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‘You don’t need to do that,’ Amelia muttered, a hint of panic flaring in her expression now. ‘As I said, I’m flying home soon.’
‘We have to discuss this,’ he murmured, bracing his palms on his desk and dipping his head fo
rward. The reality of this hit him in the solar plexus and a strange metallic taste filled his mouth. Adrenalin. Fight or flight.
He’d tasted it before: when his father had been staring down the barrel of bankruptcy and Antonio had known it was all down to him. That he alone could save his father’s legacy: that he alone could salvage the ruins of the once-great Herrera Incorporated.
And he felt that again now. Fight or flight responsibility.
This was his baby, but she was offering him an out. She didn’t want him to be involved. She didn’t need him.
And God knew he didn’t want to have a child. Not now, probably not ever, and sure as hell not with a diSalvo.
But when he lifted his gaze to Amelia, the door to escape swung closed.
Wanted or not, this baby was reality and there was no way he was going to ignore that.
‘I intend to raise my child, querida,’ he said, the words forged from iron.
It was obvious that she had not been expecting that. She took a small step backwards and made a sound of confusion, then shook her head from side to side. ‘But...you... Didn’t you hear me? You don’t have to be involved. You don’t need to have anything to do with him.’
‘Do you truly believe that? This is my child and, while it is far from ideal that you are to be the mother, it does not change the fact that my flesh and blood is growing in your belly.’
‘Gee, thanks. I’m so warm and fuzzy right now,’ she clipped.
He ignored her ironic assertion. ‘Obviously there is only one solution to this situation.’
‘I swear, if you’d said “problem” I would have walked straight out of here.’ And then her eyes flew wide and a slim hand lifted to her mouth, covering a gasp. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Completely.’
Her face paled—if that was possible, and she staggered back once more. Then a hand came to curve protectively over her still-flat stomach. ‘You can’t actually expect me to terminate my pregnancy just because you don’t want to have a child with a diSalvo?’
Her words seemed to come from a long way away, and took even longer to process. ‘What?’ he said eventually. And though his English was perfect, he presumed he must have misunderstood something in the translation.
‘You want me to have an abortion? How dare you? I came here as a courtesy, to tell you that you’re going to be a father and that I will allow you to be some part of our child’s life and you actually try to bully me into getting rid of our baby?’
She sent one final glare in his direction and then strode purposefully towards the door. She grabbed her bag from a chair as she went and it took Antonio vital seconds to process both her accusation and the certainty that she was about to walk away from him.
He moved quickly, reaching the door first and putting his back against it.
‘Move,’ she demanded, not meeting his eyes.
And, heaven help him, he knew tears weren’t far away for Amelia and he fought a ridiculous urge to comfort her. That was not who or what they were.
‘I was not talking about an abortion,’ he said in a tone that was carefully wiped clear of emotion.
‘Then what exactly did you mean? What “solution” is there to this?’
‘We’ll get married.’
The relief that had glanced across her features was swallowed by another look of abject panic.
‘You’re kidding?’
‘Do I look like I am kidding?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘but you must be crazy if you think I would ever marry you.’
