The Sicilian's Unexpected Duty(8)

                Eyes wide, she watched as the oak panelling on the wall behind him separated and a fully stocked bar emerged.

                Pepe mixed himself some concoction she didn’t recognise. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything?’

                ‘Yes.’

                He tipped it down his neck and then fixed his deep blue eyes back to her. ‘Go on, then. Convince me.’

                Pursing her lips, she shook her head in distaste. ‘I’m pregnant.’

                ‘So you’ve already said.’

                ‘That’s because I am.’

                ‘How much?’

                ‘How much what?’

                ‘Money. How much money are you going to try and extort from me?’

                She glared at him. ‘I’m not trying to extort anything from you.’

                ‘So you don’t want my money?’ he said, his tone mocking.

                ‘Of course I do.’ It gave great satisfaction to watch his ebony brows shoot up. ‘You have lots of money. I have nothing. I am broke. Boracic. Poor. Whatever you want to call it, I am skint. I’m also carrying a child whose father can afford to pay for a decent cot and wardrobe and a decent place for him or her to live.’

                He sucked in air through his teeth. ‘So you are trying to extort money from me.’

                ‘No!’ Clamping her lips together, Cara opened her handbag and took out a brown envelope, from which she pulled a square piece of paper. She handed it to him. ‘There,’ she said tightly. ‘There’s your proof. I’m not trying to extort anything from you. I’m sixteen weeks pregnant. You are going to be a father.’

                For a moment Pepe feared he would be sick. His stomach was certainly churning enough for it to happen. And his skin...his skin had gone all cold and clammy; his heart rate tripled.

                And no wonder.

                If this were a forgery, Cara had done an excellent job.

                The square piece of paper clearly showed a kidney bean. Or was it that alien thing he had watched as a child? E.T.? Either way, this was clearly an early-stage foetus. He studied it carefully. There was the name of the Dublin hospital on it, her name, Cara Mary Delaney, her date of birth and the due date of the foetus. He did the maths. Yes. This put her at sixteen weeks pregnant.

                It had been sixteen weeks since he’d been to Dublin...

                ‘You don’t look very pregnant.’ She looked thinner than he had ever seen her. She’d never been fat as such, more cuddly. While she hadn’t transformed into a rake, she’d lost some of her, for want of a better word, squishiness.

                ‘I’ve been under a lot of stress.’ She gave him a tight smile. ‘Unexpected pregnancy can do that to a woman. But the baby’s perfectly healthy and I’m sure I’ll start showing soon.’

                He looked again at the scan picture. Cara was a smart woman but he doubted even she could forge something of this standard. The resolution on this picture was more clearly defined than the one he had held and gazed at for hours on end over a decade ago, but everything else was the same.

                Cara was pregnant.