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She took a step out of his immediate orbit. He didn’t follow. Because he was too stunned?
Certainly the way his eyes had darkened, the way his hand wasn’t quite steady when he raked through his dark hair again, implied he was.
But...why? He’d known about his child as soon as she’d found out she was pregnant with Gianni. And she’d kept him apprised of every single milestone in her early pregnancy in the hope that he’d come around, that he’d let her explain—again—her version of the events that had ended their engagement. Of course, in the end, that had backfired on her big time. Her life had been hurled into a hellish nightmare the likes of which she could never have imagined.
Rocco had seen to that.
Rocco, the same man who now stood before her, feigning aggrieved innocence.
She backed towards the door. With any luck, Mrs Hart would still be lurking outside, greedy for gossip. This time Mia didn’t mind who saw her. She’d need witnesses who’d testify that she hadn’t invited Rocco here. Mrs Hart would be perfect—
‘I want to see him.’
The simple, hoarse words stopped her in her tracks.
She whirled to face him. ‘No. What you need to do is leave my house.’
‘You tell me I have a son, sleeping upstairs, a child I have never seen, and you expect me to leave?’ His accent was even thicker, his voice rising with incredulity.
The injustice of the accusation stung deep. She abandoned her plan to seek witnesses and stalked back to him. ‘And whose fault is that, Rocco? You had endless chances and chose not to take them. So don’t you dare act as if any of this is my fault.’
‘Not your fault? Who should I blame, then, cara, hmm?’ The vibrant olive tinge to his skin hadn’t quite returned, but his eyes were alive again, threatening to tear chunks out of her with each glance.
‘I know it’s very hard for you, but perhaps you could try pointing the finger at yourself? Instead of getting to know him, of taking the chance to be a part of your son’s life, to watch him grow, you decided to punish an innocent child instead.’ Her voice threatened to crack, but she swallowed away the pain. ‘Well, you’ll see him over my dead body!’
‘Maledizione! From the melodramatic, you’ve now descended into the downright absurd. Punish an innocent child? If by that you mean depriving him of his right to know his father, then you should be pointing the finger at yourself. Dio mio, you sound delusional!’
Neon lights lit up in her head as her worst fears were confirmed. ‘Finally. I was wondering when you’d get round to making that accusation. You’ve changed, Rocco. You used to get to the point pretty much instantly. Now you go around the houses, and what for? Playing the puppet master is now your thing, is it?’
‘Che? What in heaven’s name are you talking about?’ He shook his head, reached out and grasped her wrist. ‘Something’s not right with you. Since I got here, nothing you’ve said has made any sense.’
Mia couldn’t stop the hysterical laughter that bubbled up in her throat or the cheap thrill it gave her when Rocco’s frown intensified. Her laughter grew until warm tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘You...you are really priceless, Rocco, you know that?’
His jaw tightened. ‘Enough! I’ve had more than enough of your histrionics. I want to see the child, and I want to see him now.’
That dissolved the laughter instantly. Somewhere in her mind, she registered he still hadn’t used Gianni’s name, almost as if her son wasn’t real to him. But if Rocco didn’t want to acknowledge their child, why was he insisting on seeing him?
‘Not until you tell me why. Why do you want to see him, Rocco? Why now?’
Rocco tried his damnedest to stop his senses spinning. To still for a moment so he could formulate one clear, coherent thought.
But the moment he focused on Mia, on the feisty woman whose pulse hammered beneath his hand, everything began to blur again.
Mia.
His child.
Here. Living in this sleepy village in the middle of Nowhere, England.
Mia, spouting some garbage about him ignoring his child, not taking the chance to know his own flesh and blood. The blur intensified, threatening to spin out of control. A door cracked open in his mind, throwing more light on the long-buried yearning he’d sealed drum-tight. Dreams of a family, of love, hope, everything that had callously been denied him, until Nonna had taken control, sacrificed everything for her grandson, shown him a different way, not knowing the scars were already too deep to heal—
He slammed the door shut, gritted his teeth and forced himself to focus.
How could Mia believe that he’d ignore his child’s existence? When he’d made no secret of how much he’d wanted an heir. A fact she’d known but had had no intention of fulfilling with him when she’d rapturously accepted his proposal...
From what the neighbour had said, the child looked healthy and seemed well taken care of. Seemed. But who knew what went on behind closed doors?
Madre di Dio! He couldn’t believe Nonna had been right. The sheer, fragile coincidence, the flimsiness of fate, of what he could’ve missed all his life, terrified him to his very soul. Made him want to curse. And punish.
