‘But then you have to fit in with someone else’s schedule,’ he pointed out with infuriating logic—and despicable arrogance.
‘Oh, heaven forbid a little inconvenience.’ They were getting off-topic and she didn’t particularly want to stand in Antonio’s office, arguing the merits of flight timetables with him.
‘My schedule allows very little room for flexibility,’ he said with an arrogant shrug of his shoulders.
And now Amelia did laugh, just a soft, panicked noise of utter disbelief. ‘You’re going to hate this, then.’ Babies were the very definition of inconvenience, and this one particularly so, given how little either of them could have expected her pregnancy.
‘Hate what?’ He was wary.
When it came to it, there was no need for any preamble. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, she was simply going to tell him—to get it over with and then go home. With a deep breath and a voice that shook ever so slightly, she said into the silence: ‘I’m pregnant, Antonio. And you’re the father.’
‘THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE.’ His arrogant assertion was the last thing she expected and in other circumstances she might have found that amusing.
‘Oh, okay,’ she murmured sarcastically. ‘Have it your way, then. I’m not pregnant.’
She glared at him, her arms crossed over her body, her expression one of disdain.
‘You can’t be,’ he corrected, and Amelia almost felt sorry for him, because Antonio Herrera didn’t strike her as a man who was used to having things happen beyond his control. ‘We used protection.’
‘Well, you’re the only man I’ve ever slept with and I am most definitely pregnant.’ She pinpointed him with an icy glare. ‘So I guess it didn’t work.’
He was uncharacteristically lost for words.
‘Anyway,’ she said after a moment’s silence, ‘I thought you should at least know.’ He remained silent. ‘But you should also know that I don’t need anything from you. I have the financial means to raise this child without worry, and I will be a good mum, all on my own.’ She stiffened then, her spine straightening as she forced herself to finish the offer she came willing to extend. ‘You may, of course, choose to be involved, if you’d like.’ She let that sentiment hit its mark before barrelling forward. ‘But I understand why that would be difficult for you and I’m okay—more than okay—with that. This is my baby. You don’t have to worry about it.’
‘I see.’ He seemed to have relocated his voice. He spoke crisply and, though it was a genial enough agreement, it filled Amelia with a sense of wariness because she could feel a ‘but’ coming. ‘And do you think I will let you return to England to have my child? And what, confer upon it your surname? Raise my son or daughter as a diSalvo?’
At that, a surge of anger beat inside her and she pushed at his chest, surprising them both with the violent outburst. ‘Don’t you dare draft my baby into this damned feud!’ she exploded. ‘Yes, this child will be a diSalvo because it’s my child! But I won’t be raising it to hate the Herrera name, so you can relax.’
His expression was one of barely concealed fury.
‘And as for you “letting” me do anything, I have a newsflash for you, Antonio. I don’t answer to you. I’ll leave when I want to leave, and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it.’
* * *
Her threat was a gauntlet that she really shouldn’t have issued. Because he wasn’t afraid to run it. Hell, he was relishing the prospect of running it, in fact, and unsettling her attitude of unconcern. As though she could tell him she was pregnant and then waltz out of his life once more! Pregnant, and with his baby.
‘You know, there’s not even a legal requirement for me to tell you about this,’ she continued, apparently oblivious to how close his patience was to fraying.
‘And yet you’re here,’ he snapped.
She opened her mouth and then clamped it shut, before nodding. ‘I thought you should know.’
‘Thank heavens for small mercies,’ he murmured, stalking away from her towards his desk, where he pressed a red button on his phone. ‘Cancel my afternoon schedule,’ he clipped and then disconnected the call before his assistant could respond.
‘You don’t need to do that,’ Amelia muttered, a hint of panic flaring in her expression now. ‘As I said, I’m flying home soon.’
‘We have to discuss this,’ he murmured, bracing his palms on his desk and dipping his head forward. The reality of this hit him in the solar plexus and a strange metallic taste filled his mouth. Adrenalin. Fight or flight.
He’d tasted it before: when his father had been staring down the barrel of bankruptcy and Antonio had known it was all down to him. That he alone could save his father’s legacy: that he alone could salvage the ruins of the once-great Herrera Incorporated.
And he felt that again now. Fight or flight responsibility.
This was his baby, but she was offering him an out. She didn’t want him to be involved. She didn’t need him.
And God knew he didn’t want to have a child. Not now, probably not ever, and sure as hell not with a diSalvo.
But when he lifted his gaze to Amelia, the door to escape swung closed.
Wanted or not, this baby was reality and there was no way he was going to ignore that.
‘I intend to raise my child, querida,’ he said, the words forged from iron.
It was obvious that she had not been expecting that. She took a small step backwards and made a sound of confusion, then shook her head from side to side. ‘But...you... Didn’t you hear me? You don’t have to be involved. You don’t need to have anything to do with him.’
‘Do you truly believe that? This is my child and, while it is far from ideal that you are to be the mother, it does not change the fact that my flesh and blood is growing in your belly.’
‘Gee, thanks. I’m so warm and fuzzy right now,’ she clipped.
He ignored her ironic assertion. ‘Obviously there is only one solution to this situation.’
‘I swear, if you’d said “problem” I would have walked straight out of here.’ And then her eyes flew wide and a slim hand lifted to her mouth, covering a gasp. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Completely.’
Her face paled—if that was possible, and she staggered back once more. Then a hand came to curve protectively over her still-flat stomach. ‘You can’t actually expect me to terminate my pregnancy just because you don’t want to have a child with a diSalvo?’
Her words seemed to come from a long way away, and took even longer to process. ‘What?’ he said eventually. And though his English was perfect, he presumed he must have misunderstood something in the translation.
‘You want me to have an abortion? How dare you? I came here as a courtesy, to tell you that you’re going to be a father and that I will allow you to be some part of our child’s life and you actually try to bully me into getting rid of our baby?’
She sent one final glare in his direction and then strode purposefully towards the door. She grabbed her bag from