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‘It’s not mine,’ Rafaele bit out. ‘It belongs to a friend. I’m renting it.’
Sam lifted her hands in an unconscious plea for him to listen. ‘All the more reason why this isn’t a good idea—it’s not even your permanent home. Milo is settled into a good routine where we are. We have a granny flat attached to the house and that’s where Bridie lives.’
Rafaele arched a brow. ‘His minder?’
Sam nodded. ‘She was my father’s housekeeper since I was two, after my mother died. She cared for me while I grew up and she stayed on after my father passed away two years ago.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Rafaele offered stiffly, ‘I didn’t know.’
‘Thank you...’ Sam acknowledged. ‘The thing is,’ she continued while she had Rafaele’s attention, ‘Bridie has known Milo since he was born. She...helped me.’
Sam coloured as she imagined the acerbic retorts going through Rafaele’s mind and she rushed on. ‘We have a good arrangement. Regular affordable childcare like I have is gold dust in London.’
Rafaele asserted, ‘I don’t think I need to point out that affording childcare would be the least of your worries if you let me organise it.’
Sam was tense enough to crack, and all of a sudden she felt incredibly light-headed. She must have shown it, because immediately Rafaele was beside her, holding her arm and frowning.
‘What is it? Dio, Sam, you look like death warmed up.’
His use of Sam caught her somewhere vulnerable. She cursed herself inwardly. She was no wilting ninny and she hated that Rafaele was seeing her like this. She pulled away from his strong grip jerkily. ‘I’m fine...’
Rafaele all but forcibly manoeuvred her to the couch and made her sit down again. Then he went to the drinks cabinet and poured some brandy into a glass. Coming back, he handed it to her.
Hating herself for needing the fortification, Sam took it.
She took a sip, and as the pungent and strong alcohol filtered down her throat and into her belly, felt a bit steadier. She put the glass down and looked directly at Rafaele, where he too had taken his seat again, opposite her.
‘Look, you’ve said yourself that you’re just renting this place. It would be insane to uproot Milo from the only home he’s known since he was a baby.’ She pressed on, ‘My father’s house is perfectly comfortable. Bridie lives right next door. His playschool is at the end of the road. We have a nearby park. He goes swimming at the weekends to the local pool. He plays with the children from the surrounding houses. It’s a safe area. Everyone looks out for everyone and they all love Milo.’
Rafaele’s face was unreadable. Sam took a breath. She’d just spoken as if in a lecture, in a series of bullet points. Never more than right now did she appreciate just how much Rafaele could upset their lives if he
wanted to. And it was entirely her fault.
He drawled, ‘The picture you paint is positively idyllic.’
She flushed at the sarcasm in his voice. ‘We’re lucky to be in a good area.’
‘How have you managed financially?’
Rafaele’s question blindsided Sam for a minute. ‘It...well, it wasn’t easy at first. I had to defer my PhD for a year. My father was ill... But I had some savings to tide us over. And he had his pension. When he died the mortgage was protected, so that was paid off. Bridie looked after Milo while I did my doctorate and I was lucky enough to be taken onto the research programme soon afterwards. We get by. We have enough.’
Unmistakable pride straightened Sam’s spine. Rafaele could see it in the set of her shoulders and he had to hand it to her—grudgingly. She hadn’t come running to him looking for a hand-out as soon as she’d known her pregnancy was viable. He didn’t know any woman who wouldn’t have taken advantage of that fact. And yet Sam had been determined to go it alone.
‘Would you have come to me if you’d needed money?’
Rafaele could see her go pale at the prospect and something dark rushed to his gut. She would have preferred to struggle than to see him again. Since last Saturday’s cataclysmic revelation Rafaele had been avoiding looking at the fact that he’d felt so compelled to see Sam again he’d ignored his earlier warning to himself to stay away and had gone to her house with more than a sense of anticipation in his belly. It had been something bordering much closer to a need. He’d tried to ignore it, but he’d been incensed that she’d been so dismissive. Uninterested.
Rafaele stood up. ‘I fail to see what all this has to do with me getting what I want—which is my son.’
Sam stood up too, her cheeks flushing, making her eyes stand out like glittering pools of grey. Desire, dark and urgent, speared Rafaele.
‘That’s just it. You don’t get it, do you? It’s not about you or me. It’s about Milo and what’s best for him. He’s not a pawn, Rafaele, you can’t just move him around at will to get back at me. His needs must come first.’
Rafaele felt stung at her tirade. She had the right to maternal indignation because she’d experienced the bonding process. He hadn’t. But he knew that she was right. He couldn’t just waltz in and pluck his son out of his routine, much as he wanted to. But he hated her for this.
Tightly he asked, ‘So what is your suggestion, then?’
The relief that moved across her expressive fine features made him even angrier. Did she really think it would be this easy?
