The Italian's Pregnant Mistress(33)

'I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner, years before, but I knew that  things would end the minute you found out about me. You're not an  ordinary man, Angelo. If you were, it wouldn't have been so bad.' She  risked stroking his hair and he pulled her hand to him and held it.  'Ordinary men aren't in the public gaze. They can handle a woman with a  dodgy background.'

'I've been to hell and back this week, Francesca, but the one thing I know is that I want this baby of ours to have a family.'

'And if I weren't pregnant, Angelo? Would you still have taken out an ad  in the newspaper letting the world know that you wanted to marry me or  would you have counted yourself lucky to have got away?'

'If you read the article carefully, my darling, you would see that at no  point did I mention the fact that you are pregnant. Everything else,  yes, but that, no.'

So he hadn't mentioned anything about being in love with her, but  nevertheless a little tendril of hope began to uncurl inside of her.

'Because … ?'

'Because I want you for my wife, Francesca, whether you happen to be  carrying my child or not.' He looked at her steadily, willing himself to  say what he needed to say in a way that wouldn't frighten her off.  'When we embarked on this crazy … affair, we both knew the rules. Sex  without commitment. We would finish what had been started years ago and  emotion wouldn't get in the way.'

Why was he reminding her of things she didn't want to remember? After he  had called her my darling and looked at her with eyes that promised  even if they hadn't delivered?

'But emotion did get in the way, after all. At least, it got in my way.'

'I beg your pardon?' She leaned towards him, straining to hear every single word he was saying.

'I thought I was in control, but it turns out I wasn't.' He shot her a  rueful smile. 'And, before you say anything, just hear me out and then  decide what you want to do. Whatever you want, Francesca, I'll fall in  line with.' He breathed in deeply and expelled his breath in one long  sigh. 'I know you didn't choose to become pregnant. I was so wrapped up  in my own thoughts and then so gutted by what you told me that it never  even crossed my mind to ask how you felt about having a baby and for  that I'm … I'm sorry. This … is difficult for me … '                       
       
           



       

He stood up and paced the room, his movements agitated. Francesca had  never seen him like this before, and she reckoned she had probably seen  him in all his moods. It was a revelation of vulnerability. Finally he  returned to the chair and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees.  'I've spent the week going over in my head everything that's happened  between us. You made a big deal of letting me know that you were willing  to let me walk away from you, or rather you walk away from me, because  you didn't feel that your background would do me any favours. It  occurred to me that maybe I had got it all wrong from the start. Maybe  you just didn't want to be hooked up with me. Maybe behind the  smokescreen was someone who just wasn't willing to spend her life with  someone who had all the privileges of wealth. It struck me that you  might be physically attracted to a man like me but emotionally attracted  to a man like Jack when it came to a permanent relationship.' He took a  deep breath and shook his head. Was he even making sense? He knew  exactly what he wanted to say but he could feel that the words were not  emerging from his mouth in quite the order he would have liked. For the  first time, his formidable grasp of the English language had deserted  him. 'Women are attracted to me. They like the wealth, the power, the  status.' He gave a dry laugh. 'Georgina being a case in point. Fact is,  though, you're not like other women and so all the usual yardsticks no  longer apply. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?'

Francesca nodded slowly. 'I think so … '

'I'm glad you're pregnant, Francesca. I'm over the moon that you're  having my baby but I meant what I said. I want to marry you, baby or  not, because I … because I realise that sleeping with you wasn't enough  for me.' He gave her a crooked smile but underneath she could see that  he was drained. 'Call me a greedy man, but I want more than just your  beautiful body. I want your mind, your heart, your soul, because you  have mine. All those things. They're yours. They belonged to you three  years ago when you walked out on me and they belong to you now. If  you'll have them. I hope you do and I hope that you'll marry me even if I  have to spend the rest of my days winning your love. Even if, right  now, you may not think me the right man for you.' Over the past  torturous week Angelo had figured out what it was about love that set it  aside from everything he had ever experienced in his life before. Aside  from being the one thing over which he exerted no control, it was also a  humbling experience. He was hanging on for dear life to what she would  say.

'That's a tall order, Angelo.'

He paled. In one short sentence, his world came crashing down.

'I mean,' Francesca continued thoughtfully, 'it takes a lot to win my love.'

'I'll do anything.'

'Romantic gestures?' She frowned. 'You know, flowers et cetera, little love notes dotted around … '

Angelo looked at the slow smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 'Yes, I can do flowers et cetera.'

'Candlelit dinners now and again-cooked by you, of course … '

He raised his eyebrows and looked doubtful. 'You drive a hard bargain but I'm willing to give it a go.'

'Breakfast in bed every morning?'

'Seriously pushing your luck here.'

'Then how about sex on demand?'

'I think I can manage that.'

'I love you, Angelo.' She looked at him with shining eyes. 'I fell in  love with you years ago and that's why I never told you the truth about  myself, my background. I thought that you would drop me like a hot  potato the minute you found out and, the longer I left it, the more of a  mountain it became until there was no way out but to leave, but I've  been hurting all this time.' She leaned towards him and kissed him,  melting into his arms, letting him carry her over to the bed-but no sex,  he told her, not until her doctor had given her the go-ahead.

So they talked. Once he started, Angelo found that the words poured out  of him, words that had never crossed his lips before. He could remember  Georgina asking him if he loved her, could remember his reply that love  was an illusion, something people clung on to because it made them feel  safer, less isolated. It had seemed a perfectly reasonable response to  him at the time. No longer.

Francesca, caught up in the rapture of the unbelievable, could have  listened to him for ever. She quizzed him over and over about whether he  was certain that he could marry a woman with a colourful past and was  ridiculously pleased when he told her that her past was a damn sight  more interesting than anyone else's he could think of. What she saw as a  liability he viewed as an asset, and Francesca didn't know whether to  believe him or not, but what she did know was that he would protect her  from anyone who might ever dare to question his decision. The rush of  love that filled her made her tremble.                       
       
           



       

'Do you realise,' Angelo said, eventually drawing her to him, 'I've  never had as many unofficial days off work with any woman as I've had  with you? And yet we've never been on holiday together. We'll just have  to put that right while there are just the two of us to consider … '

They did. Three months later, for their honeymoon on a tiny island in  the Caribbean. The wedding had been small-just a few close friends and  family and no paparazzi. Francesca had no idea how he had managed to  pull that off but, as he'd wryly told her, today's gossip became  yesterday's fish and chips' wrapping in the blink of an eye.

With her pregnancy now beginning to show, Francesca wore a range of  loose clothing and one-piece swimsuits, ignoring Angelo's urges that she  show her swelling stomach proudly. Everything about her pregnancy made  him proud.

Through the open windows of their little wooden cabana she could hear  the sound of the sea lapping against the shore and outside was inky  black.

Angelo was standing in front of the mirror, absentmindedly trying to  tidy his hair without the use of a comb, towel slung low on his hips  because he had just emerged from the shower.

He caught her eye in the mirror and grinned. 'Are you doing that on  purpose?' he asked, turning around. 'Lying there with that sexy little  smile on your face? You know what it's going to do to me … ' As if to  prove his point, he released the towel and revealed his arousal.

'You mean I still turn you on even though I no longer possess that model  figure that used to drive you crazy?' As if she needed reassuring. He  had proved to her over and over again just how much she still turned him  on. He delighted in her blossoming figure and adored the heavy fullness  of her breasts and the darkening of her nipples, which had become much  larger and more pronounced.