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appalled him but he decided to keep that conversation for another time.

      The walk to the back of the block where a small granny flat was situated was conducted in a stiff silence. Luca could feel Bronte’s apprehension coming off her in waves. One of the curtains twitched aside and he saw a woman whom he assumed was Bronte’s mother staring at him with wide, nervous-looking eyes.

      Bronte opened the door and led Luca inside. Her mother came towards them, her expression cold and unfriendly.

      ‘You must be Luca,’ she said, pointedly ignoring Luca’s proffered hand.

      ‘That is correct,’ he said, dropping his hand back by his side.

      ‘Mum…’ Bronte gave her mother a pained look. ‘Do you mind if—?’

      Tina Bennett ignored her daughter and addressed Luca. ‘What you did to Bronte was unforgivable. You left her pregnant and alone. She was only twenty-three years old. She had her whole life ahead of her and you ruined it.’

      ‘Mum, please—’

      Tina continued her attack undaunted. ‘Did you ever think what had become of her after you threw her out of your life? Or did you simply move on to the next floozy, someone who was more your type?’

      Luca seemed very tall as he stood looking down at her mother, Bronte thought. He contained himself well. He showed no sign of being angry at the way her mother was speaking to him. ‘Mrs Bennett—’ he began.

      ‘It’s Miss,’ Tina snapped. ‘Like mother, like daughter, Mr Sabbatini. I too was abandoned by the man I loved when I was carrying her. I have never married. Being a single mother makes it hard to find someone who is prepared to love your child as their own. You can ask Bronte about that. She’s had one date, one boring, going nowhere date that was really only a favour for her friend Rachel.’

      ‘Mum,’ Bronte spoke with firmness, ‘I want to be alone with Luca. There are things we need to discuss in private. Thank you for minding Ella for me.’

      Tina tightened her mouth as she gave Luca a mother lion protecting her cub look. ‘I won’t let you hurt her again,’ she said. ‘You can be sure of that, Mr Sabbatini. Bronte and Ella are all I’ve got. I’m not going to stand by and watch some rich, spoilt playboy take either of them away from me.’

      ‘It is not my intention to hurt anyone,’ Luca said coolly and calmly. ‘I am here to see my daughter. That is my priority at this point. Bronte and I haven’t yet got around to discussing where we go from here but, as soon as we do, you will be the first to know.’

      Tina looked as if she was about to say something else but, after another pleading look from Bronte, she turned on her heel and left.

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      LUCA turned his gaze to Bronte’s, his expression rueful. ‘Something tells me I didn’t make such a great first impression.’

      ‘I would have liked to have warned her you were coming,’ Bronte said with a note of reproach in her voice.

      ‘Don’t talk to me about warnings,’ he threw back. ‘Yesterday I was a single man with no responsibilities apart from my work. Now I find I am the father of a fourteen-month-old toddler.’

      Bronte worked hard at holding his accusing gaze. ‘I know this must be a shock. And I’m sorry about Mum but she’s just being a mum. She’s frightened and uncertain about what happens next.’

      ‘So she should be,’ he said with a brooding frown.

      Bronte felt a quake of unease rumble through her stomach. ‘Wh… what do you mean?’ she asked.

      His eyes held hers for a tense moment, bitterness, anger and vengefulness all reflected there. ‘Look at this place,’ he said, waving his hand to encompass the small room and simple furnishings. ‘This is not the place where I want any child of mine to be brought up. There isn’t even a front fence, for God’s sake. What if Ella was to walk out on the road? Have you thought of that?’

      Bronte summoned her pride. ‘There is nothing wrong with this place,’ she said. ‘The fence is going up as soon as we can afford it. And, anyway, Ella is only just walking and she is never left alone. Not for a minute.’

      ‘That is not the point,’ he argued. ‘She deserves much better and I am going to make sure she gets it. Now, please lead me to her. I want to see her.’

      Bronte clamped her lips down on her response and silently led him to the small bedroom next to hers. The blue angel night light was on, casting a soft luminous glow over the room. Ella was lying on her back, arms flung either side of her head, her rosebud mouth slightly open, the covers kicked off her tiny body. Bronte gently pulled the covers back up, conscious of Luca standing next to her, his eyes looking down at the sleeping infant.

      The only sound in the silence was Ella’s soft snuffling breathing.

      Luca looked at the angelic face of his child and felt a seismic shift inside his chest. He was totally overcome by emotion. Feelings surged through him, knocking him sideways. He swallowed against the lump in his throat, surprised to feel the burn of tears at the backs of his eyes. He blinked them back and, with a hand that was not quite steady, he reached down and brushed his fingertip across the velvet softness of Ella’s tiny cheek. She made a little noise, something between a snuffle and a murmur, as if she were dreaming, before settling back down with a little sigh.

      Luca picked up one of her tiny hands. It reminded him of a starfish, the little splay of fingers with their perfect fingernails so small in comparison to his. Her fingers curled around one of his, the tiny dimples on her knuckles appearing as she tightened her hold, as if subconsciously recognising she belonged to him. He could not explain how it felt. It was totally overwhelming. He longed to hold on to this moment, to keep it forever in his memory.

      How would it feel as the years went by, holding this little trusting hand in his? Walking her into school for the first day, holding her steady as he taught her to ride a bike, her holding on his arm as he led her one day way off in the future to the man who would one day be her husband? It was too much to absorb all at once. Other men had nine months to prepare for it. He had been cheated of that. He was in catch up mode and it hurt—it hurt so much he could barely breathe.

      ‘You can pick her up if you want to,’ Bronte whispered at his side. ‘She usually sleeps pretty soundly.’

      ‘Can I?’ he asked, looking at Bronte for reassurance.

      She gave him a tight little movement of her lips, her eyes suspiciously moist. ‘Of course,’ she said, reaching past him to ease back the covers.

      Luca wasn’t sure how to do it but was too proud to ask for help. He had bounced the occasional friend’s baby on his knee but he had never picked up a sleeping baby before. Wasn’t there something about their neck you had to be aware of?

      ‘Just gather her underneath her shoulders and knees,’ Bronte offered in the silence, as if she had sensed his hesitancy.

      ‘Ri-ght.’ He did as she said and his little daughter nestled against him as he lifted her out of the cot with another soft murmur.

      ‘There’s a chair over here.’ Bronte pushed it forward and he sat down, cradling Ella against his chest.

      Luca couldn’t take his eyes off her. The perfection of her amazed him. She had the most beautiful face, like an angel. She favoured her mother, but now that he had her up close he could see traces of his own mother and even his long-dead baby sister. She smelt so sweet, a combination of talcum powder and baby that was indescribably beautiful. He traced a gentle fingertip over each of her tiny eyebrows and then the up-tilted button nose that was so like Bronte’s. Love flowed through him like a torrent. It filled him completely; there wasn’t a space inside him that wasn’t consumed with love for this child.

      ‘Would you like some time alone with her?’ Bronte asked after a long silence.

      ‘It’s all

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