Italian Mavericks: Expecting The Italian's Baby. Andie Brock

the image of the lovely face twisted in spite and malice. It was an image he could escape temporarily in the beds of warm, willing women. But it was a good thing that it would never really leave his mind—that way he knew he was never going to risk losing his heart. He visualised that organ safely enclosed in steel; there wasn’t a woman alive who could put a dent in his armour.

      ‘Are you sure I can’t...?’

      ‘Carlo...’ dabbing a hand to the sweat beading his upper lip, Sergio nodded towards the closed door ‘...knows what to do. You...’ Dark eyes sought those of his grandson. ‘You know,’ he continued huskily, ‘what you can do for me. No matter what, you and your brother have given my life a meaning, a richness that it would otherwise have lacked.’ The dark eyes clouded as he shook his head. ‘I was a bad father.’

      Raoul looked into the face of the man who had struggled to show affection, but had always been there for his grandsons. A surge of emotion left an aching occlusion in his throat. A lie was a little thing to pay back the debt he owed this man. He was never going to marry, to fall in love, but what was the harm letting him think...?

      ‘Then I must learn by your mistakes?’

      ‘I’m sure you’ll make your own.’ A thoughtful expression crossed his heavily lined face. ‘Is there anyone?’

      Raoul forced a laugh, his dark brows lifting as he responded. ‘You will be the first to know and that is a promise.’

      ‘You probably don’t want my advice, but I’ll give it anyway. Don’t make your final selection on looks alone. Obviously no one would expect you to marry someone you didn’t find attractive...’

      ‘That’s a relief.’

      ‘It may seem cold-blooded but—’

      ‘Shall I take notes?’ This conversation would have been one to share with his brother. Jamie would have appreciated it; he and his brother shared the same sense of humour—had shared. The flicker of ironic amusement faded from his eyes.

      ‘Practicality is not a dirty word. You shouldn’t leave the important things in life to blind luck. Oh, I know you struck lucky once but you can’t rely on that happening again.’

      Not on my watch, Raoul thought grimly.

      ‘Marriage should be approached like any other contract.’

      Sergio’s voice was stronger but his skin was still cast with a worrying greyish tinge. ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Raoul conceded, then, seeing the suspicious light in his grandparent’s eyes, realised he’d agreed too easily. ‘Shall I call Carlo now?’

      Without waiting for a reply he opened the door and spoke to the man stationed outside.

      Before his grandfather had time to relaunch his campaign for a grandchild, a maid who had obviously been waiting in the wings for a nod from the bodyguard appeared carrying a tea tray. Carlo followed her in.

      The maid vanished and the big protective figure poured tea, slipping something from a blister pack into his employer’s hand before he nodded and left.

      ‘Man of few words.’

      The tea seemed to have restored his grandfather, who snorted. ‘Coming from you that is amusing, but then your brother was always the talker, I remember—’

      Raoul had heard the stories many times before. Some he’d experienced firsthand, but he let his grandfather talk. He seemed to find relating Jamie’s exploits cathartic, the boy he had been and the man he had become, a man Sergio had been proud of. Well, in a professional capacity, at least. By the time he got up from his chair—under his own steam—he looked more himself.

      On the point of leaving the room Raoul paused and turned back, his expression intense. Bracing himself to lie through his teeth about his readiness to marry and procreate, Raoul was surprised and relieved when his grandfather asked his opinion on a very different subject.

      ‘I would value your input on something. I was thinking of donating a new wing in your brother’s name to the university hospital. Do you think he would have liked that?’

      ‘I think he would have liked that very much, but surely Roberto would be a better person to speak to about it?’ His brother’s partner was a consultant neurologist at the hospital.

      His grandfather looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding. ‘He spoke well at the funeral.’

      Raoul agreed.

      ‘I might do that. Come walk with me to the car.’

      Glad to hear the familiar note of imperious command back in the old man’s voice, Raoul followed his grandfather out of the room and through the brightly lit casino.

      Out of the air-conditioned cool Raoul barely registered the warmth of the evening but within seconds his grandfather’s skin was filmed with moisture. Nevertheless, he rejected the arm Raoul offered with a grunt, moving towards the limo that drew up.

      ‘I’ll call tomorrow?’

      His grandfather shook his head. ‘Next week, as planned. I’m not dying yet.’

      Watching the car pull away, Raoul found himself wondering if lying to a dying man could ever be considered the right thing to do.

      The question was academic—it was done and he doubted it would be the first lie he told. But how many more would he have to tell, and how far down this road would he need to go to allow his grandfather to die happy?

      With an impatient click of his long fingers he started to walk. There was no harm in humouring his grandfather, and Raoul was sure he could string it out until... He didn’t want to think about another death today, another loss.

      ‘Dio!’ he murmured under his breath as he locked away the memories. To think about the children he might have had, the life he might have led was pointless, that future was lost to him.

      He had a new future. Thinking of it stretching out ahead of him, he was conscious of an empty feeling in his chest. He might not have auditioned for the role, but it was his. He was the last man standing, or at least the last Di Vittorio standing, which to his grandfather meant the same thing.

       CHAPTER TWO

      ‘FINE. I’LL SLEEP with the first man I see!’

      It was really hard to maintain any dignity, having just issued a threat worthy of a teenager having a tantrum, thought Lara. Mark’s laugh in response only made her madder, so she slammed the door as hard as she could. Lara was slim but she was tall and athletic so the door rattled in its frame.

      The first man she saw was the balding middle-aged proprietor of the hotel they had booked into for their romantic weekend.

      He looked at Lara with concern as she rushed past him into the street, tears coursing down her cheeks.

      The blurb had claimed the small hotel was within walking distance of all the main tourist sites, clearly a gross exaggeration. But it hadn’t mattered to Lara, who had never had any intention of doing a lot of sightseeing!

      How could she have been such a fool?

      She had thought Mark was different. Maybe I’m meant to be alone, she thought. The prospect wrenched a sob from her throat.

      Self-pity, said the voice in her head, is very unattractive. She ignored it and sniffed loudly and angrily.

      This would never have happened to Lily, but then no man who took her twin away for a romantic weekend would have acted as though he’d been lured there under false pretences if he discovered she was a virgin.

      Was her twin a virgin...?

      A thoughtful expression flickered across her face as Lara considered the question. Her twin didn’t talk to her much about that sort of thing, but then they hadn’t talked about that sort of thing