Secret Heirs And A Forever Family

What did that mean?

But before she could ask, the prosecutor’s intern appeared looking harassed. ‘Miss Whittaker, you’re up next. We need to get you into the courtroom.’

Her stomach continued to rebel as the intern ushered them through the security line, leaving Jared behind.

As she walked into the courtroom her gaze immediately connected with Dario on the witness stand. Her steps faltered, the blast of heat not nearly as disturbing as the pressure on her chest as his gaze swept over her.

From a distance, he looked as indomitable and intimidating as ever, the tailored designer suit, clean-shaven jaw and close-cropped hair a far cry from the intense and yet tender, even playful, man she had glimpsed on Isadora.

Her hand strayed to her stomach, but she forced herself to let it fall away as the intern directed her to the front of the courtroom and the seats behind the prosecutor’s table.

But she couldn’t take her eyes from the man on the witness stand. And as she drew closer, for a moment she thought she saw a flash of pain and longing in those pure blue eyes.

She broke eye contact, the pressure on her chest becoming unbearable.

You’re wrong. Stop deluding yourself.

She needed to cut out that fragile, foolishly optimistic corner of her heart that still believed she loved him, or that he might have grown to love her.

She pressed her hand to her abdomen. She had her child to protect now. The child still growing in her womb.

The child she could never tell Dario about, because he had made it clear he had never wanted it, or her.

How can it still hurt so much to look at her?

Unable to detach his gaze from Megan’s, Dario blanked out the defence attorney’s questions.

But then Megan’s gaze dropped away from his. And he felt the loss all over again, as he had so often since that fateful night on Isadora when her memory had returned and he’d seen the pain he’d caused in those expressive emerald eyes.

She looked pale and drawn in the tailored skirt and jacket. Had she lost weight? Her wild red hair was ruthlessly tied back. The style should have made her look severe and unapproachable—but only made her look more fragile and vulnerable to him.

His fingers clenched on the varnished wood of the witness box as he forced his attention back to the defence attorney. He had to concentrate on his evidence—as the man continued his campaign to convince the jury that Dario had been the one to attack Megan and not her father—and ignore the agonising parade of regrets that had plagued him since that night.

Stop trying to remake the past. She ran from you. And rejected your child. This was the outcome you wanted. Why can’t you learn to live with it?

But then the defence attorney’s mouth twisted in a grim approximation of a smile as he delivered a stream of questions that smashed into Dario’s already faltering composure like physical blows.

‘You maintain that you have never hit a woman, Mr De Rossi? That it is simply not in your make-up to do so? But is it not correct that you come from a family with a history of violence against women? That in fact your father was an extremely violent man, who hit you and your mother on numerous occasions? And that you indeed witnessed him beat your mother to death at a very impressionable age?’

Megan’s head jerked up as the court broke into uproar—the barrage of questions, and Dario’s shocked reaction to them, tearing away the stranglehold she had around her own heart.

Oh, please don’t let it be true. Please don’t let him have suffered like that.

Her chest imploded, the information delivered by the lawyer too traumatic to contemplate. But then her heartbeat rammed her throat in hard, heavy thuds as she registered the devastation on Dario’s face—the mask of indifference ripped away to reveal the true horror of what he had once endured, clear for all to see.

And suddenly all the unanswered questions that had plagued her since that night, the questions that had made it so hard for her to move on, slammed into her all over again.

Why had he been so determined to protect her? How could he have made love to her with such passion, such purpose, and felt nothing?

Dario remained speechless, and utterly defenceless as the prosecutor’s attempts to halt the line of questioning were dismissed by the judge.

‘Mr De Rossi must answer the question. The prosecution can determine the relevance of this information in due course.’

The court fell silent, Megan’s heart shattering.

‘I did not consider him my father,’ Dario said in a voice hoarse with raw emotion. ‘The man was a monster.’

‘Indeed,’ the defence attorney said, the word laden with theatrical doubt. ‘And yet it appears you resemble him in no small degree. Is it not the case that you seduced Lloyd Whittaker’s daughter to secure a business deal? That you attacked her when she tried to return to her father? That you spirited her away while she had no memory to your private island in the Mediterranean? And then discarded her when she had outlived her usefulness to you.’

Dario’s eyes met hers, the guilt and regret now so clear and unequivocal, the shudder of yearning and love that flowed through her was beyond her control.

‘I did not leave Megan,’ he said, the resignation in his voice destroying her. ‘She left me.’

The poignant words pierced her heart. And the tug of war she’d been playing with her feelings for Dario was comprehensively lost.

Why had she run from him? Why hadn’t she given him a chance? Given herself a chance?

What she had found with Dario on Isadora might have been built on a lie—but why hadn’t she even considered staying and trying to make it real? Had what she thought was strength been nothing more than cowardice all along?

‘Perhaps we should ask ourselves then why she would run from you, Mr De Rossi?’ the defence attorney continued. ‘And why she would choose not to inform you that she carries your child? Is it because she is terrified of what you might do to her?’

Megan leapt to her feet, her hand cupping her stomach, the puzzled shock on Dario’s face at the news she still carried his child making the guilt lance through her.

What had she done to him? This man who had strived to protect her? The way he had no doubt once strived to protect his mother? All the lies he had told had been to protect her fragile mind from its own fears until she was ready to face them. But the lie she had told him had been to protect herself. Because she had been too weak, too scared, to admit she loved him. And now he was being crucified because of it.

‘Stop, please stop,’ Megan shouted. ‘It’s not true. Dario would never hurt me.’

Noise exploded around her, the judge’s gavel echoing in her head.

‘Meg, are you okay?’ Katie’s fingers gripped her arm as the surge of emotion threatened to choke her.

She swayed.

Her gaze remained locked on Dario’s as he jerked to his feet in the witness box.

She heard the judge’s call to order, the prosecutor’s shouted demands for a recess next to her ear, but the blood buzzing in her head became a cacophony. Her knees dissolved as she dropped into the dark.

‘I have you, cara, you are safe now.’ Dario’s voice beckoned her out of the darkness and into the light, as it had once before.

The clean, spicy aroma of soap and man enveloped her. The noise still surrounded her, but she was in his arms again as he shouldered his way through the crowd, protecting her from the shouted questions, the press of bodies, the bright flash of lights.

The sound of a door slamming cut out the noise until all she could hear was her heart hammering against her ribs.

They were alone in a cramped office, the large desk pushed into a corner surrounded by shelves loaded with leather-bound books.

The July sunlight shone through the window, lighting the dust motes in the air.

‘Can you stand?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I think so.’

He put her down, holding on to her waist until he was satisfied she was strong enough to stand unaided.

‘It is true?’ he asked, his gaze focused on her belly, his fingers gliding over the barely visible bulge. ‘About the baby? It still lives?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, they… They think it’s a girl.’

‘Una bambina?’ he said, the sound so full of stunned pleasure her guilt began to strangle her. ‘Bellissima.’

‘I’m so sorry I lied to you in my note. It was cowardly and unforgivable and I—’

‘Shh, cara.’ He brushed the tears away with his thumbs. ‘You are not the coward. I am.’

‘Maybe we were both cowards,’ she ventured.

His lips curved in a sad smile that melted her heart. ‘I think, yes.’

She blinked, feeling the salty sting on her cheeks. ‘Is it true, Dario? What he said happened to your mother?’

Dario stared at the woman in front of him, so brave, so bold, so beautiful. But the earnest question ate into the joy at the news their baby still lived.

He wished she hadn’t heard about his mother, wished she would never have to know the truth of his past. But how could he tell her any more lies?

Guilt consumed him, not just for his part in his mother’s death, but for his part in Megan’s assault. A part he had never truly acknowledged to himself until now.

Maybe he hadn’t been the one to wield the belt, but his actions had left her vulnerable. Left her at the mercy of a violent man—the way he had once left his own mother at the mercy of another violent man.

He stepped back, letting his hands fall from her waist. ‘Yes, it is true. She died and it was my fault.’

‘How could it be your fault?’ Megan said, the sympathy and compassion in her eyes making him hate himself even more.

‘I provoked him. My father.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ she said, her dogged defence of him making him more determined than ever that she should know the truth. The whole bitter truth about who he was.

‘And even if you did,’ she added, ‘it still wouldn’t make what he did your fault.’

‘You do not understand,’ he said. ‘He was a powerful man. A rich man with another family. He called me his gypsy bastard, and my mother his whore.’ That the memory of his father’s taunts still haunted and humiliated him only made him feel more ashamed. ‘He enjoyed hurting her. When I woke that night, I saw him on top of her. And I could see how terrified she was.’

‘Oh, Dario.’ She touched his arm. ‘No child should have to endure that.’

He shook his head, planted his fists into the pockets of his trousers, his insides churning with the long-forgotten memories—the hollow aching guilt that would never go away.

‘I shouted at him to leave, to never touch my mother again. I was eight years old, nothing more than a proud, angry boy, and I thought I was man enough to protect her. He was furious. He lost all control, began to beat me with the belt he had used on me before. But this time, I don’t think he would have stopped. My mother saved me. She fought him with the last breath in her body. She died protecting me.’

‘Stop it.’ Megan gripped his arms and shook him, her fierce expression forcing him back to the present, and away from the gut-wrenching guilt of memories. ‘Don’t you dare blame yourself. You were a child when your mother died. Do you understand me? And she died protecting you, because she loved you.’

He tried to absorb what she was saying. But he could not, because he knew his mother’s death wasn’t the only guilt he bore. History had repeated itself with Megan. Just as the defence attorney had implied.

He grasped her cheeks, looked into that brave face and forced himself to admit the final truth that he had been trying to deny for so long.

‘Don’t you see, Megan? I did the same thing to you. I lied to you to get you into my bed that night. I lied about my intentions towards your father’s company. All I thought of was my own pleasure. And you paid the price. My actions provoked Whittaker, in the same way my actions once provoked my father.’

She reached around his waist and pressed her cheek into his sternum. ‘Please stop it, Dario. It’s not true. You mustn’t blame yourself for what my father did to me.’

He placed his hands on her shoulders, wanting to believe her, yearning to hug her back, but terrified of all the emotions rushing to the surface. All the emotions he had spent two months struggling to comprehend.

She smiled up at him, the tender expression making his ribs ache, and his whole body feel as if it were perched on the edge of a precipice.

‘I love you, Dario. So much.’

Gripping her cheeks in trembling palms, he pressed his forehead to hers, wanting to plunge over the edge, as the last of the walls shattered around him.

But how could he ever deserve her, or their child, after all that he had done?

‘You cannot love me,’ he said on a broken breath. ‘I do not deserve it.’

Folding her arms around Dario’s neck, Megan kissed him, tears streaking down her cheeks now. She had to make him believe her, had to make him see that he was worthy of her love.

At last, he opened for her and took her mouth in a deep, seeking kiss. She felt the emotion shuddering through him. And into her.

She loved him. And she suspected he loved her too. But he’d been too scared to acknowledge it to himself, let alone her, because of what had happened to his mother. She understood that now. She had to show him that he didn’t have to be scared of love any more.

She drew back, taking in deep breaths as she saw the torment still shadowing his eyes. ‘Do you love me, too, Dario?’ she asked. ‘Do you want this baby?’

He sighed. ‘Yes. And yes.’ He rested a hand on her stomach as her heart filled with happiness. ‘But I could not bear it if I hurt you again.’

She pressed her palm over his, hearing the raw emotion in his voice.

This was a struggle for him. A struggle that would take time and work to heal all the way, but knowing he loved her, and knowing where his anguish came from—knowing why it had been so hard for him to acknowledge his feelings—was surely the start of something magnificent. Something they could build a future on, with their baby.

‘Dario, I know you’re scared,’ she said. ‘And now I know why you’re scared.’ Because he had been traumatised by his mother’s death as a child.

Her heart would always break for that little boy—who had learned to cope with the trauma by persuading himself he did not deserve to be loved.

She took a breath, her whole heart now lodged in her throat.

‘I’m scared too,’ she said, determined to get through to that little boy. ‘Everyone is scared when they fall in love. Because love is a scary thing. But it’s also a joyous, wonderful thing. And to have the joy, you have to overcome your fear. Can you do that, for me?’

‘But what if I make a mistake?’ he said, still unsure. Still scared. ‘What if I cannot be a good father? A good husband? What if my love for you and our child is not enough?’

‘There aren’t any guarantees. Life isn’t like that.’ She gripped his hands, the love flowing through her so strong now she thought her heart might burst. ‘And believe me—considering how new and untried this adventure is for both of us…’ she smiled ‘…we’re both going to make mistakes. The truth is we’re probably going to make a ton of them. But it will be okay. As long as we make them together.’

He looked down at her belly. ‘But I don’t even know how to be a father. My own father was a monster.’

‘And my mother was a woman who cared more about her next orgasm than she ever did about her daughters,’ she replied, her smile widening. ‘Look at it this way—however rubbish we are at this, we’ll already be so much better than them.’

He nodded and let out a hoarse laugh, which had a wealth of bitter knowledge in it. ‘This is true.’

‘So what do you say, Dario De Rossi? Are you willing to go on this adventure with me?’

Her heart stopped beating, it simply stopped, as she waited for him to answer.

‘You are sure you want to go on this adventure with me?’ he said, the seriousness in his face making her heart jump and pound in her throat.

‘Absolutely.’

He nodded again—the fierce passion that flashed into his eyes as he drew her into his arms choking off her air supply.

‘Then I don’t believe I have a choice,’ he murmured against her hair. ‘Even I cannot continue to be a coward in the face of your bravery.’

She wanted to laugh, the joy bursting in her heart almost more than she could bear.

He clasped her cheeks and lifted her head. ‘I think now we must make this engagement real,’ he said. ‘Will you marry me, piccola?’

Her heart soared. ‘Absolutely.’

His mouth swooped down to devour hers, the giddy contentment making her head spin as warm hands cupped her bottom, and heat spread through her.

A loud thumping pulled them apart as Jared’s voice came through the door. ‘Sorry, folks, adjournment’s over. And the judge is getting antsy.’

‘Stall them a minute more,’ Dario shouted back. Then he turned to her, his expression sober. ‘Are you strong enough to take the witness stand after me?’ he asked, searching her face for any signs of fatigue or fragility. ‘If you are not, I will make them wait until tomorrow.’

‘No. I can do it. I want to do it,’ she said, knowing she was strong enough to do whatever it took to put the man who had pretended to be her father behind bars—because with Dario by her side, she was strong enough to do anything. ‘For us.’

Cradling her head in his hands, he kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth—the play of his lips full of sincerity and hunger.

‘For us,’ he vowed.

EPILOGUE

One year later

‘SHH, BAMBINA, PAPA is here now.’

Megan stretched on the bed and plumped the pillows behind her as she watched her husband walk back into their bedroom, having retrieved their crying daughter from her crib in the room next door, which had once been his office.

She smiled as the baby quietened, happily settling into her favourite place in all the world, nestled on her father’s shoulder as he rubbed her back with one large hand.

The little diva.

At six months old, Isabella Katherine De Rossi had her father—billionaire master of industry and feared corporate raider—wrapped firmly around her tiny little finger.

‘She is not wet.’ Dario frowned. ‘Could she be hungry again?’ he asked, rocking his daughter gently as he returned to their bed.

Megan yawned, and looked out of the bedroom window to gauge the time by the Mediterranean sun, which was barely creeping over the horizon. ‘No,’ she said. ‘She had her morning feed less than half an hour ago.’ Megan couldn’t contain her grin at the confusion on Dario’s face.

He was still sometimes unsure about his role as a husband and father, and so fiercely protective of them both it often led to him being a bit overzealous when caring for Issy. He was always the first to pick her up if she cried.

‘Do you think she is unwell?’ he said.

‘I think she just likes having you hold her,’ she said. ‘And she knows that if she cries, you’ll rush in there to pick her up.’

The frown eased from Dario’s face and he chuckled as he lay down on the bed beside Megan. Lifting his daughter, he bounced her in his arms. The baby’s delighted chuckle joined his deep laugh.

‘You are a bad bambina,’ he said, rubbing her nose against his own, the tone the opposite of chiding. ‘You mustn’t scare papa like that.’

He settled back, with the baby curled on his broad chest.

With her head tucked under her father’s chin and her small fist stuck in her mouth, Issy dropped into sleep, secure in the knowledge that her father would hold her safe in his arms.

‘Dario,’ Megan said, smiling as Dario turned towards her. ‘I need to talk to you about something.’

She’d held it off long enough. Had waited until they were on Isadora again, where the pace of life was slower, less pressured.

The last six months, heck the last year, had been idyllic. She’d never imagined when they’d made that commitment to each other, in the dusty clerk’s office during her father’s trial, that her love for Dario and their child would eventually become so overwhelming, so all-consuming. And because she’d been so content—and maybe also a little scared that this adventure was still so new and fragile, especially for Dario—she hadn’t wanted to make any demands.

He’d changed so much though, from the cautious, guarded man she’d known. He’d been to therapy to help him deal with the lingering trauma of his mother’s death. And they’d made a life for themselves in New York—in the huge brownstone he’d bought a block from Central Park. Their wedding had been a quiet affair on Isadora, with only the islanders and a few of his business associates as guests, plus Katie and Jared as witnesses.

Since their marriage, and even more so since Issy’s birth, Dario had cut back on his business commitments, happy to spend long evenings and lazy weekends with her and Issy rather than building his business empire. Not that he wasn’t still driven and focused, but he was now equally driven and focused about making his personal life as much of a success as his professional one.

And the bond he had established with his daughter was something that filled Megan with joy and wonder and gratitude every single day.

So the time was right to tell him about the interview she’d had last week in Brooklyn while their housekeeper Lydia Brady had looked after Issy. She’d held off and held off telling him about it, because she’d been concerned about his reaction.

Oh, just say it, Meg. For goodness’ sake.

‘Hmm…?’ he murmured as he continued to stroke his daughter’s back.

‘I’ve been offered a job.’

His hand stopped moving as his head jerked round.

Well, that had certainly got his attention.

‘A job where?’

‘It’s a charity in Brooklyn that administers a series of refuges for battered women and their children. They need someone to set up and then operate a new computer system to reduce the amount of time and money they spend on paperwork so they can spend more of it on setting up new refuges.’

He didn’t say anything, but she could see the tension in his jaw. Instead of replying, he suddenly sat up and got off the bed.

‘Dario? Where are you going?’ she asked.

But he didn’t turn to look at her, he simply walked out of the room mumbling, ‘I should put Issy back into her crib.’

Okay, well, that didn’t go according to plan.

Megan’s heart sank as she flopped back onto the pillows, her excitement turning into a tangle of anxieties in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want to have a battle with him about this. But it looked as if she might have to.

Dario placed his daughter in her crib, and stroked the soft fluff of red hair on her head.

He wanted so much to say no.

He wanted to tell Megan she couldn’t take the job. He didn’t want her travelling to Brooklyn every day. Working for a charity that he could probably buy and sell several times over. He could fund the place himself. Throw money at them so they wouldn’t need her computer expertise. If she needed a job, he could find her one at Whittaker’s, preferably one that didn’t require her to leave their house.