‘I would very much like to see you try,’ he challenged her darkly. ‘I am sure I do not have to warn you of the consequences if there is any double-dealing on your part.’
Nina couldn’t help an inward shiver at the irony of his coolly delivered statement. As far as double-dealing went, hadn’t she already dug her own grave?
‘By the way,’ he said, ‘since we are marrying in a matter of days it is hardly appropriate for you to continue to call me by my surname.’
‘Marc.’ She breathed his name seductively. ‘Is that short for Marco?’
‘No, it is short for Marc,’ he said. ‘It is French, like my mother.’ ‘Do you speak French as well as Italian?’ ‘Yes, along with several other languages.’ She was privately impressed but wasn’t going to acknowledge it to him.
‘What about you?’ he asked when she didn’t immediately respond.
‘Me?’ She gave a quick snort. ‘All that foreign rubbish? No way! English is the universal language, why anyone would bother chattering away in anything else is completely beyond me.’
She was more or less fluent in both his mother’s tongue and in Italian, but had decided to keep it to herself. She’d studied languages at both school and tertiary level and enjoyed a certain level of proficiency. But it suited her purpose to let him think her a complete airhead who had nothing better to do than primp and preen to fill the time.
‘I have made an appointment with my lawyer to meet us at my office for us to sign the pre-nuptial agreement. You will also need to bring along your birth certificate so I can arrange the marriage licence,’ he said. ‘Is ten a.m. tomorrow convenient?’
Nina’s heart started to pound with misgivings. Pretending to be her sister had been manageable to begin with, but now she was going to be signing binding documents in the presence of a lawyer. What if she were sent to prison for fraud? What would happen to Georgia then? Just as well she’d told him her real name was Nina, and even more fortunate she was the older twin, for only her name appeared on the document, making no mention of her twin as was the practice at the time. But what if he ever looked at Georgia’s birth certificate? Nadia’s name was printed there, not hers. How would she be able to explain that?
‘Nina?’ His deep voice interrupted her quiet panic.
‘Sorry.’ She hitched her niece a little higher on her hip. ‘Georgia was slipping.’
‘You are holding her?’
Just then Georgia gave a happy little gurgle as if she were responding to the sound of her uncle’s voice.
‘Yes,’ Nina said, smiling down at her niece. ‘I was about to put her back down for a sleep when you called.’
‘How is she?’
‘She’s fine.’
‘Does she wake much at night?’
‘Once or twice,’ she told him. ‘But she soon settles back down.’ ‘Tell me something, Nina.’ An indefinable quality entered his voice. ‘Do you enjoy being a mother?’
Nina didn’t hesitate in responding, ‘Of course I do.’ There was a strange little silence.
She wondered if she should have been quite so honest. Perhaps Nadia would have answered completely differently and he was temporarily thrown by the sudden change of character.
‘You do not strike me as the maternal type.’ His tone was laced with scorn.
‘What do I strike you as, Marc?’ she asked in her most seductive voice, determined to make amends for her previous lapse in character.
Sitting in his office, Marc sighed, ignoring her last remark. ‘I’ll pick you up at nine-fifteen tomorrow,’ he told her.
‘Do you have a baby seat in your car?’ she asked.
Marc frowned. He hadn’t even thought about those sorts of details.
‘I will have one fitted this afternoon.’
‘I can catch a bus,’ she offered. ‘Where is your office?’
‘I insist on picking you up.’
‘I won’t be going with you if your car isn’t adequately fitted for carrying a child. It’s not safe.’
Marc released his tight breath. ‘I will have the seat fitted if it is the last thing I do, all right?’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Can I trust you on that?’
Marc closed his eyes and counted to ten.
‘Marc?’
His eyes sprang open at the sound of his name on her lips. She had such a breathy voice, like a feather stroking along the sensitive skin on the back of his neck.
‘Yes …’ He cleared his throat. ‘You can trust me.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow then,’ she said into the small silence.
‘Yes.’ Marc released his suddenly choking tie. ‘See you tomorrow.’
The doorbell rang at nine-fifteen the next morning, but Georgia was still crying, as she had done from the moment she’d woken at five a.m.
Nina was getting desperate. She was already aching with tiredness, and the beginning of what promised to be a monumental headache was marshalling at the back of her eyes.
She gently patted Georgia’s back as she answered the door, her hair hanging limply around her shoulders and her eyes hollow from lack of sleep.
When she saw the tall imposing figure of Marc Marcello standing there it was all she could do to stop herself from howling in a similar vein to the small child in her arms.
‘Is she sick?’ Marc asked, stepping inside.
Nina brushed a long strand of hair out of her face and gave him an agonised look as the door closed behind him. ‘I don’t know. She’s been like this from the moment she woke up.’
Marc took the baby from her, resting his open palm over the baby’s forehead to check for a temperature.
‘She is warm but not overly so.’ He lifted his eyes back to Nina’s. ‘Has she had a feed?’
Nina shook her head. ‘She turned away from it. I’ve offered it three or four times but she keeps pushing it away.’
‘Maybe she needs to see a doctor,’ he suggested. ‘Who do you usually see?’
Nina looked at him blankly. For the life of her she couldn’t think of who Nadia had taken Georgia to for her monthly check-ups, if indeed she had at all.
‘I …’
Marc gave her an accusing look. ‘You have taken her to a doctor, haven’t you?’
‘Ah …’
He let out his breath on a hiss of fury. ‘This is a small child,’ he railed at her. ‘She is supposed to have regular jabs and weigh-ins to make sure she is growing to schedule.’
‘She’s perfectly healthy,’ Nina said, wincing as Georgia let out another howl of misery.
Marc raised an accusing brow as the baby continued to cry in his arms. ‘You think so?’
Nina bit her lip. ‘Maybe she’s teething.’
‘She is how old? Four months? Isn’t that a little early?’
‘I don’t know! I’ve never—’ She stopped herself from saying the rest. How close she had been to telling him she knew nothing about babies! What sort of mother would he think her?
Marc had turned back to the infant, his strong capable hands stroking