Dante's Unexpected Legacy(48)

                ‘I meant,’ he said very deliberately, as though he was translating as he advanced on her, ‘that I cannot believe my good fortune in possessing this child we created together.’

                ‘By accident!’ She stood her ground and met his eyes squarely. ‘If we did marry would you expect more children?’

                ‘I would hope for them, yes. So if you have some strange idea of a matrimonio di convenienza, put it from your mind. You would share my life. And my bed.’ Dante drew her into his arms. ‘Would that be so hard to do?’

                ‘No,’ she admitted, colouring. ‘As you well know, Dante.’

                He smiled victoriously and brushed his lips in a feather-light kiss over hers, then stiffened at the sound of an anguished cry upstairs.

                Rose bolted away from him to take the stairs at a run, Dante hot on her heels as they raced into Bea’s room to find her sitting on the floor beside her bed, crying piteously as she reached out her arms to her mother.

                Rose scooped her up and ran with her to the bathroom, where Bea threw up copiously. ‘On the bed too,’ she sobbed, and Rose held her close, murmuring wordless comfort as she glanced round to see what Dante was doing, her eyes scornful when she saw he’d vanished. Fair weather daddy!

                But Dante reappeared in the doorway with an armful of bed linen. ‘I took these from the bed and shall put them downstairs. Tell me where to find clean sheets, Rose.’

                ‘Airing cupboard on the landing,’ she said, startled. ‘Bea’s things are on the upper shelves.’

                Dante eyed the bowed curly head with sympathy. ‘Poverina! Are you better now?’

                Bea shook her head mournfully. ‘My tummy hurts.’

                ‘You will soon be better in a warm, clean bed,’ he assured her.

                By the time Bea was bathed, sans ducks this time, and fragrant in clean pyjamas, Dante had made her bed, complete with Pinocchio and Bear.

                ‘A man of many talents,’ murmured Rose as she tucked her daughter in.

                ‘Dante, read to me,’ commanded Bea, and smiled at him. ‘Please?’

                Rose blinked hard at the look on his face, and turned away to sort through some books. ‘How about Pinocchio?’ she suggested, clearing her throat. ‘He’s Italian, too.’

                ‘A good choice,’ said Dante huskily as his daughter nodded in approval. ‘Where shall I sit?’

                ‘On the bed,’ said Bea, and wriggled back against her pillows.

                ‘I’ll pop downstairs and get a drink,’ said Rose, and escaped before she did something really stupid like bursting into tears at the sight of Bea with the father she didn’t know she possessed.

                Rose loaded the washing machine with Bea’s sheets and pyjamas and stripped off her sweater, which had suffered in the interlude in the bathroom. She pulled on a T-shirt from the basket of laundry waiting to be ironed and went up to Bea’s bedroom, but paused in the doorway, her throat tightening as she heard Dante’s voice growing gradually softer as he read his daughter back to sleep. Rose stood very still as he finally closed the book and leaned down to brush a kiss over the bright curls. He turned and held a finger to his lips as he followed her downstairs.

                Rose felt suddenly awkward, unsure what to do or say next. ‘Would you like some coffee, Dante, or maybe a drink?’