Bought For The Marriage Bed. Melanie Milburne

and dining out and partying. And I’m going to do a hell of a lot of it when I get to Bryce’s mansion in Los Angeles. I can’t wait.’

      ‘I can’t believe you’re simply going to walk away from your responsibilities. Georgia isn’t some sort of toy you can push to one side. She’s a baby, for God’s sake. Doesn’t that mean anything to you at all?’

      ‘No.’ Nadia’s cold grey eyes clashed with hers. ‘It means absolutely nothing to me. I told you—I don’t want her.’ She scooped up her bag and, rummaging in it, handed her sister a document folder. ‘Here is her birth certificate and passport; keep them safe for when it’s time to hand her over.’ She hoisted her handbag back on to her shoulder and turned for the door.

      ‘Nadia, wait!’ Nina cried, glancing at the pram in desperation. ‘Aren’t you even going to say goodbye to her?’

      Nadia opened the door and, with one last determined look, closed it firmly behind her.

      Nina knew it would be hopeless running after her to implore her to come back. For most of her twenty-four years she’d been pleading with Nadia to stop and think about her actions, but to no avail. Her wayward and wilful twin had gone from one disaster to another, causing immeasurable hurt in the process and showing little remorse. But this was surely the worst so far.

      There was a soft whimper from inside the pram and, moving across the small room, she reached inside to pick up the tiny pink bundle.

      ‘Hey, precious,’ she said as she cradled the infant close to her chest, marvelling yet again at the minute perfection of her features. ‘Are you hungry, little one?’

      The baby began to nuzzle against her and Nina felt a wave of overwhelming love wash through her. She couldn’t bear the thought of her niece being handed over to someone else to rear. What if things didn’t work out and Georgia’s childhood ended up like hers and Nadia’s? Nina remembered it all too well—the regular stints in foster care, some of the placements a whole lot less desirable than the neglect she and her twin had received at home. How could she stand by and watch the same thing happen to Georgia?

      Nina knew how the legal adoption system worked but this private process made her feel very uneasy. What if someone totally unsuitable offered her sister a huge amount of money? What sort of screening process would the prospective parents go through, if any?

      She became aware of the seeping wetness of Georgia’s clothing and, carrying her through to her room, laid her on the bed and gently undressed her as she’d done countless times before. She got down to the last layer, a tiny yellowed vest that was frayed at the edges. She peeled it over the tiny child’s head, cooing to her niece as she did so until the soft nonsense of her words dried up in her throat as she encountered what the vest had hidden from view. Her eyes widened in shock at the purple welt of bruises along Georgia’s ribcage, bruises that exactly matched the length and width of her own fingers as if she’d done the damage herself.

      ‘Oh, Nadia, how could you?’ she gulped, fighting back tears for how she hadn’t been able to prevent her niece from suffering what had been commonplace in her own childhood and that of her twin.

      Nina determined then and there that she would do whatever she could to keep Georgia herself. Surely there was a way to convince Nadia to give the baby to her permanently.

      She had to find one!

      Other single mothers coped, so too would she—somehow.

      She chewed the ragged edge of one nail as she considered her options. It wouldn’t be easy for her—she could hardly afford childcare on her present salary at the library.

      She looked down at the sleeping infant, her chest squeezing painfully at the thought of never seeing her tiny niece again.

      No. She would simply not allow her sister to go through with it.

      She would be Georgia’s mother and if anyone thought differently, too bad.

      No one was going to take her niece away from her.

      No one.

      Marc Marcello frowned as his secretary informed him via the office intercom that his father was on the phone from the Villa Marcello in Sorrento, Italy.

      He picked up the receiver and, swivelling in his leather chair, looked out at the expansive view over Sydney Harbour as he pressed the talk button.

      ‘Marc! You have to do something about that woman and do it immediately,’ Vito Marcello burst out in rapid-fire Italian.

      ‘I take it you mean Andre’s little whore?’ Marc answered smoothly.

      ‘She might be a whore but she is also the mother of my only grandchild,’ Vito growled.

      Marc stiffened in his chair. ‘What makes you so certain all of a sudden? Andre refused a paternity test; he said he had always used protection.’

      ‘He might have used protection but I now have reason to believe it failed.’

      Marc frowned and turned his chair back to his desk, the sudden thump of his heart in his chest surprising him into a temporary silence.

      ‘I have a letter in front of me with a small photo of the child.’ Vito’s voice cracked slightly as he continued. ‘She looks exactly like Andre at that age. It is Andre’s child, I am sure of it.’

      Marc pressed his lips together as he fought to get his own raw emotions under some semblance of control. The death of his younger brother had privately devastated him, but for the sake of his terminally ill father he’d carried on the family business without a single hiccup. The Sydney branch of the Marcello merchant bank was booming and he had every intention of maintaining the punishing hours he’d adopted to block out the pain of his brother’s death.

      ‘Papa.’ His voice was deep and rough around the edges. ‘This is all very hard to take in…’

      ‘We have to get that child,’ his father insisted. ‘She is all we have left of Andre.’

      A tremor of unease passed through Marc at the determined edge to his father’s tone. ‘How do you intend to accomplish this?’

      ‘The usual way,’ his father answered with undisguised cynicism. ‘If you offer her enough money she will do whatever you ask.’

      ‘How much money are you expecting me to spend on this mission of yours?’ Marc asked.

      Vito named a figure that sent Marc’s broad shoulders to the back of his chair.

      ‘That is a lot of money.’

      ‘I know,’ his father agreed. ‘But I cannot take the chance that she might not accept your offer. After the response I sent to her previous letter she might avenge my assessment of her character and deny us access to the child.’

      Marc inwardly cringed, recalling the content of that letter. His father had emailed him a copy and it had certainly not been complimentary. He could well imagine the Selbourne woman reacting to it out of revenge, particularly if what she said was true—Andre had indeed fathered her child.

      He was well aware of Nadia Selbourne’s reputation, even though he hadn’t met her personally. He’d seen one or two photos, however, which had shown a beautiful woman with thick long blonde hair, eyes that were an unusual smoky grey and the sort of figure that not only turned heads but turned on other parts of the male anatomy at an astonishingly rapid rate as well. His brother had been completely besotted with her until her true character had come out. He could still recall Andre’s scathing description of how she had responded when he’d informed her that their short but passionate affair was over. She had hounded him for months, following him and harassing him relentlessly.

      But somehow the thought of his dead brother’s blood flowing through the tiny veins of her child stirred him both unexpectedly and deeply.

      ‘Marc.’ His father’s desperate voice cut across his reflections. ‘You have to do this. It is a matter of family honour.