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Right. That would work out just fine. His mother would pass out, his sisters would shriek, his brothers would tell him he was an idiot, and his father would laugh and say that obviously, the trip to Brazil had not taught him anything about negotiating.
Dante took a long breath.
Maybe the problem was he’d come up against someone who was a hell of a lot better at negotiating than he’d ever been.
He raised the coffee cup and drank. Maybe caffeine would help. God knew, something had to. What in hell had he been thinking yesterday? Better still, had he really convinced Gabriella to come north…or had she played her role so well that she’d convinced him to ask her to do it?
At this point he honestly didn’t know.
The only certainty was that yesterday’s brilliant plan was clearly today’s potential disaster.
Either he’d been manipulated big-time or he’d lost his sanity. However he looked at it, the truth was that he didn’t have any idea how he could have thought bringing her and the kid home with him would be a good idea.
How could it be?
The only positive thing was that nobody knew about this mess. And he had to keep it that way until it was resolved. Not easy, considering the presence of the woman and child sleeping in the guest suite, but if he moved fast, he could do it. Nobody even knew he was back. His office didn’t expect him for a couple more days. Neither did his brothers. He’d given his housekeeper a few days off because he hadn’t known exactly how long he’d be gone; he’d told his driver the same thing. The night doorman had been on duty, ditto the concierge, but why would anybody question them?
At least he had some breathing room.
As for why he’d acted so foolishly…he had no ready answer. Maybe he’d been punchy from lack of sleep. From all the flying back and forth. From the shock of seeing Gabriella again. From looking at a baby and being told it was his.
Dante slugged down more of the coffee and shuddered. It was cold, oily and acrid but he drank it with grim determination. He’d brewed the pot hours ago, knowing he needed the jolt, trying to come up with a plan. Gabriella, thanks for small favors, was still sleeping. She and the baby. At least, he assumed they were because there hadn’t been a sound from the guest suite. He’d taken her there as soon as they’d stepped from his private elevator and there hadn’t been a whisper from it since.
Not that they’d exchanged so much as a word during the flight home.
“There’s a small room in the rear of the plane, senhor,” the attendant had told him in hushed terms when she saw Gabriella board with a swaddled infant in her arms. “The lady might find it more comfortable.”
That was where Gabriella had spent the entire flight, curled up on a sofa in that room, the kid asleep in a contraption that looked more like the kind of pack frame he’d used hiking in Alaska than a thing meant for carrying a kid but, hey, what did he know about babies?
Nada, he thought grimly, niente, zip. He didn’t have one fact in his head about babies beyond that they were small. And that was how he’d always liked it. He’d never been one of those guys who got off thinking about someday having children. Truth was, he always had to fake it when somebody showed him baby pictures. You had to say something, he understood that, and his standard response was “Cute,” accompanied by a big smile, the same as he’d done that day in the lobby.
Was it his fault children, especially babies, looked pretty much alike? Or that they didn’t much interest him at this point in his life? Someday, maybe, but surely not yet.
Which led to the distinct possibility that he might have moved too quickly in this entire situation, and yes, that was absolutely the word for it even though he knew better than to use it again with Gabriella.
Simply put, he’d made an enormous mistake.
The plan he’d started with—sitting down with Sam Cohen, arranging for paternity tests and, if they panned out, establishing the necessary trust funds—had been the right one. So what if the bank had sold Viera y Filho to Ferrantes? A ranch, as Sam had so reasonably pointed out, was just a ranch. He could have found another place for Gabriella, left her there while he flew home and arranged all the rest. She’d have been safe from Ferrantes, safe from poverty…
And five thousand miles from him.
A muscle knotted in his jaw.
A little distance between them would have had nothing to do with his Doing The Right Thing.
There was no reason for her to be here where he could see her face. Smell the unique delicacy of her perfume. Know that she’d spent the night just down the hall from his bedroom…
“Dammit,” he muttered, and strode from the terrace into the living room.
