Modern Romance April 2019 Books 5-8. Chantelle Shaw
diSalvos, as you were raised?’
‘I was not raised to hate your family,’ he ground out. ‘Your brother almost broke my father. Your brother, your father. This is their doing.’
‘Fine,’ she snapped, crossing her arms once more. ‘They started it. So you can still be the bigger person and walk away.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘It’s too late for that.’
She opened her mouth to say something but he shook his head, lifting a hand into the air to silence her.
‘Marry me. Marry me because you want to give our child a stable family. Marry me because you know it is the right thing to do.’
She swallowed, biting into her lower lip and turning away from him, pacing over towards the windows. Madrid glistened in the distance, and her shoulders slumped forward a little as she—apparently—lost herself in contemplation. Seeing her weakening, realising he could push home his advantage, he took a step closer.
‘You didn’t know your father until you were a teenager. True?’
He knew it was—he’d read the file his investigator had put together.
‘Yes.’
Antonio’s expression tightened and something heavy landed in his gut. He’d known about his own child for a week and already he couldn’t imagine what kind of man he would have to be to neglect him or her like that.
‘And didn’t you wish he’d been more involved in your life?’ he pushed, watching the way her features visibly contracted, showing pain and hurt.
‘There’s no sense wishing for what’s not possible,’ she said with a shrug. It was an imitation of nonchalance, he could tell. He wished she’d turn to face him so he could see her eyes, see her mouth, see all of her.
‘But I knew my father,’ Antonio continued, his voice thick with unexpected emotion—the loss was still fresh, he supposed. ‘He was a busy man but he always made time for me. He talked to me each evening, telling me stories, and on weekends we went hiking through the forest that surrounded our home. We fished in a stream and ran until our lungs threatened to burst. When I was little, if I had a nightmare, it was my father who comforted me. He was an excellent man.’
Amelia turned to face him and her eyes were like the ocean on a turbulent day. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because you should know what kind of father I intend to be for our child.’
Her eyes swept shut, her long silky lashes forming perfect fans against the pearly whiteness of her cheeks.
‘Don’t you want our child to have that?’
Her expression showed anguish when she opened her eyes, blinking to face him. ‘Yes.’
He admired her for not prevaricating, and he admired her even more when she visibly pulled herself together, extinguishing the flames of anguish and assuming an expression of calm.
‘Yes, I do,’ she agreed more firmly, as though she were convincing herself. ‘But I can’t marry a man intent on destroying my family. That’s obvious.’
He understood her need to negotiate on this point, but Antonio wasn’t a man to give concessions. Not when it came to getting what he wanted. In a battle of wills with Amelia he would back himself every time. ‘Then give me Prim’Aqua. Agree to marry me.’
‘And you’ll stop going after Carlo’s other businesses?’ she whispered, the words haunted.
He looked at her long and hard and finally nodded. ‘For now.’
She frowned. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Only that I expect you to try to make our marriage work,’ he said. ‘If you don’t, if you walk away from me, then the deal is off.’
Her breathing was raspy and shallow. ‘You’re serious?’
‘Deadly.’
Her complexion paled.
‘I am the father of your child, and I want to marry you. I want the marriage to be a success because I am not used to failure, querida. This is what I want. What is it that you want? What matters most to you?’
* * *
Amelia blanched, his ultimatum horrifying because she already knew that she was going to agree. She pressed a hand over her stomach, and her heart squeezed at the thought of the little life growing inside her. Would it be a boy? Or a girl?
She didn’t care—she just wanted a healthy, happy baby.
She turned away from Antonio—looking at him made it almost impossible to think straight—and paced towards the window. The same Gaudí was peeking back at her, this time bathed in gentle sunshine.
Antonio hated the diSalvo family, and the same could be said of Carlo and the Herreras. But her child wouldn’t feel that bitterness. This child had the power to heal those breaches. Surely once their baby was born, and was an actual little person rather than a hypothetical concept, Antonio would see for himself how damaging it was to continue this ridiculous blood feud? Surely he’d wish to put paid to the last vestiges of resentment, for the sake of their child?
It was a gamble.
Because he hadn’t said or done anything to give her the impression that his attitude might soften. But was it possible that over time, and as he got to know her, he would see the futility in hating Carlo the way he did? Particularly when the object of his acrimony was his own child’s relatives.
She spun around, her eyes pinning him, her gaze unknowingly forceful. ‘Promise me you’ll...be reasonable,’ she said instead.
His brows lifted upwards. ‘I’m always reasonable.’
She made a scoffing noise of disbelief. ‘I’m serious, Antonio.’
‘As am I.’
Amelia shook her head. ‘This is ridiculous. There’s been nothing reasonable about how you’ve behaved with me. Nothing. You’re the most intractable, difficult...’
‘Bastard, yes, you’ve said this.’
She ground her teeth together. ‘I’m not going to be trapped into a marriage that makes me miserable, and so far you’ve done nothing to show me that you’re the kind of man I can even vaguely bear to be around.’
His expression was pure sensual challenge and it had the desired result. Her pulse notched up a gear and her breath burned in her lungs.
She pushed on before he could speak. ‘You’re asking me to marry you and stay married to you, and you’re giving me nothing in return.’
‘I am giving you,’ he said so softly it was dangerous, ‘an assurance that I will leave your brother’s other business interests alone. And, believe me, Amelia, this is not a concession I make easily.’
She could believe it. In that moment, she felt his hatred and rage and she wondered how he’d managed to conceal those emotions so well when he’d come to the cottage.
It was so far from ideal! If only there was a way she could wrest some control back from him—show him that she wasn’t going to be pushed around. ‘I won’t sign my shares of Prim’Aqua over to you,’ she said quietly, ‘until the baby is born.’
He frowned, his expression showing he didn’t fully comprehend the distinction.
‘Why the delay?’
‘Because—’ she spoke slowly, logically ‘—once I give you Prim’Aqua, you hold all the cards. Even if I do decide to divorce you.’ She tilted her chin defiantly. ‘And I will not stay with you unless I truly believe that our marriage is in the best interests of the baby. Understood?’
It was obvious from his expression that he hadn’t expected a challenge