Modern Romance January 2020 Books 1-4. Кейт Хьюит
expect Mia to come to trust him if he didn’t share something of his life and past with her…even if doing so made him feel uncomfortably exposed.
‘Your father?’ she repeated softly. ‘How…?’
‘He was the CEO of a company in Rome. My mother was a cleaner in his office.’ He could not keep the old bitterness from twisting his words. ‘It was, as I’m sure you can imagine, a short-lived affair. He made my mother promises he never intended on keeping. And when he found out she was pregnant, he fired her.’
‘Oh, Alessandro.’ His name was a soft cry of distress. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He shrugged one shoulder, half regretting having told her that much. It made him feel scraped raw inside, to have these old wounds on display.
‘What did she do?’ Mia asked softly.
‘She had me, and then worked one dead-end job after another trying to make ends meet, which they rarely did. She told me about my father when I was quite small, and I followed his career, saw how he abused his power and privilege, not just with women like my mother, who had nothing, but in all sorts of ways.’ He shifted where he sat, that old determination coursing through him again. ‘I determined then that I would never allow people like that to abuse their power. And I’ve made it part of the mission of my work to take over companies that are showing such signs.’
Mia shook her head slowly. ‘I had no idea…’
‘You’re not meant to. I can’t exactly publicise what I’m doing. Hostile takeovers are just that. Hostile.’
‘Still, to do something noble and never be known for it…’
The warmth in her eyes both discomfited and awed him. He realised he liked having her look at him like that, feel like that. And that was alarming.
‘It’s not as much as you think, Mia. Some people are still out of jobs. I have a reputation for a reason.’ Why he was trying to dissuade her from thinking well of him, he had no idea. Perhaps simply because he wasn’t used to it.
‘Still.’ She pursed her lips as she gazed down at their daughter. ‘I wish I’d known earlier.’
‘Well, now you know.’
Alessandro paused, watching as she cradled Ella in her arms, their daughter feeding happily, one fist reaching absently for Mia’s hair.
‘It occurs to me,’ he said conversationally, ‘that you know more about me than I know about you.’
Mia looked up, eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘What do you want to know about me?’
‘Everything. Anything.’ He realised he was truly curious. ‘But we can start with the basics. Where are you from?’
‘The Lake District.’
‘A beautiful area.’
‘You’ve been?’
He smiled. ‘I’ve heard.’
‘It is beautiful.’ She looked away, seeming almost as if she was suppressing a shiver. ‘Beautiful and isolated and very cold.’
‘That sounds like a rather mixed description.’
She shrugged. ‘I didn’t like it growing up. I couldn’t wait to get away.’
‘Why? Just because it was cold?’
She hesitated, and he waited, sensing she had something more important to reveal. ‘No, because my father was…well, suffice to say, we didn’t get along.’ She kept her gaze on Ella, catching their daughter’s chubby hand in her own and gently removing it from her hair.
‘And your mother?’ Alessandro asked quietly.
‘She died when I was fourteen. I’d say of a broken heart, but I know how melodramatic that sounds.’
‘No.’ His mother had wasted away, worn to the bone by work and poverty. It was possible, Alessandro knew, to die of things that ate at you the same way a physical disease did. ‘Is your father still alive?’
‘I don’t actually know.’ Mia looked up at him then, her blue eyes icy with a hard anger he’d never seen before, not even in their stormiest moments. ‘I haven’t seen him in eight years, and that is fine by me.’
‘I see.’ Although he didn’t see the whole picture, he was starting to get a glimpse. Whatever had happened with her father, Mia clearly had emotional scars from it. He didn’t know what they were exactly, but at least he knew they were there.
‘Anyway.’ Mia shrugged, her gaze back on Ella. ‘With the background you just told me about, how did you get to be a billionaire by age—what? Thirty-something?’
‘Thirty-seven. I worked my way up.’
‘From slums to a billionaire lifestyle?’ She shook her head slowly, seeming impressed. ‘That’s quite a steep climb.’
‘Yes.’
‘How did it happen?’
Alessandro shrugged. ‘I was lucky and I worked hard. I started in property, buying rundown buildings and flipping them. It grew from there.’
‘It has to have been more than luck.’
‘Like I said, I worked hard.’
‘Very hard, I imagine. You’ve always seemed…driven to me.’
‘Yes, I suppose I am.’ Although, coming from her, he didn’t know whether it was a compliment or not.
‘What about your mother?’ Mia asked. ‘Is she still alive?’
‘Sadly, no. She died when I was nineteen, just when I was starting, but we’d lost touch a few years before.’
‘That’s sad.’ Mia hesitated. ‘It seems as if we have something in common.’
‘Yes.’ It saddened him, to think that both he and Mia had come from such fractured, damaged families—and it made him more determined to make sure their own little family wasn’t. ‘Our family doesn’t have to be like that, Mia,’ he said, a new note of urgency entering his voice. ‘This can be a fresh start for the three of us.’
‘I’d like to believe that,’ she said after a moment, but her tone sounded wistful, even dubious, and that stung.
‘Why can’t you?’
‘It’s just… I don’t know enough about you, Alessandro. And sometimes the past isn’t so easy to overcome.’
‘We’re getting to know each other,’ he persisted. ‘And we’ll keep doing that. What’s your favourite colour?’
‘My favourite colour?’
‘We’ve got to start somewhere.’
She let out a little laugh. ‘Green.’
‘Favourite food?’
‘Raspberries.’
‘Favourite season?’
‘Spring.’ She laughed again and shook her head. ‘I suppose I have to ask you all the same questions.’
‘Only if you want to.’
Her mouth curved, her eyes lightening. Alessandro liked her that way. ‘I do.’
‘Then it’s blue, steak, and autumn.’
‘We’re practically opposites.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Is blue the opposite of green?’
‘Maybe not. But the others…’ Her laugh turned into a sigh as she glanced down at Ella, stroking her downy head. ‘I don’t know. Do such preferences matter, really? Shouldn’t we be asking each other more important things?’
Alessandro