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The edge to Mario’s words was unmistakable. As though the word “family” was foreign and incomprehensible. Distasteful, even.

And maybe it was. She remembered vividly the words he had spoken in disgust years ago: “Pregnancy is the worst kind of blackmail. What kind of woman would deliberately use an innocent baby to get what she wants from a man?” His words and tone had stayed with Belinda all these years. It had cut so deep she had almost been thankful she’d had no way of tracing the man who had fathered her children.

Not that she’d lied about being on the pill as Juliana had—he’d known it was Belinda’s first time. Afterwards they’d laughed that the passion had taken them so far so fast that they’d forgotten about the condom, any alarm dismissed in the heat of the moment. He’d joked that no man could be unlucky enough to get two women pregnant within the span of three months. But ultimately it had been Belinda that had been left with the responsibility.

Mario had no idea.

Belinda embraced the flash of resentment she felt. She could deal with resentment far more easily than fear. In fact, feeding that resentment was probably a very good idea.

“Yes,” she said curtly, holding Mario’s gaze. “Your family. You did marry Juliana, didn’t you?”

He was silent for a heartbeat and Belinda was surprised to find herself holding her breath. She tried to tell herself that his answer wasn’t that important.

“Si.”

As pain stabbed her she realized it had been important and it hurt badly to hear that he had married Juliana. If Belinda had been that special to him, he could have tried to track her down in London. But no, he’d gone back to Juliana. Maybe he’d gone to that meeting at the café; to tell Belinda that he was staying with Juliana. It wouldn’t surprise her—she’d seen a picture in a magazine of the gorgeous Italian model not long after returning to England. That had been painful at the time, too, but not as bad as this.

Belinda let her breath out slowly, struggling to regain control. Why did it hurt so much? It was what she’d always assumed had happened. Part of her justification for not trying hard to find Mario was because she didn’t want to undermine his chance of a happy life with the family he had chosen—Juliana and their baby.

“And your child? He would be...four years old?”

Only a few months older than the twins. A half-sibling that Belinda had no right to exclude from their lives. Why had that never occurred to her? She shut her eyes. This was getting more complicated by the second.

The tone of Mario’s voice made her eyes open very smartly, however.

“I have no child,” he said, the words devoid of expression. “My daughter died from meningitis when she was three months old.”




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