He stood back from the cot and took a steadying breath before turning to Bronte. ‘We need to talk.’
She nodded resignedly and led the way out of the room.
The kitchen–living room combined was on the small side but with Luca there it made it shrink to the size of a doll’s house. There was nowhere in the room that kept her more than two metres away from him. It was intimidating to say the least. One step from him and a reach with one of those long arms of his and she would be snared. The most bewildering thing was, she wasn’t entirely sure she would try to move away if he did reach out and touch her.
Bronte was so moved by watching him with Ella. She hadn’t been sure what to expect but seeing the love on his face for his child had made her all the more certain he was not going to walk away from his little daughter. He would want to be an active father. He came from a strongly connected family background, a rich heritage that Ella was entitled to be a part of as a Sabbatini. The only trouble was, where did Bronte fit into it all according to his plans for the future?
‘Would you like a cup of tea or something?’ she asked to fill the silence.
‘No tea,’ he said.
She gestured to the one and only sofa. ‘Would you like to sit down?’
‘No, but you had better do so,’ he said ominously.
Bronte sat down on the chain store sofa and pressed her knees against her hands to keep them from trembling. ‘Don’t take her off me, Luca, please, I beg you,’ she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth in an agonised stream. ‘I love her so much. I would do anything to make it up to you. I know it was wrong not to try harder to tell you. I realise it now. I couldn’t bear it if you…’ She couldn’t continue as the tears began to fall. She bowed her head and stifled a sob.
‘Tears are not going to work with me, Bronte,’ he said through tight lips. ‘I have lost more than a year of my child’s life. Do you have any idea of what that feels like?’
She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. ‘I know how upset you must be—’
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he ground out. ‘I look at Ella and every day I have missed is like a punch to my guts.’
‘I have photos and some home videos to show you—’
‘For God’s sake, Bronte, a child’s life is not like a movie I’ve missed when it came to the local cinema,’ he said, raking a hand through his hair. ‘I can never have that time back. I can never tell her when she is older what it was like to see her born. I can never tell her what it felt like to hold my hand over your belly to feel her wriggling in there. I can’t tell her when she took her first step or when she first smiled.’
‘She’s still so young,’ Bronte said. ‘She won’t even remember you weren’t a part of her life in the beginning. Children don’t really remember anything until they are about three years old. You have plenty of time to make up for what you’ve lost.’
‘And how do you suggest I do that?’ he asked. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
Bronte pressed her lips together. She knew what was coming and took a breath to prepare herself for it.
‘You live in Australia,’ he said. ‘I spend half my time in Italy and the other half in London.’
‘I… I know.’ Her voice was a thready whisper.
‘Which means one of us has to move.’
Her eyes rounded, her mouth going completely dry. ‘You’d do that? You’d consider moving here to be closer to Ella?’ she asked.
His expression was derisive. ‘Not me, Bronte,’ he said, ‘you.’
‘Me?’ The word came out like a squeak.
‘Of course you,’ he said. ‘I can’t run a corporation the size of mine from this distance. You can teach ballet anywhere.’
Bronte got to her feet in one agitated movement. ‘Are you out of your mind? I can’t move to Italy or wherever you want me to. I’m building up my career. It’s just getting to the stage where I can expand and take on more teachers. And I have my mother and friends here. My support network is very important to me.’
His mouth took on a stubborn line. ‘You move or you lose Ella,’ he said. ‘I am not going to have her travelling back and forth in planes on access visits. I want to be fully involved in her life. I am not prepared to negotiate on this.’
Bronte opened and closed her mouth, trying to think of some way to make him see reason. She couldn’t believe his obstinacy. Did he really think she should uproot everything at his bidding? What role was she to play in his life? Was she just to be the mother of his child or was he expecting something more?
‘I want my family to meet Ella as soon as possible,’ he said. ‘And it goes without saying we will have to get married as soon as it can be arranged.’
Bronte stared at him in stupefaction. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘I am not going to be drawn into an argument about this, Bronte,’ he said. ‘Ella is a Sabbatini. She has certain rights and privileges as a grandchild and heir. I will have no one refer to her as a love-child. I want her to have my name.’
‘She can have your name without you having to marry me,’ Bronte said. ‘I can have it put on the birth certificate.’
‘Bronte, let me make something very clear,’ he said with an intractable set to his mouth. ‘We have a responsibility towards our child. She needs a mother and a father. The only way to see that she gets what she needs is for us to marry and stay married.’
‘But I don’t love you any more.’ Bronte said it even though she wasn’t sure if it was true. She didn’t know what she felt towards him. She felt so confused about him. He had barged back into her life and was threatening everything she had clung to for security. The hurt over his rejection was like a wound that had been reopened. It ached deep inside her and she was terrified of being hurt all over again.
‘I do not require your love,’ he said. ‘There are plenty of very successful marriages which exist on mutual respect and common interests. We will start with that and see where it takes us.’
Bronte sent him a defiant glare. ‘I hope you’re not expecting me to sleep with you because I’m not going to. If I have to marry you, it will be in name only.’
His eyes were like glittering black diamonds as they held hers. ‘You are not the one dictating the terms here, Bronte,’ he said. ‘You will be my wife in every sense of the word.’
Bronte’s heart gave a nervous flutter as his implacable statement hit home. She could see the fiery intent in his eyes. He wanted her and he was not going to settle for a sterile hands-off arrangement. The thought of sleeping with him was all the more terrifying because she was sure she would fall in love with him all over again. She couldn’t dissociate the intimate act like some of her peers seemed able to do. She felt the emotional connection deeply. In the past she hadn’t just loved him with her heart and soul, but her body as well. ‘You seem to have it all worked out,’ she said, trying to keep the wobble out of her voice.
‘It’s for the best, Bronte,’ he said. ‘In time, you will see that. I know it is a lot to ask of you to relocate, but your mother can visit any time she likes. And you can fly back for visits. You will not be under lock and key.’
She turned and paced what little space she had. ‘I need some time to think about this,’ she said, pressing her hand to her temple where a cluster of tension was gathering.
‘There isn’t time,’ he said. ‘We have to get moving on this. We have a wedding to arrange. I want it to be a proper one, not some hole in the corner affair.’
Bronte swung back to face him. ‘I haven’t said I will marry you, Luca. Don’t rush