerator door with a slam and went out to the  terrace. It was cold outside. The city was wrapped in darkness and you  could not only sense winter coming, you could feel it in the marrow of  your bones.

Dante paid all her bills. Food. Daniel's clothing. Diapers. The  furniture in the nursery. The rent or the mortgage, whatever it was. He  paid for her clothes-she'd left so much at the fazenda, and she'd needed  warmer things after arriving here.

It would take her years, a lifetime, to pay him back, even if her agent  lined up the kind of modeling deals supermodels got, and the truth was,  she'd been a successful model but not one who earned six figures a day.

He owned everything in her life and her son's life.

How had she let such a thing happen? What had become of her  independence? Her sense of autonomy? Her determination, from childhood  on, to rely on nobody but herself?

What had become of her responsibility to Daniel?

He deserved stability. Security. Not just financial security but the kind that came from the heart.

A father's heart. She, of all people, knew how much that meant. Daniel  was only a baby but already he smiled and laughed when Dante reached for  him. Another few months, ba-ba-ba would turn into ma-ma-ma and  da-da-da, but would Dante be there for him? Would he be there for her?

She took a deep breath. The word of the day was commitment.

As in forever. As in a man and a woman who were building a life together.

As in-

"Married," Dante said, and she spun toward him, heart pounding.

"What?"

He was smiling but the smile was a lie. She could see it in his eyes, the set of his mouth.

"My brother Rafe." He dug his hands into his trouser pockets as he stood  beside her, his gaze on the skyline beyond the park and not on her.  "When I checked my e-mail this morning, I found a couple of notes. Seems  he's getting married tomorrow. Well, it turns out he's already married,  some kind of quickie deal that happened in Sicily, and tomorrow, he's  doing it for real. Meaning, in church where my mother can get all  misty-eyed over it."

He sounded as if he were describing an auto-da-fι rather than a wedding  but then, being burned at the stake might seem more appealing to a man  like him. Was that why he'd been so distant all day?

"Oh," she said, because she had to say something. "Well, that's … that's-"

"He's been trying to reach me. The whole family has. But I've been out of touch."

He made it sound like an accusation. Gabriella narrowed her eyes.

"I did not keep you from checking your messages."

"Yeah, but who would ever expect a message like this?" Dante ran his  hands through his showerdamp hair; it stood up in little black peaks. "I  mean, this is crazy. He only just met this woman."

"Yes, but-"

"Marriage is a forever thing. A man needs to give it thought."

"And you assume he did not?"

"What I assume," he said, "is that I always thought a man should not  leap into marriage as if he were leaping into the currents of a  rampaging river."

She could feel the anger forming inside her. Or maybe it had been there all along, just waiting to surface.

"Your brother is not the only one who is leaping. The same applies to the woman."

Dante snorted with derision. "It isn't the same."

"Isn't it?" Her voice had gone from cool to frigid.                       
       
           



       

"Men are meant to be hunters. To roam. Women are meant to be gatherers. Of course it isn't the same."

Gabriella was looking at him as if he'd turned into an alien life form.  Well, hell, he couldn't blame her. He knew he sounded like an idiot, but  how could he not after finding Rafe's Hey, man, I'm getting married!  e-mail in his inbox this morning? It had shaken him to the core.

Rafe, married?

It had to be a joke.

He'd phoned Rafe, got no answer, phoned Falco, got nothing there,  connected with Nick who said, yeah, it was a shocker and, yeah, it was  fast, and then he finally got through to Rafe who babbled like an idiot  about how he'd fallen crazy in love even if he'd only married Chiara  Cordiano the first time around so he could Do The Right Thing and then  found he'd fallen head over heels in love.

"But marriage? So fast?" Dante had said.

And Rafe had said, yeah, why wait when you knew you'd found the right  woman? A woman who loved you for what you were inside, not for what the  world saw. Who loved you, just you, and could see herself growing old  with you beside her. Who loved you for giving her your heart, not the  things money could provide.

And in the blink of an eye, Dante had known Rafe could just as easily have been talking about him and his Gabriella.

About this "situation" that wasn't a "situation" at all but part of being deeply, totally in love.

He'd spent the day coming to grips with it, asking himself if Gabriella  felt the same way, telling himself that she did, she had to, that she  was not a woman who'd live with a man, sleep in his arms every night  unless she loved him.

And, God, the whole thing was terrifying.

To declare his love for her, to offer his heart to her and hope she wouldn't reject it …

He'd thought about it, tried to figure out the best way to do it,  delaying the moment because what would he do if she didn't feel the same  and then, standing in the shower after putting Daniel to bed, the water  sluicing down, he'd finally decided, okay, this was it, he'd just go  out there and tell her he loved her, loved his son, that he couldn't  live without them both …

"Dante," Gabriella said, and he swung toward her and caught her hands in his.

"Gaby." He spoke fast, afraid he'd lose his courage, wondering why it  had taken him so long to come to his senses. "Gaby. Honey." He took a  deep breath. "This thing tomorrow. My brother's wedding … " He swallowed  hard; how come his mouth had gone so dry? "Taking you to it would be  rough. You'd get dumped into the middle of my family and, trust me,  we're not something out of a Hallmark card. My mother and my sisters  would ask a million questions. My brothers wouldn't just ask questions,  they'd do the Orsini version of the third degree. And my old man-Hell,  where my father goes, so go the Feds. Plus, not a one of my family knows  anything about this. You. Me. The baby." He paused only long enough to  swallow again to moisten his throat.

"So, here's the thing, Gabriella. I don't think-"

"I do not think so, either," Gabriella said. "The truth is, I would much  prefer to avoid what promises to be an overly sentimental family  reunion    ."

"What? No. See, you don't understand-"

"But I do. I understand perfectly." She drew her hands from his, gave  him the kind of smile that made him understand the true meaning of a  tight smile. "You say this wedding is tomorrow?"

"Right. Late morning. It'll all be over by noon."

"Excellent."

"Yes. I thought so, too. Because-"

"My attorney's name is Peter Reilly."

Dante blinked. "Huh?"

"His office is on Seventy-second Street. He handled any modeling contracts that were outside the purview of my agency."

"Gaby. What are you talking about?"

"I have been thinking, Dante. About our … our situation." Do not cry, she told herself fiercely.

Just because he's confirmed all your worst fears, just because he'd  sooner do anything than introduce you to his family, you are not to cry!

"Yes," he said slowly, "so have I. That's the reason I just explained things-"

"And a fine job of it you did," she said, and told herself how well she  was doing. "I shall ask Peter a special favor, that he meet with us at  his office tomorrow, even though it is a Sunday at, let us say, two in  the afternoon."

"For what?" Dante said, totally bewildered.

This cold little speech, the frigid glare, that was what a man got for  telling a woman that as rough as it was going to be, he wanted to take  her to his brother's wedding? Tell his entire family he loved her? Tell  them that she'd borne his child, that there would be another wedding as  soon as they could get to the clerk's office Monday morning?                       
       
           



       

"For what?" he repeated, his eyes searching her face.