My Shocking Monte Carlo Confession

Alexi didn’t need to know no other man had ever made me feel the way he had. The way he could still make me feel if the heat pulsing deep in my abdomen was anything to go by.

I needed to tell him the truth now—but never again did I intend to make myself as vulnerable as I had been before. And my sexual history—or lack of it—was none of his business.

‘Cai’s not Remy’s son...’ I continued, because he looked suspicious now as well as confused, the brittle cynicism turning his features to stone. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to continue. ‘He’s not your brother’s son, Alexi. He’s yours.’

CHAPTER THREE

Alexi

I STARED AT Belle, stunned by her revelation.

I had known, as soon as the child had run into the room and grasped his mother’s legs, that the boy was a Galanti. His round, open face, thick thatch of dark curls and sunny demeanour as he’d bombarded his mother with questions and requests had been so like Remy at the same age, it had been like seeing a ghost.

A ghost of the brother I’d lost, the brother I still missed, the only person who had ever really known me.

Shock had come first, but my surprise had quickly been overcome by the rush of an emotion I couldn’t name and, more terrifyingly, couldn’t control. It was sharp like the grief, loss and guilt which had dogged me for five years but was tangled up with joy—the joy of seeing that happy, uncomplicated face I’d thought I would never see again once more.

Not Remy’s child, my child. That was what she’d said. But I didn’t believe her. Or, rather, I didn’t want to believe her.

How could this child be mine? I was not a father, could never be a father, did not deserve to be a father.

How did I know she wasn’t lying? She said I’d been her first, but how could that be when she and Remy had been like each other’s shadows ever since her mother had first come to work for us? Remy had loved her, that much I did know. But...

The desire which had been lurking rippled through me as I recalled the intense physical connection of our one night together—the feel of soft skin, her staggered sobs as I’d entered her, the riot of pleasure cascading through me as I came...inside her.

I hadn’t used a condom—hadn’t been sober enough or smart enough to think about it. And the next day, when I had intended to check on her, Remy’s crash, his death, had made me forget everything except my guilt at taking his girl, at using her to salve my own loneliness...

I dragged a hand through my hair and studied her face, trying to get my thoughts in order and quell the rioting pulse of emotion, the relentless desire for her, that was still there despite everything.

Did it really matter which one of us had fathered the child? If he was a Galanti I needed to protect him, give him the family name, make him my heir. And find out why she had not told me of his existence until now.

Had she ever intended to tell me?

Her face was a picture of stubborn integrity, but I could see the flicker of guilty knowledge in her eyes.

My usual cynicism returned full force. What was I thinking? Of course she hadn’t told me the truth about the boy’s parentage. The same reasons she had come on to me that night still applied. I had no evidence of the innocence she claimed. Had she bled? I was fairly certain she had not. Although I’d been too ashamed of my own actions, the shocking pleasure of our union, to be absolutely sure.

One thing was certain, though. She had responded to me with an intensity that had taken my breath away. I still had dreams about her soft, breathy sobs as her body had contracted around mine, forcing me to a climax so staggering that just the echo of it had woken me up on so many nights since then, sweaty and desperate, my groin aching, my erection as hard as iron.

Was that normal for a novice? How would I know? I’d never been a woman’s first before. Had certainly never wanted that responsibility. And I didn’t want it now. So I rejected her claims in favour of the narrative I had settled on five years ago.

‘Seriously? You expect me to believe you never slept with Remy?’ I said, my voice carefully devoid of the emotions churning in my stomach and tightening my ribs.

She blinked, stiffened, the flicker of distress in the green depths quickly masked but there nonetheless.

What the hell? Was she really that easy to read? Or was she simply a consummate actress?

‘I’m telling you I know Cai is your son, not Remy’s—whether you believe it or not is up to you.’

She went to walk past me but I grasped her arm, the emotion thundering so hard against my ribs now that the struggle to control it—to stop her from seeing it—was impossible. I couldn’t stay here. I needed to get away, to think, to clear my head and decide what needed to be done now. And most importantly of all regain the emotional equilibrium that had become an integral part of who I was since my brother’s death.

‘There’s a simple way to find out the truth. I want a DNA test done,’ I said.

I needed to know. Was the boy mine or my brother’s? Once I had the full facts at my fingertips, I could begin to figure out how I was going to deal with this staggering revelation.

She tugged her arm out of my grasp. I could see she hadn’t expected that demand. I could also see she wanted to refuse the request.

Satisfaction and a strange sense of regret powered through me.

I was right. I had not been her first. She didn’t know if the child was mine or Remy’s. Why else would she want to avoid a DNA test? Either she knew the boy was Remy’s or she didn’t know which of us had fathered her child.

For all I knew, she might have slept with us both that day.

The memory of her face from five years ago, so open, giving and compassionate, flashed before me. I dismissed it. Just another lie. Another act.

She blinked furiously, as if close to tears, but then her chin firmed and she stared back at me.

‘Okay,’ she said, surprising me with her capitulation. Clearly she had decided to gamble with the possibility I was the boy’s father.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, the emotions confusing me again.

Did I secretly want to be the child’s father? How could that be true when I’d never intended to become a parent? When I knew Remy had always been the best of us. That it would be much better if he could claim this legacy now not me.

I shut down the foolish rush of yearning that the boy was mine.

It made no sense. And, anyway, until I had the results of the test, I did not have to deal with this confusing tangle of emotions.

‘But I want it conducted discreetly,’ she said. ‘And I don’t want my son to know what’s going on until...’

She glanced down at her hands. They were clasped together, the knuckles white. ‘Until I’ve had a chance to prepare him,’ she finished, releasing her fingers and shoving her open hands into the back pocket of her jeans.

She forced her chin up to meet my gaze.

The defiant yet oddly defensive stance pressed her breasts against the soft cotton of her camisole.

I bit into my lip, determined not to let the inevitable endorphin-rush distract me. And found myself drowning in those mossy eyes when our gazes met, the way I had all those years ago.

Damn it, Galanti, snap out of it. She’s an actress and a gold-digger.

But with her face devoid of make-up she looked so young, as young as she had been that night, still a teenager, and it was harder to make myself believe it. I could see the sprinkle of freckles across her nose, could remember her sweet sighs as I kissed every one of them before devouring those plump lips which had tasted of cherry cola and eagerness.

‘Once you have the proof you need, what do you intend to do?’ she asked.

I frowned at the direct question, the guilelessness of it disturbing me. Until I got a grip.

It’s just an act. She looks artless, innocent, but she’s playing you. No one is ever really honest. There’s always an agenda. Once you’ve found out exactly what her agenda is, you’ll be back on solid ground again.

Obviously it made no sense that she would keep the boy’s existence a secret from me for five years, and had never contacted me for the severance cheque, if this was a simple case of extortion.

But maybe her agenda was more sophisticated than that. Was she playing a longer game, to get more? And why did I really care anyway? As long as I took control of the situation, it didn’t matter what her agenda was, because my agenda was the one that would prevail.

‘I don’t know,’ I replied, even though I knew what I wanted was likely to conflict with what she wanted.

Never show your hand until you are ready to play your cards.

It was a motto I had lived by for a long time. It had won me considerable amounts at the high-stakes game in my friend Dante Allegri’s casino and had also been a guiding principle in my business and personal life.

‘I wasn’t expecting to find out I had a four-year-old son today,’ I said.

Or that Remy had one, I added silently to myself, even though that strange yearning for the boy to be mine was still pulsing in my chest. I’d figure that out later too. ‘Once I have the information, I’ll be in touch.’

Whatever the outcome of the DNA test, I planned to claim the child as a Galanti. And punish her for not having told me of the boy’s existence a lot sooner. I also planned to have her thoroughly investigated.

Is she sleeping with Renzo?

The question popped into my head as something wholly unfamiliar tore through my insides. Something visceral and indiscriminate. I had to curl my fingers into fists to stop me from acting on the sudden urge to capture her face in my hands and claim those lush lips with my own—driving my tongue into the recesses of her mouth until she clung to me the way she had before and I plunged deep into her....

I tensed and shoved my fists into the pockets of my jeans, shocked by the direction of my thoughts.

Dio, I needed to get laid. Clearly the shock of seeing the child, of seeing her again, had had an unpredictable effect not just on my emotional equilibrium but on my libido.

I was off-kilter, not a condition I was used to, which explained this forceful and inexplicable reaction.

She nodded, apparently taking my answer at face value.

‘I... I understand,’ she said.

No, you don’t, but you will.

Whatever the result of the DNA test, she had kept the child’s existence from me for five years. And for that she would pay.

‘I should go,’ she said, strangely polite. ‘Cai is waiting for me. Let me know what you need and when for the test. I think it’s just a swab. I can make it into a game to explain it to Cai.’ She huffed out a breath to stop the babble of information, but her nervousness was visible in her trembling fingers as she pushed the shock of ruddy curls away from her face.

This was not an act. But then, if she had any idea what I was thinking, she had a lot to be nervous about.

‘I’ll... I’ll speak to you again about Cai, when you’re ready,’ she said.

Walking over to the sofa, she picked up a large bag, rummaged inside and produced a card. ‘This is my work number. I’ll...we’ll...be back in the UK by tomorrow night. And you can contact me there most week days between nine and five. Or my PA will take a message.’

She handed me the card and our fingers brushed. I managed to stifle the sudden jolt of reaction. Her, not so much.

Why did that make me want to smile, despite everything?

The tug of amusement died, though, as I read the address on her business card and recognised the location of Camaro’s R&D headquarters in London.

The surge of possessiveness was as visceral as that strange pulse of jealousy and lust, but I explained it to myself as I watched her sling her purse over her shoulder.

I might be unclear at the moment about how much of a father—or an uncle—I was capable of being to this child. But he would need to live in Monaco, to understand his Galanti heritage. And that would mean his mother would have to come too.

It would be no hardship offering her a position in our R&D operation, if her credentials were as good as Freddie had suggested, and I did still need a reserve driver. That situation hadn’t changed from when I’d first walked into this room. Even if everything else had.

‘Goodbye, Alexi,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry...’ She paused, her regret looking surprisingly genuine. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Cai sooner. That was wrong of me. Call me when you’re ready.’

I nodded as the emotion I’d been keeping so carefully at bay swelled against my ribs.

I watched her disappear back into the changing area, probably to collect her racing suit. I strode out of the lounge area. The emotion threatened to choke me as I headed towards the track’s parking lot and away from the car hangars where the boy was with his babysitter.

You need to take stock, to know exactly what you’re dealing with before you proceed.

But, even as the mantra ran through my head, all the conflicting emotions churned in my stomach: grief, longing, desire, anger, confusion. My fingers shook as I fished my key out of my pocket and clicked the fob.

As I climbed into the car, fired up the engine and drove away, I knew my whole life had changed in the space of one afternoon. The reality of that fact was reinforced by the tug of something vivid and inescapable—was it lust, regret, longing or grief? Who the hell knew?

But the force of it was dragging me back into the past harder than the G-force in the driver’s seat of our newest model when it hit two hundred miles per hour.

I had been running from myself, and my sins against Remy, for five years, maybe longer, and now the truth of what I’d done, what we’d both done to him, had caught up with me.

In the shape of one boisterous little boy and a woman I had never been able to forget—unlike any other, even my own mother—even though I had tried.

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