“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble,” he said.
Lia swallowed. What could she say? I had no choice? My family will be furious? I’m afraid?
“A baby needs two parents,” she said. “And a man should know if he’s going to be a father.”
“And just what did you expect me to do about it, sugar?”
Irritation zipped through her like a lash. Sugar wasn’t an endearment, spoken like this; it was a way of keeping her at a distance. Of objectifying her. “You know my name. I’d prefer you use it.”
His eyes flashed. “Lia, then. Answer the question.”
She folded her arms and looked toward the windows. She could see the white dome of the Capitol building sitting on the hill. Why had she chosen this hotel? It was far too expensive. If her grandmother cut off her credit cards, she’d be doing dishes in the hotel kitchen for the next ten years just to pay for one night.
“I thought you would want to know.”
“You could have called.”
She swung back to look at him. “Are you serious? Would you want this kind of news over the phone?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled something from his rear pocket and tapped it on his palm. “How much money do you want, Lia?”
Her heart turned to stone in her chest as she realized he was holding a checkbook. And though she needed money—desperately—it hurt that he thought all he needed to do was buy her off.
And it hurt that he didn’t want this child growing inside her. That he could so easily shove aside that connection and have nothing to do with a person who was one half of him.
My God, she’d really chosen well, hadn’t she?
“You think I came here for money?” It would solve her most immediate problem, but it wouldn’t really solve anything. She’d still be single and pregnant, and her family would still be furious—and the Correttis had a long arm.
“Didn’t you?”
Lia stood. She had to fold her arms over her middle to hide their trembling. “Get out,” she said, fighting the wave of hysteria bubbling up inside her.
He took a step toward her and then stopped. The checkbook disappeared in his jeans again. He looked dark and broody and so full of secrets he frightened her. And yet a part of her wanted, desperately, to slide into his arms and experience that same exhilaration she had back in Sicily.
“You expect marriage,” he said, almost to himself. “That’s why you came.”
It seemed so silly when spoken aloud like that, but she couldn’t deny the truth of it. She had thought she would race to D.C., tell Zach she was pregnant and he would be so happy he’d want to take care of her and the baby forever.
Lia closed her eyes. What was wrong with her? Why was she always looking for acceptance and affection where there was none? Why did she think she needed a man, any man, in her life anyway?
“This is your baby in here,” she said, spreading her hand over her abdomen. “How can you not want it?”
He raked a hand through his hair and turned away from her. Once more, she was studying his beautiful, angry profile.
“Assuming what you say is true, I’m not good father material.” He said it quietly, with conviction, and her heart twisted in her chest.
Still, she couldn’t allow sympathy for the pain in his voice to deflect her from the other part of what he’d said. “If you don’t believe me, why are you here? Do you usually offer to pay women to get them to go away?”
He turned back to her, his expression cool. “I’ve encountered this situation before, yes. It has never been true, by the way.” He spread his hands wide. “But my family name encourages the deception.”
Lia stiffened. “I really don’t care who your family is,” she said tightly. “I did not come here for them.”
“Then what do you want, Lia?”
She swallowed. She’d thought—naively, of course—there had been something between them in Palermo. Something more than just simple animal attraction. She’d thought he might be glad to see her. God, she was such a fool.
The only thing she had was the truth.
“My family will be very angry when they find out,” she said softly. “And Alessandro will likely marry me off to one of his business associates to prevent a scandal.” She dropped her gaze and smoothed her hand over her belly again. “I suppose I could deal with that if it were only me. But I’m afraid for my baby. A Sicilian man won’t appreciate a wife who is pregnant with another man’s child.”
She could feel his gaze on her and she lifted her head, met the tortured darkness of his eyes. And the heat. It surprised her to find heat there, but it was indisputable. The heat of anger, no doubt.
“You know this to be true,” she said. “You are part Sicilian yourself.”
“A small part, but yes, I know what you mean.”
She could have breathed a sigh of relief—except she didn’t think he’d changed his mind about anything. “Then you will not want your child raised by another man. A man who will not love him or her, and who will resent the baby’s presence in his household.”
Zach was still. “You should have chosen better,” he said.
She blinked. It was not at all the response she’d anticipated. “I beg your pardon?”
“That night. You should have chosen to leave instead of stay.”
She’d bared her fears to him and this was what he had to say. Anger spiked in her belly. “It takes two, Zach. You were there, too.”
He took a step toward her, stopped. His hands flexed at his sides. “Yes, and I tried to send you away, if you will recall. Considering how we first met, you should have run far and fast.”
Her skin was hot—with shame, with anger, with self-recrimination. “It’s not all my fault. Perhaps you should have tried harder.”
As if anything would have induced her to leave after the way he’d looked at her: as if he wanted to devour her. It had been such a novel experience that she’d only wanted more.
“I should have,” he said. “But I was weak.”
“This baby is yours,” she said, a thread of desperation weaving through her. If he walked out now, if he sent her back to Sicily, what would become of her and the baby? She couldn’t face her cousin’s wrath. Her grandmother would do what she could, but even Teresa Corretti would do what the head of the family dictated in the end. And he would dictate that she not have a child out of wedlock. Or he would throw her out and cut her off without a cent.
For a moment, she contemplated that option. It would be … heavenly, in a way. She would be free of the Correttis, free of the pain and anger that went along with being the outsider in her family.
Except she knew it wouldn’t happen that way. Salvatore Corretti had ruled his family with an iron fist. And no wayward granddaughter would have ever brought shame on the family name in such a way. A Corretti grandson could father illegitimate children all day long, and he would not have cared. Let one of his granddaughters get pregnant, with no man in sight, and he most certainly would have come unglued.
Alessandro was a Corretti male and would be no different. He’d learned at their grandfather’s knee how to run this family and she could not take the risk he was somehow more enlightened. He’d never been enlightened enough to pay attention to her in all these years, which told her a lot about how he already felt about her. Add in the humiliation of his aborted wedding, and she was certain he was