The Italian's Love-Child. Emma Darcy

was such a small world an impossible dream, bred from desires that craved satisfaction?

      Skye didn’t know.

      Didn’t want to think.

      The need…simply to feel…made everything else fade away.

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      LUC found himself in two minds as he drove up to the Bellevue Hill mansion. It had been nine months since he had last set foot in it and he wasn’t sure he wanted to make any rapprochement with his parents on a personal level. He might have a happier future with Skye if he kept them shut out of his private life.

      Yet family was family.

      Business forced him to deal with his father in boardroom meetings where all current property developments were reported on and future projects discussed. The subject of Skye was never mentioned between them. No doubt his father thought if he ignored the bone of contention long enough, it might go away, especially if the woman he regarded as unsuitable did not agree to marry his son. Or given enough time, Luc might have second thoughts about going through with his declared intention.

      His mother had not made the effort to contact him—probably still wallowing in grief over Roberto. He had not been inclined to make the effort to visit her, either, remembering all too well her rigid disapproval of Skye—setting a foundation of rejection which Roberto had played on, creating a lethal structure of lies with supposedly just cause.

      Luc could not bring himself to sympathise with his mother’s grief when he was constantly conscious of the damage his brother had wrought, not to mention the years he’d missed of his own son’s life. Besides which, her approval meant nothing to him any more.

      He wondered if his mother knew about Matt or had his father protected her from any unsettling knowledge of an unwanted grandchild. If he had kept Matt’s existence from her, the cat would certainly be out of the bag tonight!

      He left his car parked near the front door which was promptly opened by the butler who informed him his parents were in the formal drawing room. Interesting, Luc thought grimly. Having called ahead, he was expected. No doubt his courtesy call had alerted his father to the possibility of serious news behind it so he was getting the grand treatment, designed to impress on him what he might be giving up in going against his parents’ wishes.

      Futile game-playing. He’d moved beyond any influence his father could bring to bear on him. Even professionally. He could walk away from the Peretti Corporation and start his own business, if necessary.

      He didn’t wait for the butler to usher him into the drawing room, moving ahead with quick purposeful strides, opening the door himself. His father was standing in front of the marble fireplace, the dominant figure amongst all his prized material possessions. His mother was sitting very upright in a nearby armchair. Still wearing black, he noted, but her regal demeanour telegraphed that her attention could be courted again.

      She wore a full complement of jewellery and she’d obviously been to a beauty salon today, her thick wavy grey hair groomed to perfection, not a strand out of place, her fingernails buffed and polished. Her face was skilfully made up to presentation standard and Luc reflected on how imposing she could be when it suited her—totally intimidating to Skye.

      ‘Mamma…more yourself again, I see,’ he said dryly, walking forward to confront them more closely.

      ‘No thanks to you, Luciano, since you haven’t seen fit to come home for nine months,’ his father remonstrated.

      He shrugged. ‘This isn’t my home. You both know where I live…if I was needed,’ he added in a pointed drawl.

      ‘It’s not a case of need,’ came the brusque retort. ‘Out of respect for your mother, you should have—’

      ‘He is here now, Maurizio,’ his mother broke in, giving Luc a gracious nod. ‘Please sit down. It has been a long time.’

      He propped himself on the well-cushioned armrest of a sofa, not about to let his father stand over him. ‘I assume Dad told you what I’ve been doing. If you were interested in re-acquainting yourself with Skye Sumner and meeting our son, you could have called me, Mamma.’

      Her lips compressed, whether in disapproval or frustration Luc wasn’t sure, but clearly his words came as no shock to her. She knew all right. Her gaze turned straight to her husband in a sharp demand for him to deal with it.

      Luc waited for his reply, wanting to be clued in on how they viewed the situation. His father wore his poker-face, not giving anything away. His reply was laced with careful diplomacy.

      ‘We felt any re-acquainting was best left to you…to make a time…if it was what you wanted.’

      So the policy had been to wait. No red carpet welcome was about to be rolled out. Not while ever there was an outside chance that Luc might come to his senses when there was no family support forthcoming, no turnaround to oblige his feelings. A complete stand-off.

      Luc eyed his father with open scepticism. ‘I did ask at Easter, Dad. You made it clear a meeting was not to your liking.’

      ‘In front of all our friends?’ he scoffed as though the idea was absurd.

      ‘You could have put Skye and Matt at ease with you before your guests arrived.’

      He waved an angry dismissal. ‘The timing was wrong.’

      ‘When will it be right?’ Luc mocked. ‘The truth is you had Skye unjustly trashed and can’t bring yourself to offer her the apology she deserves, let alone acknowledge the beautiful person she is, and has always been.’

      It earned a furiously resentful glare.

      Luc shook his head and delivered the bottom line. ‘If you’re waiting for Skye to go away, you’ll be waiting the rest of our lives.’

      Thin-lipped silence.

      His mother’s hands fretted at each other as she waited for her husband’s next move.

      Luc didn’t wait. He bluntly called the next move for him. ‘You took, Dad. As far as I’m concerned, it’s up to you—both of you—to come to reasonable terms with what I’m about to take back.’

      His mother shifted uneasily, her face showing anxiety as she quickly asked, ‘What does that mean?’

      ‘It means that Skye and I are getting married.’

      ‘No! This cannot be!’ She rose in agitation, turning in protest to her husband. ‘You said this would not happen, Maurizio. You said—’

      He sliced a dismissive wave to silence the outpouring. ‘It’s not done yet, Flavia.’ He turned a frown of intense disapproval to Luc. ‘If you must marry this woman…’

      ‘Her name is Skye. Skye Sumner,’ Luc repeated, ramming her name down his father’s throat.

      ‘…a wedding must be planned…a proper church wedding…’

      ‘More delaying tactics, Dad?’

      ‘You are my son! Your marriage has to be celebrated in an appropriate manner.’

      ‘Then you should have come to the party earlier. It’s taken me all these months to win Skye’s trust and I won’t throw it away to accommodate a family who has made no gesture towards welcoming her into it. I’ve finally persuaded her to sign the necessary forms and we’ll be getting married as soon as it’s legally possible.’

      ‘Which is when?’ his father shot at him.

      Luc gave a derisive laugh as he straightened up from the armrest. ‘So you can use the time to stop it, Dad?’ His eyes glittered out and out war. ‘Take one step in that direction…’

      ‘Enough!’ his mother cried, swinging a fierce gaze from one to the other. ‘Enough, Maurizio! I will not lose this son and I want my grandchild. If we have to accept this woman as Luciano’s wife, we will.’ She turned to