Of course, he would probably also expect this would send her running back home. She wouldn’t do that. Not ever.
She looked up, looked at the view in front of her. Looked around her at the incredible clash of chaos that was Rome. How could she be regretful? It might be difficult to carry the baby to term with no help. But she would. And then after that she would make sure that the child found a suitable home.
Not one with her. But then, it wasn’t her baby, after all. It was Renzo’s. Renzo and Ashley’s. Her responsibilities did not extend beyond gestation. She felt pretty strongly about that.
The hair on the back of her neck seemed to stand on end, a rush of prickles moving down her spine. She straightened, then slowly turned. And through the crowd, across the bar that was teeming with people, tables crammed together, the dark lighting providing a sense of anonymity, he seemed to stand out like a beacon.
Tall, his dark hair combed back off his forehead, custom suit tailored perfectly to his physique. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his dark eyes searching. Renzo Valenti.
The father of this baby. The man who had so callously sent her away three days earlier. She hadn’t expected to see him again. Not when he had been so adamant about the fact that he would have nothing to do with the child. That he didn’t even believe her story.
But here he was.
A surge of hope went through her. Hope for the child. And—she had to confess internally, with no small amount of guilt—hope for her. Hope that she would be compensated for the surrogacy, as she had been promised.
She wiped her hands on her apron, stuffing a bar towel in the front pocket and striding across the room. She waved a hand, and the quick movement must have caught his attention, because just then, his gaze locked on to hers.
And everything slowed.
Something happened to her. A rush of heat flowed down through her body, pooling in her stomach, and slightly lower. Suddenly, her breasts felt heavy, her breath coming in short, harsh bursts. She was immobilized by that stare. By the fathomless, black depths that seemed to pin her there, like a butterfly in one of the collections her brothers had had.
She was trembling. And she had no idea why. Very few things intimidated her. Since she had stood there in front of her father—in front of the whole commune, like a bad movie or something—refusing to recant the “evil” things she had brought in from the outside, there wasn’t much that bothered her. She had clung to what she wanted, defying everything she had been taught, defying her father, leading to her expulsion from the only home she’d ever known. That moment made everything else seem mundane in many ways.
Perhaps, she had imagined, the world would turn out to be every bit as scary and dangerous as her mother and father had promised her it would be. But once she had purposed in herself that she was willing to take that chance to discover herself, to discover her freedom, she had made peace with it. With whatever might happen.
But she was shaking now. Was intimidated. Was maybe even a little bit afraid.
And then he began to close the space between them. And it felt as though there was a connection between the two of them. As though there was a string tied around her waist, one he was holding in his hands. And even though he was the one drawing nearer to her, she felt the pull to him.
It was loud in the bar, but when he spoke it cut through like a knife. Effortless, sharp and exceedingly clear. “I think you and I need to have a little chat.”
“We tried that,” she said, shocked at how foreign her voice sounded. How breathless. “It didn’t exactly go like I planned on it going.”
“Well, you walked into my home and dropped a bombshell on me. So, I’m not entirely certain how you expected it to go.”
“Well, I didn’t know it was a bombshell. I thought we were just going to discuss something you already knew. A bombshell you were complicit in.”
“Sadly for you, I was not complicit. But if what you’re saying is true, we definitely need to come to an agreement of some kind.”
“What I’m saying is absolutely true. I have the documentation back at the hostel.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And I’m supposed to believe that this documentation is factual?”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t know where to begin forging medical paperwork like that.”
“That means nothing to me. Your word means nothing to me. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know anything about you. All I know is that you showed up at my house earlier and are now asking me to believe the most fantastical of tales. Why should I?”
“Well,” she said, looking down at her sandaled feet, “I suppose because you’re here.” She looked back up at him, her breath catching in her throat when she met with his furious gaze. “That means you must think it could be true. And if it could be true, why wouldn’t it be? Why would I target you? Why would I... I don’t know. It’s just... Trust me. I would never have cooked this up on my own.”
“Take me back to your hostel.”
“I’m just off shift. I need to go write down my time.”
He reached out, grabbing hold of her bare arm. The contact between his fingers and her skin sent an electric crackle down through her body. She had to think. Really think if she had ever been touched like this by a man. Other than a doctor or her family members, she’d had very little physical contact with anyone. And this seemed... It seemed more than significant. It burned her all the way down to the soles of her feet. Made her feel like her shoes might melt.
Like she might melt.
“I will speak to your boss later if need be. But you’re coming with me now.”
“I shouldn’t.”
A smile curved his lips. It was not kind. It did nothing to dispel any of the tension in her chest. If anything, it made everything feel heavier. Tighter. “But you will, cara mia. You will.”
After that statement of declaration, she found herself being propelled out of the open-air bar and onto the busy street. It was still teeming with people, humidity hanging in the overly warm air. Her hair was sticking to the back of her neck, her tank top sticking to her skin, and his body was like a furnace beside her as they strode purposefully down the street.
“You don’t know where I live.”
“Yes I do. I am fully capable of looking up the name of a hostel and finding the directions. And I know the streets well.”
“This isn’t the way back,” she said, feeling the need to try to find some power in the situation. She despised feeling helpless. Despised feeling controlled.
“Yes,” he said, “it is.”
Much to her dismay, this alternate route seemed to put them back at the front door of the hostel much more quickly than the one she typically took. She pursed her lips together, frowning deeply.
“You’re welcome,” he said, pushing the door open, his entire posture and tone radiating a kind of arrogance she had never before come into contact with.
“For what?”
“I have just showed you a better route home. Likely I will save you time in the future. You’re welcome.”
She scowled, ducking her head and walking past him into the narrow hallway. She led him down the hall, to the small room that she had in the back. There were four bunk beds in it, with two other women currently occupying the space. It was fairly private, all things considered. Though, as Esther began to feel more symptomatic of her pregnancy, it began to feel more and more crowded.
She kicked her sandals off, making her way across the pale, uneven stone floor, and headed to the bottom bunk, where all of her