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Because that was what Lynda had wasted her entire life on—hoping Prince Charming would come for her.
And had that happened? No. Things like that didn’t happen in real life. All this dust-free polished wood and these freshly laundered linens. This was the same make-believe world she’d been seduced by six months earlier, when she’d won over Raffaele and ignored Mariella. A world which had seemed about to open up like a flower in sunshine, only to shrink and shrivel and close.
She knew better now. Luck like that didn’t land in your lap.
No. She couldn’t risk her mother’s fragile mental health taking another tumble until she knew herself which way was up. The doctor had taken DNA swabs and the results would be ready in twenty-four hours. Then there would be a discussion about the birth and then an arrangement for contact. And work. She really needed to get work—surely the job at MacIver was hers…?
‘Very well. Then we’ll head to Hydros immediately.’
Another order. She stared at his retreating back.
‘Hydros? Why on earth would we want to go there? I don’t want a holiday. I want a job.’
‘We’re not going on holiday,’ he said, rapidly typing something into his phone before dropping it into his pocket.
Then he turned and stared at her, full beam.
‘We’re going away from here—out of sight of the press—to sort out private family business. That’s how I deal with things. Remember?’
Suddenly Coral began to realise that she’d crossed the line. She was now part of his world. His micro-management of la famiglia Di Visconti now included her. Every move she made was now going to be second-guessed and scrutinised, risk-assessed and managed. If he’d thrown chains over her she wouldn’t have felt any more trapped.
‘We’ll get the DNA results tomorrow and by then we’ll have figured out how we’re going to play things. Plus, Salvatore is heading to Hydros—so it makes sense to meet him there and get the other DNA test over with. It’s either that or a trip to Sydney.’
Salvatore? Sydney? Agreeing to one paternity test was bad enough, but she had no need to prove anything to anyone.
‘Hang on—hang on! This is all going far too fast, Raffa. I don’t want to go anywhere near Salvatore. I get it that you want your test done. I accept that someone in your position needs to be sure that I’m not some crazy person trying to stick it to you. And I get that you don’t want this splashed over the front pages. But I’ve already told you I don’t give a damn about proving that I’m a Di Visconti to anyone. I’m more than happy as a Dahl.’
‘Don’t be so naïve, Coral. You can’t honestly have thought things were going to stay the way they were? You’re Giancarlo Di Visconti’s daughter, for God’s sake. Waitressing isn’t an option. And now you’re pregnant? Forget it. Anyway, I was never going to leave things as they were. It was wrong. What happened to your mother was wrong. I know about her debts. I know about your upbringing. All of it. I’m surprised that you don’t want to put things right. There’s more than you to consider in this.’
‘Actually, there’s only me to consider in this. And I’ve considered it. They didn’t want me. And—guess what?—I don’t want them.’
She knew the words sounded silly and petulant, but surely he saw it from her point of view?
Clearly he didn’t. The look on his face said it all as his brilliant blue eyes bored into hers. Selfish. He thought she was being inconsiderate, depriving his baby of an even bigger fortune from the precious Di Viscontis.
‘I’ve told you that I’m not going to argue with you. We’ve both made mistakes. But this is real. These are big issues and you can’t take cover behind a coffee machine or a camera. You’ve got responsibilities now. That child deserves what you never had.’
He walked away, his ever-steady voice now rising, anger thrumming through every syllable.
Damn him. He was making her feel that she was already failing her son.
‘You don’t need money to have a happy childhood,’ she said shrilly.
He was halfway along the hallway. He stopped at the top of the stairs and turned, one hand on the gleaming banister. Light flooded in from the glass cupola in the ceiling, down on the walls hung with oil paintings of haughty, beautiful women and plump-cheeked cherubic children.
For a fleeting moment she wondered if they were his ancestors, and if her child would look like them.
‘Agreed! Children need parents. Two of them. Which he has—thank God.’
He checked his watch, hitched an eyebrow, smiled without mirth.
