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he had a father. You’ve already irreparably damaged his development.’

      Our son. Sam’s insides contracted painfully. She was feeling shocked again at the very evident emotion on Rafaele’s face. Quickly masked, though, as if he was surprised by his own vehemence.

      ‘So what are you proposing, Rafaele?’

      A part of Sam, deep down inside, marvelled at that moment that there had ever been intimacy between them. That she had ever lain beside him in bed and gazed deep into his eyes. On their last night together...before he’d gone on his business trip...she’d reached out and touched his face as if learning every feature. He’d taken her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, and there had been something she’d never seen before darkening his eyes, making her breath grow short and her heart pound...

      ‘What I’m proposing is that, as I’m due to be here in England for the foreseeable future, I want to be a part of Milo’s daily life so that he can get to know me.’

      Sam struggled to take it in. ‘“The foreseeable future”? What does that mean? You can’t get to know him and then just walk away, Rafaele, when your business is done.’

      Rafaele stood up and put his hands deep in his pockets, as if he was having second thoughts about physical violence. Silkily he replied, ‘Oh, don’t worry, Sam, I have no intention of walking away—ever—no matter where my business takes me. Milo is my son just as much as he is yours. You’ve had unfettered access to him for over three years of his life and you will never deny me access again. I want him here—with me.’

      Sam’s mouth opened and closed again before she could manage to articulate, ‘Here with you? But that’s preposterous. He’s three!’

      Rafaele clarified with clear reluctance, ‘Naturally you would also have to come.’

      Sam emitted a scared laugh, because even though what Rafaele was saying was insane he sounded eminently reasonable. ‘Oh, thanks! Should I be grateful that you would allow me to stay with my son?’

      Rafaele’s face darkened. ‘I think any judge in any courtroom would look unfavourably upon a mother who kept her son from his father for no apparent good reason.’

      Sam blanched and tried to appeal to him. ‘Rafaele, we can’t just...uproot and move in with you. It’s not practical.’ And the very thought of spending any more time alone with this man than she had to scared the living daylights out of her.

      His voice sounded unbearably harsh. ‘I am going to be under the same roof as my son, as his father, and I will not negotiate on that. You can either be part of it or not. Obviously it will be easier if you are. And, as we’re going to be working together again, it can only be more practical.’

      Anger surged again at Rafaele’s reminder of that small detail and his intractability. ‘You’re being completely unreasonable. Of course I need to be with my son...that’s non-negotiable.’

      Rafaele took a step closer, and even though his hands were in his pockets Sam felt the threat reach out to touch her.

      ‘Well, then, you have a measure of how I’m feeling, Samantha. I will expect you back here with your bags and Milo by this time tomorrow evening or else we take it to the courts and they will decide how he will divide his time between us.’ He added, ‘You’ve proved that you believe one parent is dispensable—what’s to stop me testing out the theory with you?’

      Sam gritted out, ‘I do recognise that you’ve missed out on time with Milo...and I should have told you before now. But I had my reasons and I believed they were valid.’

      ‘Very noble of you, Samantha,’ Rafaele mocked, with an edge.

      Trying to concentrate and not be distracted by him, she said, ‘It’s just not practical for us to come here. This might be your home, and it’s beautiful—’

      ‘It’s not mine,’ Rafaele bit out. ‘It belongs to a friend. I’m renting it.’

      Sam lifted her hands in an unconscious plea for him to listen. ‘All the more reason why this isn’t a good idea—it’s not even your permanent home. Milo is settled into a good routine where we are. We have a granny flat attached to the house and that’s where Bridie lives.’

      Rafaele arched a brow. ‘His minder?’

      Sam nodded. ‘She was my father’s housekeeper since I was two, after my mother died. She cared for me while I grew up and she stayed on after my father passed away two years ago.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Rafaele offered stiffly, ‘I didn’t know.’

      ‘Thank you...’ Sam acknowledged. ‘The thing is,’ she continued while she had Rafaele’s attention, ‘Bridie has known Milo since he was born. She...helped me.’

      Sam coloured as she imagined the acerbic retorts going through Rafaele’s mind and she rushed on. ‘We have a good arrangement. Regular affordable childcare like I have is gold dust in London.’

      Rafaele asserted, ‘I don’t think I need to point out that affording childcare would be the least of your worries if you let me organise it.’

      Sam was tense enough to crack, and all of a sudden she felt incredibly light-headed. She must have shown it, because immediately Rafaele was beside her, holding her arm and frowning.

      ‘What is it? Dio, Sam, you look like death warmed up.’

      His use of Sam caught her somewhere vulnerable. She cursed herself inwardly. She was no wilting ninny and she hated that Rafaele was seeing her like this. She pulled away from his strong grip jerkily. ‘I’m fine...’

      Rafaele all but forcibly manoeuvred her to the couch and made her sit down again. Then he went to the drinks cabinet and poured some brandy into a glass. Coming back, he handed it to her.

      Hating herself for needing the fortification, Sam took it.

      She took a sip, and as the pungent and strong alcohol filtered down her throat and into her belly, felt a bit steadier. She put the glass down and looked directly at Rafaele, where he too had taken his seat again, opposite her.

      ‘Look, you’ve said yourself that you’re just renting this place. It would be insane to uproot Milo from the only home he’s known since he was a baby.’ She pressed on, ‘My father’s house is perfectly comfortable. Bridie lives right next door. His playschool is at the end of the road. We have a nearby park. He goes swimming at the weekends to the local pool. He plays with the children from the surrounding houses. It’s a safe area. Everyone looks out for everyone and they all love Milo.’

      Rafaele’s face was unreadable. Sam took a breath. She’d just spoken as if in a lecture, in a series of bullet points. Never more than right now did she appreciate just how much Rafaele could upset their lives if he wanted to. And it was entirely her fault.

      He drawled, ‘The picture you paint is positively idyllic.’

      She flushed at the sarcasm in his voice. ‘We’re lucky to be in a good area.’

      ‘How have you managed financially?’

      Rafaele’s question blindsided Sam for a minute. ‘It...well, it wasn’t easy at first. I had to defer my PhD for a year. My father was ill... But I had some savings to tide us over. And he had his pension. When he died the mortgage was protected, so that was paid off. Bridie looked after Milo while I did my doctorate and I was lucky enough to be taken onto the research programme soon afterwards. We get by. We have enough.’

      Unmistakable pride straightened Sam’s spine. Rafaele could see it in the set of her shoulders and he had to hand it to her—grudgingly. She hadn’t come running to him looking for a hand-out as soon as she’d known her pregnancy was viable. He didn’t know any woman who wouldn’t have taken advantage of that fact. And yet Sam had been determined to go it alone.

      ‘Would you have come to me if you’d needed money?’

      Rafaele could see

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