Weirdly, I wasn’t terrified anymore. In fact, I felt strangely calm. I observed the chic, happy people still partying only a few hours before dawn in the sidewalk cafes and nightspots we passed. Their lives seemed so much less complicated than mine. Not that I would have risked hurting my baby, but would they help me if I jumped out of the car? Somehow I doubted it. And what would be the point anyway? Vito would still know I carried his child no matter what I did now.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked.
Vito looked up from his phone. His eyes narrowed.
Wasn’t I even allowed to ask a question?
‘I thought we’d be on a boat by now…’ I prompted. He’d mentioned an island, after all. Last night, I had hoped there might be some kind of law enforcement by the docks so I could alert them to my predicament, but was that really an option? As upset as I still was with Vito for kidnapping me, and as determined as I was not to let him take my freedom away, did I really want to see him hurt or imprisoned?
He stared at me, gauging whether he could trust me with the information.
I waited, refusing to relinquish eye contact. He could only bully me if I let him.
Eventually he said grudgingly. ‘We will take a helicopter to Isla Donna from the Naples palazzo, but first we must make a stop in the city.’
‘What for?’ I asked, surprised he had deigned to give me this much.
His gaze zeroed in on my abdomen. ‘I have made an appointment with the top obstetrician in the city.’
‘In the middle of the night?’ I asked, then realised how gauche I sounded when his lips twisted into a cynical smile.
He didn’t reply, but then, he didn’t have to—when he wanted something, he got it.
But why had he made the appointment? Was he concerned about having manhandled me in London? Somehow I doubted that, given he’d had no qualms about tying me to the bed on the plane, then bringing me to an earth-shattering orgasm.
The car stopped outside a large ornate neoclassical building with a gold plaque on the wall outside announcing it as A Garabaldi’s practice. Lorenzo opened the door and Vito got out, then leaned into the car and held out his hand. ‘Come, Mia.’
I stared at his outstretched fingers but refused to take them.
‘I’m healthy. There’s no need for me to see a doctor,’ I said, not wanting to engage with the possibility he cared about my health, or the baby’s, scared it would weaken my position even more if I began to hope for something that wasn’t there. ‘I have a midwife at home who’s been looking after my antenatal care.’
‘You will not be seeing her again, Mia,’ he said, his voice tight, but the tone a tiny bit less arsey than usual. ‘I have arranged for medical care on the island, but it will take a few days to set up the equipment and hire the staff. Until then, I must ensure you and the baby are well.’
Did he truly care about me, about the baby?
I swallowed, the rawness in my throat—and the sting of emotion—disturbing me. Surely that reaction could only be due to the tumultuous events of the past eight hours. Being kidnapped could make anyone emotional, especially someone whose hormones were totally out of whack.
How could he care about me when he had kidnapped me?
What if my hope that he did care was a layover from that little girl who had wondered occasionally what her dad might be like—and if he might change his mind one day and suddenly appear to claim me as his?
I’d killed those idiotic daydreams a long time ago, and I was much stronger for it. My dad, whoever the hell he was, had been a deadbeat. No surprise there. I wasn’t responsible for his choices. I was only responsible for my own. And letting that naive hope in again now, that need for a man’s approval, would be the worst possible thing to do when I was already vulnerable enough.
He snapped his fingers, making me jump. ‘Vieni, Mia. We do not have all night.’
The impatient demand cauterised the sting of emotion.
I climbed out—deciding it was best to get the exam over with—but ignored his helping hand to make a point.
I was tired and out of sorts and my emotions far too close to the surface, meaning attempting to figure out Vito’s motivations tonight was not a good idea—especially as I was struggling to make sense of my own.
Vito placed a controlling hand on my lower back to usher me into the building and up the stairs, while his men stood guard outside.
The warm, heavy weight of his palm sent a wave of sensation through my already overwrought body, and I shuddered. He sensed the reaction I couldn’t disguise. His hand travelled down to cup my bottom, making me even more aware of that proprietary touch.
‘Your body knows you are mine, Mia,’ he murmured against my neck as we reached the landing. He opened the door without knocking. ‘Even if you refuse to accept it.’
Heat spread up my neck, the denial locked in my throat behind the unwanted ball of emotion, as Vito directed me into the doctor’s surgery.
