‘Is that his name? I didn’t want anything. It’s nice of you not to say anything about me being late.’
‘I have a great respect for punctuality,’ Antonio sliced back softly.
‘We’re going to have a problem,’ Sophie forecast with unblemished good humour. ‘I try really hard to be on time, but things tend to hold me up. Everywhere I go I’m always running against the clock—’
‘Better organisation will improve that.’
Sophie wondered if he had any idea how hard it was to organise a baby.
‘Maureo would like to take your coat,’ Antonio explained as the older man hovered nearby.
‘Would you like to hold Lydia?’ Sophie asked brightly, ignoring the tautening of his spectacular bone structure and moving closer to helpfully tug up his arm and pass her niece deftly into his grasp. ‘Smile and talk to her…she loves people.’
Antonio marvelled at how little Lydia seemed to weigh. He could not recall ever taking a close look at a baby before. With her soft fluff of curls, creamy skin and big brown eyes, she was really quite pretty, he decided in surprise. He could see no resemblance to Pablo. His mobile phone rang. The baby jerked, her face screwing up as she loosed a plaintive howl of fright. Antonio stuffed Lydia back into Sophie’s arms with unconcealed haste.
‘Perdón…’ He took his call.
Sophie soothed Lydia and interpreted Maureo’s gestures to take a seat at the table by the window. Antonio was talking in a foreign language, moving his hands to accentuate certain points with a confidence that she found irresistibly attractive. His lean, darkly handsome features were intent with concentration. Some day, Sophie thought fiercely, I want him to look at me like that. Like I’m important and interesting. In shock at that lowering aspiration that had come out of nowhere at her, she froze. Shame-faced, she cleared her mind and refused to think about it again. She would marry Antonio because that was the price of keeping Lydia. That, she assured herself firmly, was the only reason she had for marrying him. Only a real idiot would get romantic ideas about a guy who said he wanted to be a free agent.
Maureo reappeared toting a highchair for Lydia. Thanking him warmly, she strapped her niece in and put some toys on the tray to keep her occupied.
‘You’re a very busy guy,’ Sophie remarked brittlely when Antonio sat down opposite and the first course had arrived.
‘Invariably.’
‘Well, like you forecast, I’m about to say yes to the deal. But I have a couple of conditions to make,’ Sophie told him while she opened the small container she had brought with her, put some finger foods on her side plate and set them down in front of Lydia.
‘Conditions?’
‘I want to have a proper wedding,’ Sophie advanced uncomfortably. ‘Nothing fancy, just us and the witnesses with a few frills…a dress and some photos to make us look like a real couple. I don’t want Lydia to know this is a deal and not an ordinary marriage.’
‘She’s six months old,’ Antonio murmured drily.
‘But she won’t always be. I don’t ever want her to know that I had to marry you to keep her because that would make her feel bad—’
‘Why should it?’
‘I remember how I felt knowing I was just a burden to the grown-ups who looked after me.’ Sophie set a feeding cup down on the tray of the highchair, her delicate profile taut. ‘So, what do you think?’
Antonio recognised that he had not thought through every angle. He had no plans to go public with an announcement that he was making a marriage of convenience. Consequently, he would have no choice but to act out a charade of normality. Appearances mattered little to him, but to the majority of his family appearances were everything. ‘The frills aren’t a problem but I would like the wedding to be quiet and discreet. What other conditions?’
Sophie worried at her full lower lip with her teeth before speaking. ‘Just one… I want you to promise me that you’ll try to be a father to Lydia.’
Antonio flung back his arrogant dark head and dealt her a searing look of indignation. ‘Who are you to address me on such a subject?’
Sophie was very pale but she persisted. ‘This is just a deal for you. You’ve made that clear. But you’re still likely to be the only father Lydia ever has.’
‘The deal is between you and I only. My niece’s position in my life is unassailable,’ Antonio spelt out with cold clarity. ‘I will naturally make every effort to fulfil a paternal role.’
The main course arrived in the tense silence that followed.
‘I will not apologise. You were offensive,’ Antonio drawled when Maureo had departed again.
Watching Antonio look challenged as Lydia grizzled because she was over tired, Sophie tried not to wonder when his parenting efforts would begin.
‘I have certain conditions too,’ Antonio affirmed. ‘Before the wedding can take place you will have to sign a pre-nuptial agreement.’
Unexpectedly Sophie grinned. ‘Like a Hollywood star?’ she prompted in visible excitement. ‘Are you really that rich? Crazy!’
‘The agreement will specify financial arrangements and—’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah… Do we have to talk about that now?’ Lifting Lydia down onto her lap to soothe her fractious whimpers, Sophie ate her meal with a fork in one hand, quite unconscious of Antonio’s amazement at her dexterity. He watched his niece’s eyes drift shut in contentment and marvelled at Sophie’s remarkable control over a baby whom he considered to be as volatile as dynamite. He congratulated himself on having made a very wise decision: Sophie was worth five nannies.
‘We can leave any discussion of the terms of the prenup to our lawyers.’
‘I don’t have any—’
‘You must engage one for independent advice.’
Sophie wasn’t listening. She gazed across the table at Antonio, dazzled by the stunning symmetry of his lean bronzed face, and her eyes took on a dreamy cast. ‘What do you want me to wear for the wedding?’ she asked softly.
‘I have no wish to be rude,’ Antonio confided silkily, ‘but why should I have an opinion on what you might wear?’
The mental soap bubble in which Sophie was floating her make-believe world burst with a bang that hurt and humiliated. Her face went pink and hot.
‘You blush like a schoolgirl,’ Antonio mocked.
‘Fancy that!’ she tossed back and pushed away her plate, all appetite ebbing.
Sophie was really annoyed with herself for that brief flight of foolishness. If Antonio had decided he needed to deliver a reality check, she could hardly blame him. After all, why would he be interested in how she dressed for their fake wedding? Why had she even asked that stupid, stupid question?
‘So, apart from what’s already been agreed, what are the rules of this deal?’ Sophie enquired briskly.
‘Mutual respect and cooperation, querida.’ Antonio signalled Maureo and the wineglasses were topped up for a toast.
Sophie interpreted his objective without difficulty. She might fancy Antonio Rocha rotten, but at his most basic she understood his expectations as clearly as if he had voiced them: she was to respect him and strive unceasingly to fit in with all his wishes, reasonable and otherwise. He was noble, he was rich and he was successful and she was poor and illegitimate and lived in a home with wheels under it. Equality could not exist in such diversity. Antonio exuded the proud benevolence of a male convinced he was making a hugely generous sacrifice for which she ought to be undyingly