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“Well, I know it,” she’d whispered. “There’s no one else left.”

The implication being, of course, that he was a sorry substitute for Luca and his father. A sigh escaped him, and he closed his eyes against a view he’d always loved. He’d steeled himself for the conversation he knew he had to have with Rose, but no matter how detached he tried to be, he still dreaded it. Dreaded hurting her as much as he did her not agreeing.

Because he knew, knew in his very bones, that she wouldn’t. She never would. He’d known it probably since he’d first met her, and yet he’d stubbornly ignored that very inconvenient truth. Where did that leave them?

“Christos.” The sound of Rose’s soft voice had him stiffening, half wondering if he’d imagined it. Then he turned and saw her standing at the steps of the balcony, her face dead white, her hands clasped in front of her. She looked lovely and slender and like a breath of wind might blow her away.

“I thought you were resting,” he remarked, trying to keep his voice gentle. Why was she looking so stricken? Concern and alarm swirled inside him as he took a step toward her.

“I wanted to have a look around.” She walked toward him, her face set in stark lines, her hands clasped so tightly together her knuckles were white. “This is beautiful,” she murmured with a nod to the lake. “And everything is so elegant, stunning, really. I feel like I’m in a fairy-tale castle. I don’t think I’ve ever been somewhere as spectacular as this.”

Christos braced his hip against the balcony as he eyed her assessingly. “Is something wrong?” he asked quietly. “Because you are saying such lovely things, but you look as if you might faint dead away.”

She raised her gaze to his, her eyes like huge green pools, glassy with tears. “I overheard you speaking with your mother a little while ago,” she whispered. “I don’t understand Italian, but I know enough to figure out a phrase.” She paused, drawing a hitched breath, while Christos stared at her in growing trepidation. “Quanta costa il bambino,” she stated in a trembling voice, her hands clasped together even more tightly. “How much does the baby cost. I checked on Google, just to be sure.” She shook her head, curly tendrils of her hair falling out of her braid and tumbling over her shoulders. “Tell me that doesn’t mean what it sounds like it means,” she said in a voice like a thread, “because I don’t think you were talking about the price of diapers.”

Christos drew a steadying breath as his mind raced to think of how to answer her. He wanted to be honest, but it felt impossible.

“Christos.” Her voice rose, breaking, the sound reminding him of shattered glass. “Tell me.”

“There has been some discussion,” he finally replied carefully, tonelessly, hating every word, “of you surrendering custody of this child to us, for a…a price. A price you’d agree on and be happy with, so you could be provided for, for the rest of your life, without a single worry.” He saw her stricken face, her huge eyes, as a tear slid down her cheek. He continued urgently, “This is the Amanti heir, Rose—”

She whirled away from him, her fists pressed to her eyes. “I can’t believe it,” she cried brokenly. “I can’t believe it. I trusted you—”

“It was a discussion only,” Christos interrupted her, keeping his voice steady even though part of him felt like shouting, shaking her by the shoulders, doing whatever he could to make her understand, if such a thing were even possible. He wasn’t sure it was, because even as he tried to explain, he realized how absurdly cruel the whole plan sounded. “A discussion,” he continued, “before we knew you. Before I knew you.” Before he realized what kind of woman she was, the strength and love and ferocity she had. “Rose, this baby is our future, our only connection to my brother, and our only hope of keeping control of our property and inheritance.” He desperately wanted her to understand. “Of course we have considered all possibilities. We had to.”

“Including putting me out of the picture.” She turned to face him, her slender arms wrapped around her body as she blinked back tears. “All that talk about welcoming me into the family, letting me fall in love with this place…was that complete bull?”

To his shame, Christos found he couldn’t look at her. “Not…not exactly,” he said in a low voice.

“Not exactly?”

“Damn it, I didn’t know how it was going to work!” The admission came in a roar of self-recrimination. He raked both his hands through his hair, pulling on the strands, hating that it had come to this. That he had let it. “I think I knew the moment I met you that it wouldn’t,” he confessed. “Rose… I never wanted to hurt you. But I’ve lived my entire life in devotion to my family—I’ve had to—and I let my family down when I couldn’t provide the heir they needed.” It was painful to say as much, and while he thought he saw a flicker of compassion in her eyes, her expression remained accusing. “This baby…this baby means everything to us. To my mother.”

“So you’ve said.” Her voice was toneless, her arms still wrapped around her slender body as if she had to hold herself together. “How much were you thinking of offering, out of curiosity?”

An impatient huff of breath escaped him. “The matter is moot, because I’m not going to—”

“Is it really, Christos?” Her voice rang out, full of condemnation. “Because your mother was asking about it ten minutes ago. So it doesn’t seem that moot to me.”

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes against the blaze of hurt he’d seen in her own. “My mother was being emotional,” he said. “And we may differ on this point right now,” he added, “but I am the head of this family, and I will decide the course of action we take.” He opened his eyes to stare at her, hating how betrayed she looked, along with terrified.

He’d known this was the likely outcome, had sensed it from the moment he’d met her. He should have been honest from the start…or else dismissed this foolhardy plan the first moment he saw Rose’s face soften when she spoke of her baby. “Rose, my mother is grieving,” he told her quietly. “She loved Luca so much. And this baby feels like the only thing she has left to live for. She has got a certain idea in her head, and she struggles to let go of it. Please understand—”

“But it’s not just the raving delusions of a grief-stricken mother,” Rose interrupted him. “Look me in the eye, Christos, and tell me you weren’t planning to ask me that question—quanta costa il bambino. Because you were, weren’t you, from the beginning? Did you kiss me to convince me, or was that a mistake?” She nodded swiftly, understanding and condemnation flashing across her face. “A mistake, obviously, and that’s why you’ve been so cold to me today. I suppose you need to maintain a necessary distance from someone who is no more than a vendor offering you goods.” A cry escaped her, and she took a step toward him, one shaking hand clenched in a fist. “Let me set you straight right now. I will never, ever sell my baby.”

Her face was twisted with grief and hurt, and Christos felt as if he couldn’t bear it. He clasped her clenched hand in his own, wrapping his fingers around hers, drawing it downward. “Rose, I know,” he said gently, an ache in his voice, because he did know. Utterly. “I know,” he said again, even more softly this time.

A jagged cry escaped her then, and because he couldn’t keep himself from it, he pulled her into an embrace. Amazingly she came, resting her forehead against his chest as shattered sobs shook her body.

* * *

Rose didn’t even know why she was crying, or moreover, why she was letting Christos comfort her, because he was the enemy. He’d become the enemy, and maybe that was what hurt so much. She’d come to care for him, stupidly, sentimentally, and now she felt betrayed as well as terrified because all the taunts and jokes about stealing her passport and throwing her in some kind of dungeon suddenly seemed alarmingly possible.

She tried to pull away, but he tightened his arms around her. After a second she stopped resisting, because even though she knew it shouldn’t, it felt so nice to be held, even by him.

Especially by him.

“Rose, please.” His voice was a low thrum she could feel reverberating through his chest. “Don’t cry. I’m sorry. No one is going to ask you to sell your baby, I promise. I promise.”