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Rose let out a snort of laughter as she shook her head. This conversation was becoming even more surreal. “Well, I do,” she informed him. “Obviously.” She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, eyeing him in amusement. “Was this the urgent and important matter you had to discuss, then? Because I’ll remember that when I have my next haircut, although as you can probably guess, I don’t have them that often.” She patted her curls preeningly, a smile still lurking about her lips. “I’m on a budget, you know.”

“Of course that’s not what I want to discuss,” Amanti retorted. For a second, he looked startled, even discomfited, that they’d somehow ended up talking about her hair. Well, join the club, Rose thought ruefully. She had no idea what was going on, and she did another survey of the café to see if anyone was filming, but of course nobody was.

This was way too weird, although maybe it would make a good story. She imagined telling her fellow teachers about the guy in the three-thousand-dollar suit who told her she had too much hair. Then she remembered she’d been let go, and she wouldn’t be telling them anything. The problems this bizarre encounter had momentarily distracted from came tumbling back like a heap of bricks falling right on top of her.

She let out a small sigh just as Christos Amanti clarified, “No, the matter I have to discuss is much, much more important than that.” He paused and then stated flatly, “It’s about your baby.”

Any amusement Rose had been feeling about this surreal encounter vanished in an instant as a lightning streak of total shock blazed through her. How on earth did this man even know she was pregnant? She was barely showing, and he was a stranger.

Wasn’t he?

For a second, Rose felt as if all the certainties she’d amassed about this situation had been scattered. Not that she’d actually been certain about anything, but she’d assumed this was some kind of mistake or prank or something verging on the silly as well as surreal…but not about her baby.

Her baby, the most important part of her life, her whole being and reason. Christos Amanti had just gone from a sexy but strange guy to a potential and unknown threat. Who was he, and how did he know about her baby? Why had he found her in this café? Had he followed her? Her hand crept to her middle. Was this one of those creepy scenarios you read about in the paper, about how someone targeted a pregnant woman to steal her baby and sell it on the black market? It never took much for her imagination to get going, and now it was running rampant and wild. She’d read about this kind of thing, she was sure of it.

Amanti gestured to her middle, the small bump that was almost entirely hidden by her loose sundress. “Your baby,” he stated, utterly unsmiling, “and my brother’s child.”

Chapter Two

Rose’s face had drained of color as her breath came in quick little pants. She touched her tongue to her lips and then shook her head, sending her hair flying over her shoulders, the sunlight streaming from the window catching its golden, glittering strands. Christos’s gaze was inexorably drawn to its glorious, tumbled mass, and he snapped it back to Rose’s pale, heart-shaped face. She really was enchantingly lovely, even as he recognized he could not let himself think that way. Not even for an instant. Not with so much at stake.

“What are you…” she began, only to stop and shake her head again, looking bewildered and even more frightened. “I don’t know what you could possibly be talking about, but I would like you to leave me alone.” She spoke firmly, but there was a tremble to her voice that told Christos he’d handled this all wrong.

“We need to have a discussion,” he informed her, trying to gentle his tone and fearing he was failing. He’d come across as curtly professional and even cold, rather than like Luca, relaxed and charming and gently affable, winning people over with no more than a smile. Christos had never had that gift; he’d been far too serious, too concerned with what his responsibilities were, too fearful of failing, of seeing his parents’ faces crease with disappointment, of knowing he hadn’t lived up to the responsibilities of the oldest son and heir. He’d tried his hardest for so long, and it still hadn’t been enough. He couldn’t fail in this. He had to win her over, because if he didn’t…

That simply wasn’t an option.

“What discussion?” Rose demanded, her voice rising so a couple at a nearby table looked over, concerned. “And what do you mean, your brother’s baby? Really, mister, I think you have the wrong woman—”

“My brother, Luca Amanti,” Christos informed her, ignoring the blaze of pain just saying his brother’s name caused him, “is the father of your baby. And he died three weeks ago.” Saying it out loud felt like a physical blow he had to absorb, his lips compressed, his hands clenching.

“What…” The word slipped out from between her parted lips in something between a gasp and a sigh as her eyes widened. For a second she looked shocked, torn. “How…”

“A car crash.” He bit the words out, threw them down. They still hurt, because he knew Luca’s death was his fault. He might not have been driving the car, he might not have even been in the country…but if he had been, it wouldn’t have happened. He knew that with every breath and bone in his body, and so did his mother.

Rose was silent, her golden lashes brushing her pale cheeks as she lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was low, heartfelt, and she sounded like she meant it. She took a steadying breath before raising her hazel gaze to his once more, her eyes so clear and wide. “I really am sorry,” she continued, “but… I think you must be mistaken. My baby’s father is—”

“A sperm donor,” he filled in, and she drew a quick breath of surprise, her eyes widening once more. “I know. With Manhattan Cryobank. I know all about it, because that sperm donor was my brother. Luca Amanti. I found the paperwork among his things after he died.”

Once again he’d shocked her with his knowledge, his utter certainty. He could see it in the way her pupils flared and her lips parted. “How…” She faltered, shaking her head. “How do you even know that? How could you? That kind of information is meant to be private. Restricted—”

“Money gets you information,” he replied calmly. In his case, a lot of money, as well as discreet inquiries and called-in favors, not that he intended to disclose any of that. “Look,” he said, doing his best to keep his tone mild, “the how is not as important as the why. Please, can we talk? Just for a few moments, so I can explain why I’m here and help you to understand just how important this is.”

She hesitated, glancing around the café helplessly, as if looking for answers, or maybe assistance. Christos shifted his stance, unclenching his fists so he looked less threatening. If she didn’t agree, he was going to have to consider other, more extreme measures, but he didn’t want it to come to that. Ever.

“All right,” she finally relented, still sounding reluctant as well as wary. In all fairness, Christos could hardly blame her for being either at this point. How she responded to all he had to say…well, he would have to proceed carefully. Gently…but he would get what he wanted. Needed.

“But this probably isn’t the best place to have this discussion,” she continued, “and I’m still not comfortable going anywhere with you. I’m sorry,” she added, her mouth firming although her eyes still looked soft and sad, the color of moss mixed with gold. “For your loss especially, because…because I know what that’s like. Truly.” For a second, her lips trembled, and she pressed them together again, resolve restored.

“I’m usually a pretty trusting person,” she explained on a laugh that was both shaky and wry, “but even I have my limits, or at least a little common sense. Not much, though,” she added, an impish grin quirking the corner of her mouth, making Christos, improbably and entirely unexpectedly, smile in return.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had; stretching his lips that way felt like exercising an atrophied muscle. It hurt, but it also felt good, in a way that was unsettling. The last few weeks had been tainted by so much grief and guilt, it felt wrong to feel even the tiniest amount of levity in a moment such as this. He didn’t deserve it.

“I can arrange for a private salon at my hotel,” he told her swiftly, his smile dropping as he considered the necessary practicalities. “You can travel there by taxi, and you can leave at any time. If you’d like to text someone your location or take any other safety measures you feel necessary, you may do so, of course. I appreciate your concern, Miss Delaney, and I am willing to accommodate it by whatever means you deem appropriate.” For now.

She shook her head slowly, although not, Christos felt, in negation. “This is so, so crazy,” she murmured, half to herself, her hair tumbling about her shoulders. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this, but okay, fine. I’ll meet with you. For a few minutes.” She held up a warning finger. “And I will be texting my location, just so you know.” She glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling, mouth twitching with sudden, surprising humor. “I really hope you’re not some kind of trafficker or serial killer, because that would seriously suck.”

Once again, he found himself improbably smiling, and it lightened something in him, however briefly, something that had been heavy for so long. “It would,” he agreed. “And I promise you, I am not.”