Pregnant: Father Wanted. Claire Baxter

stomach as if she could protect her baby from the truth. ‘I can’t believe I misjudged him so badly. I thought he only hated other people’s children. I thought he’d want one of his own, but no, I was wrong.’

      ‘Oh, well, you’re better off without him, then.’

      ‘Exactly.’

      ‘It’s just that…’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Well, it’s going to be hard. I just want to be sure that you’ve thought this through, that you won’t have any regrets later.’

      ‘I won’t. I’d rather be alone with my baby than married to a man who doesn’t love us both completely and clearly doesn’t want to be with us.’

      Chloe looked as if she wanted to say more, but she pressed her lips together. She was a great friend and Lyssa felt a sudden rush of emotion. Chloe would support her no matter what. Even if she thought she’d made the wrong decision, she’d be there for her and she really appreciated that.

      But she’d made the right decision where Steve was concerned.

      ‘Anyway,’ Chloe said after a resigned sigh, ‘you might meet someone in Italy. You always used to talk about your Italian fantasy man.’

      ‘Uh-uh. No way.’ Lyssa shook her head. ‘That was before.’

      It was true that she’d dreamed for years of visiting Italy. She’d had this crazy notion about finding her soulmate there. But she’d grown up since then. She’d learned that true love itself was the fantasy.

      ‘Not this trip. That’s the very last thing I intend to do. I’m going to be a mother and that’s the only relationship I’m interested in from now on.’

      ‘But you might—’ Chloe saw her expression and mimed zipping her lips.

      Lyssa was serious. Nothing would stop her taking this commission. It was her dream job. But meeting a man over there was the furthest thing from her mind. Besides, no one would want her now she was pregnant. She shook her head at Chloe.

      ‘I’m going there to work and at the same time, hopefully, get in touch with my Italian roots. Nothing more.’

      Ricardo Rossetti stared at his uncle Alberto. ‘But I’m no tour guide—’

      ‘No, no, I know, but you know so much about the history of this region. More than Gino or myself. You would do a very good job and believe me, I would not ask if I were not desperate. Gino’s accident is the worst thing that could have happened. I would take over myself but my doctor says I must not drive. I am sorry for Gino, of course, but this accident of his is very inconvenient.’

      Ric leaned his elbows on the dinner table. His uncle’s table, still covered in the remains of a very good meal, thanks to his aunt’s superb cooking. He owed these people. They had always taken him in at a moment’s notice—ever since his twelfth birthday and the death of his parents. He was still taking advantage of their generosity now in his adulthood. Whenever he needed to get away, to recharge, he came back to their home.

      Wasn’t it time he gave something back?

      They both worked too hard. He didn’t understand why they felt they had to expand their business now, when they should be winding down, and when his uncle’s health had had a few setbacks. He wished Alberto would retire, or at least let him prop up the business financially—he could easily afford it and he’d happily do it.

      But they’d never take his money.

      His help, on the other hand, they could ask for without any loss of pride. And this wasn’t much to ask really. All he had to do was drive some foreign woman around.

      ‘The good thing, Ricardo,’ his uncle said, ‘is that this woman is from Australia. She will not have heard of you. That is good, no?’

      Ric nodded. ‘I’ll do it, but I hope she’s worth it.’

      His uncle’s face creased into a worried frown. ‘No, no, Ricardo. You must treat her with respect, not like the women you associate with in Milano.’

      ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be on my best behaviour.’ He laughed, though it was a little disconcerting that his uncle seemed to know the type of woman he normally dated.

      It made no difference what type of woman this travel writer might be. He wasn’t interested in women of any type at the moment; he had more important things to think about. ‘I meant, I hope her article is worth the effort. I hope it’s good for business.’

      ‘Yes, of course. I understand. You will be all right to drive? Your knee is better?’

      Ric waved a dismissive hand. ‘It’s OK, Uncle. I won’t be here too much longer.’

      ‘You know your aunt and I are always happy to have you here.’

      ‘I know, thank you.’ Still, he wanted to get back to Milano. He wanted to get on with his life. This time out had been one forced on him by injury. He certainly wouldn’t have chosen to take time off at this stage of his football career. But the club doctor and his management had advised him to have a complete break during his rehabilitation; to think about his future. Ominous words for any player, but for him they were horrifying.

      Rome. It had a smell all of its own, Lyssa decided as she hugged herself in excitement. Traffic, food, coffee and a touch of something else…roasted chestnuts? The guide books hadn’t mentioned it, but she would. She pulled out the small notebook she always carried with her and made a note to include the peculiar smell in her article.

      Standing outside the hotel which, she’d read, was only a few hundred metres from the Colosseum—the Colosseum, for heaven’s sake—she could hardly believe she was really here. In Rome.

      How long had she dreamed of this moment?

      Only all of her life. For as long as she could remember she’d listened to her father speak fondly of bella Roma, where he’d lived, worked, married and from where her parents had departed for a new life in Australia.

      She’d love to drop her luggage in the hotel room and go for a walk. It was only a matter of minutes to the Circus Maximus and all sorts of sights…but she was tired.

      So tired. After a twenty-two-hour flight—and that didn’t include time spent waiting around in airports—she was exhausted.

      Of course, pregnancy didn’t help. She’d been weary before she’d even set foot on the plane. Add in the stress of everything that had happened before then, and it was no surprise she felt as limp as a week-old lettuce.

      Turning, Lyssa manoeuvred her suitcase on its little wheels through the hotel entrance and across the marble floor. It was only mid-afternoon; she had time to catch a couple of hours’ sleep and still see something of the city before bedtime. Plus, her driver wasn’t due till mid-morning the next day, which meant she’d be able to do more sightseeing after an early break-fast and before she started the job itself.

      Perfect.

      For a couple of weeks she’d pretend that her real life didn’t exist. It would be waiting for her when she returned and she’d have the difficult job of telling her parents about her pregnancy, but for a little while she’d forget about that.

      After checking in Lyssa made her way to her room, showered, then flung herself into bed. Although she’d been born in Australia, she’d obviously absorbed so much of her father’s love for this place that coming here felt like coming home. She closed her eyes and drifted towards sleep on the strangely comforting blanket of sound—Vespas, sirens and car horns—coming from the streets below.

      A moment later, Lyssa woke to the ring of the telephone.

      She tried to make sense of the rapid-fire Italian pouring from the phone then, puzzled, peered at the time in the digital display.

      Finally, the facts fell into place. Far from having only just fallen