Modern Romance April 2019 Books 5-8. Chantelle Shaw

her own fate; to make her own decisions.’

      ‘Of course you can decide,’ he contradicted gently. ‘But one of those choices is better for everyone.’

      ‘Another ultimatum,’ she grunted.

      He sighed and dropped his hands, walking a few paces clear of her, to where the air was less thick with Amelia-ness and he could think a little straighter.

      ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Let us look at this differently. The circumstances of our meeting were unfortunate.’

      She snorted her agreement.

      ‘But I am not actually a bad person.’

      Her eyes rolled heavenwards and when she spoke her words dripped with scathing sarcasm. ‘You’re determined to ruin the only family I have.’

      ‘I am determined,’ he corrected coldly, ‘to be a father to this baby. Why can’t we create a new family? Yes, I’m a Herrera and you’re a diSalvo, but we are also a mother and a father now. I want us to live together and to raise this baby side by side, giving it everything we can in life. Tell me this is not what you want, Amelia. Tell me you don’t want our child to grow up with a loving mother and father always at hand.’

      * * *

      The words were dangerous because they were so, so achingly true.

      Her own childhood flashed before her eyes. The absence of any kind of family structure or regular home, the absence of time and love and affection. A mother who saw Amelia at times as an inconvenience and at others as a pet, and eventually an accessory, when Amelia was old enough, at eleven, to be dragged to parties that were, in hindsight, woefully inappropriate for a girl on the cusp of womanhood.

      The things Amelia saw at her mother’s side! The drugged-out state of various guests, the orgies, spectacular fist fights. More than once she’d had to call an ambulance when someone had become so high they were a danger to themselves or others. Then there were the nightclubs, when Penny would park Amelia with the bouncers and she’d listen to them swearing and ogling women all night—it was a wonder she’d reached adulthood with any semblance of normality.

      In the midst of it all, she had desperately wanted someone who would just be average. Boring. Someone who would read her books and make her pasta for dinner, who would take her to the playground or on long walks, who would ask her about her life, her hopes, her dreams.

      She had wanted a mother—and not a mother like Penny.

      And oh, how she’d craved a father. In her mind, she’d probably idealised what role a father might take. Her knowledge had been fleshed out from the pages of her books, but she’d imagined a sort of Mr Bennet type figure, benevolent and kindly, strict when necessary.

      And Antonio? What kind of father would he be to their baby?

      ‘We hate each other,’ she said quietly, trying to remind herself of all the reasons this marriage was a stupid idea. ‘No child should grow up in a house where two parents can’t stand one another.’

      ‘We have more than seven months to find a way to co-exist,’ he said sensibly. ‘I think we can achieve that.’

      ‘And if we can’t?’

      His eyes glittered with determination. ‘I do not see failure as an option here, hermosa.’

      Frustration curdled inside her. ‘It would never work.’

      ‘You cannot say that with any certainty.’

      ‘Oh, yes, I can,’ she insisted. ‘You’re the last man on earth I would ever choose to marry, and it’s quite clear the feeling is mutual.’

      ‘This marriage wouldn’t be about us, though,’ he said simply. ‘It’s about giving our child a family from the moment of his birth...’

      Something else occurred to Amelia and it had her fixing Antonio with a stone-cold stare. ‘You just want him to have your name, don’t you?’ she demanded.

      ‘Of course that matters to me.’ Antonio shrugged, and she was torn between despising his motivation and admiring his honesty. ‘But I would insist on his taking my name, married or not.’

      She let out a sigh of exasperation. ‘God, you’re an old-fashioned, patriarchal jerk.’

      ‘Perhaps,’ he said with a lift of his shoulders. ‘But I am also a man who wants to marry you, and I think you should think very carefully about the situation you find yourself in.’

      ‘No way.’ She shook her head but the words lacked conviction.

      He moved towards the door and wrenched it inwards, his eyes holding hers with steely determination. ‘Think about it,’ he said simply, as though he was asking what she’d like for dinner, or which was her favourite song.

      ‘I don’t need to think about it,’ she insisted, walking towards the door and pausing when she drew level with him. ‘I know my answer.’

      ‘Then think about what happens if you don’t marry me.’ He moved closer. ‘Think about what happens if you make an enemy of me.’ And, because he couldn’t help himself, he leaned down and whispered into her ear, ‘And think about the silver lining of a marriage between us, querida. Night after night in my bed as my wife...’

      His words chased her all the way home, rattling around inside her shocked head. In a million years, and not for a million pounds, would she have thought Antonio Herrera would suggest marriage. He wasn’t the marrying kind! And he clearly had major issues with her family! Surely it was the last thing he wanted.

      Him? What about her?

      She’d run as fast as she could from the kind of life he lived and she didn’t regret that decision. Not for a moment. To marry a man like him and be swept up in his world—she’d regret it.

      And yet...this baby! Their baby. This baby was as much his as it was hers. She had no interest in trying to pretend that wasn’t the case.

      This baby wasn’t hypothetical. It was an actual being, a little person who would be a part of her life before she knew it. And she didn’t want to look back on her baby’s childhood and wish she’d done more, given him or her more. She didn’t want him to feel lonely, as she had. Scared, abandoned, worried—she wanted this baby to have everything!

      She wanted perfection—she wanted a fairy tale, but that was never going to be her future.

      Her thoughts became a screaming choir in the background of her life. Every morning she woke with visions of Antonio filling her mind, and she heard him all day—his suggestion of marriage, his insistence that it would be best for their baby.

      But she remembered his rage too. His hatred for her brother and father. His insistence that their families’ feud was still very much an ongoing affair.

      So when Carlo called one evening, clearly drunk and upset, she knew what it would be about even before he’d spoken.

      ‘Jesus Christ!’ he spat down the line, and then hurled several more expletives in fiery Italian. ‘That bastard’s done a number on me, Amelia. He’s got his hands on everything! He’s going to absolutely ruin me! Why didn’t I realise?’

      Because Antonio is very, very good at what he does, Amelia responded inwardly, her eyes swept shut as, for the millionth time since leaving Madrid, she conjured an image of the Spaniard in her mind’s eye, and her body reacted predictably.

       Night after night in my bed as my wife...

      His words made her pulse speed up and her heart race, even now, a week after he’d whispered them like a sexy caress against her ear.

      ‘How am I going to tell Dad I let this happen?’

      Her heart sank because the plaintive note in his voice was the only thing that could have brought her to her knees. For