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CHAPTER EIGHT
“IHAVE SOME NEWS.” Dante spoke quietly, addressing his family, who were at the tail end of yet another pizza evening—beetroot and lime zest being the horrifying new additions made by their father, who was forever experimenting with his recipes. But quiet or not, Dante was a man who drew attention without even realising it. He always had done.
Marco slanted him a glance. “You don’t like the pizza?”
Raf, to his right, grinned, and Portia, Marco’s wife and Dante’s exceptionally talented assistant, put her head on his shoulder with easy affection.
He had wondered if he needed to tell them in person, or if he could do it via email, but knew the latter was utterly cowardly. As he’d had a trip to his parents’ villa scheduled for the very weekend after Georgia had moved in, he supposed it made sense to kill two birds with one stone. He gripped his wine glass more tightly, scanning the eyes of these people, all of whom loved him, and whom he loved.
“I’m having a baby.” His voice cracked a little. “A son.”
“Jeez, IVF procedures have come a long way in a short time,” Marco joked, because he naturally presumed there was no truth to this. But Portia sat up straighter, leaned forward, put a hand on Dante’s. Theirs was a relationship that transcended family. She’d been his friend first, his assistant long before she got together with Marco, and they would always have a special bond.
“You’re serious?” She asked, squeezing his fingers. But there was happiness on her face, as though she thought perhaps he’d turned a corner and was involved with someone. “Who’s the mother?”
At the head of the table, his mother Maria’s eyes were filling with tears and she was moving quickly, coming to stand beside Dante, listening with a rapt expression.
“She’s no one.”
“Well, she can’t be no one.” Portia’s smile slipped to a small frown.
“No one important,” he clarified. “We met briefly, she’s pregnant.”
“Not that briefly,” Raf added, earning a sharp look from his girlfriend.
“Wait a moment.” His mother held a hand up in the air. “You are telling me there is a woman out there with my grandson growing inside of her, and I have not even met her?”
“You will meet her,” he said, testily now. “And you’re missing the point. It’s not about her.”
“So you are not engaged?”
“We barely know one another.”
Portia was silent, which worried him. Her brain was a thing of beauty, and when she was quiet, it was usually because she was completing some complex equation or another.
“When is she due?”
“A little over five months.”
Marco let out a low whistle then swore, so their mother rebuked him out of habit, despite the fact he was now well and truly a grown man.
“Dante Santoro, did I not raise you better than this?” His mother asked softly. “You got a young woman pregnant, you cannot simply leave her with the consequences of that.”
His face drained of colour. “You think I would ever neglect my responsibilities, mother?”
There was shocked silence. Nobody had ever heard Dante raise his voice. He was measured and in control at all times. Not only that, he was right. He had been born with responsibility-carrying shoulders.
“Then what are you doing about this?” His father asked from the head of the table.
Dante hesitated. “Georgia moved in with me last week.” He didn’t add that he’d barely seen or spoken to her since then. “Our plan is to live together and raise the baby as co-parents.”
“But not to marry?” His mother pushed.
“I offered.”
Maria gasped and beside him, Portia dropped her head.
“She said no?” It was as though his mother couldn’t contemplate such a thing.
