Page 191 of Falling for the Wife

“It’s yours.”

Tensing, I frowned at her admirable water work display. “I beg your pardon?What did you just say?”

Wiping her tears with the back of her hands, she lifted her chin, meeting my steady gaze. “The baby’s yours, not Anton’s.”

Horror filled me. It was as though she had doused me with ice cold water before someone threw gas on me and lit my body on fire.

“I don’t believe you.” How could I? She was a chronic liar, and a very good one at that.

“It’s the truth.” She somehow made herself appear dignified even though she was a mess.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

I had vowed not let her get to me, but then she came with this news the very second word got out about my condition. Trustworthy, she wasn’t. At the same time, I had little room for doubt. My instincts told me there was more to the story, yet my gut was telling me my mother was somehow behind this. I wasn’t sure why, but it had her name written all over it.

Yes, my own mother. How often had she interfered with my life before? Too many times to count. If it was anything regarding women and my personal life, my mother, one way or the other, would worm herself into it and make it her life’s mission to fuck it up. Sadly, that was her motto in life.

Bringing my attention back to the woman before me, seemingly frightened with her quivering lips, I knew I couldn’t let her almost convincing display of disarray get to me. Women were such a peculiar breed. Most were cunning and conniving, and this one was no exception. Funny how it was only months ago when I had thought she was the perfect angel. Life had a way of distorting one’s pure intentions.

Icily, I stared her down, not budging from her lies. “Did my mother set you up for this? How much did she pay you? ’Cause I’d gladly triple it just to make you go away.” Each word darted out of my mouth as if it was laced with poison. Did she think I was a gullible fool who would fall for her lies? If it were mine, a decent woman would never marry and pass off another man’s child. The mere thought of it was disgusting. Abhorrent.

She paled at my barbed insult. “Your … your mother?” she questioned with a shaky whisper. “Why would you even think this has anything to do with your mother?”

Because she would do anything to save face, I thought as I took in the emotions playing on her pale face.

“My mama is a very cunning woman, one who would pay a hefty sum to make sure I cooperate.”

She appeared as if all blood had drained from her face, making me think she was truly guilty of something.

Gritting my teeth, I could feel my blood pressure skyrocket as the seconds ticked by without her rejecting my outward claims, confirming my suspicions.

“How much?” I yelled at her with escalating temper. “Tell me how much!”

She seemed disgruntled with my outburst before she cleared her throat, composing herself. “It’s not what you think. This isn’t about your mother. This is about your health, and if you want to be a part of this child’s life, I strongly suggest you think twice about your reckless actions.”

A child.

A child I fathered with her. A baby. A son or daughter who had my blood running through his or her veins. It affected me, of course, what man wouldn’t be? However, the question remained, how could I prove it was mine? Her goal was to put me into perspective, but it was more complicated than the plain truth. I needed more answers, and I strongly felt that she was hiding something from me, a fact I intend to pursue once I was out of the hospital.

Rapidly, my mind calculated what motives she had to gain by lying and by telling the truth. Honestly, if it indeed was mine, I needed to consider the type of woman she was. I supposed there was a word specifically crafted for women who passed off a child as another man’s during marriage. Was that even considered a crime, though?

In Italy, it was a possibility. Italians took pride in our culture, our heritage, and our long, proud lineage. I considered myself one, but this … This was simply atrocious. If the media got a whiff of this maelstrom brewing in the background, they would have a field day covering the scandal that was my disastrous life.

“Whatever it is you’re hiding from me, I’ll uncover it one day, but for now, I’d like for you to know that I’ll consider your suggestion once I know the child is truly mine.”

This was taxing, and the more the news sunk in, the harder it was for me to think coherently. Not to mention, the intense throbbing pulse in the back of my mind made it difficult to concentrate. I felt as if I had been thrown into a gauntlet of confusion, and each theory I had was leading me into a dark place that kept even darker secrets. The thought left me little comfort.

“I wouldn’t lie about something like this,” she said, seemingly nervous as she watched me with guarded eyes before resting a hand on her small, protruding baby bump.

Carefully, I didn’t let her sentimental gesture taint my judgment. Sure the idea of the baby being mine—if she was to be believed—left me elated. Regardless, there were far too many things to be accounted for, like her believability for instance. That alone left distaste in me.

Resting my head on the less than stellar pillow, I considered her a moment, hoping she would simmer a little with my scrutiny, before finally sighing from needless exhaustion.

“People lie about everything all the time, pregnancy being more the most prevalent technique in scheming for women.”

Her eyes bulged out, looking as if she was tempted to harm me. Fortunately for me, she caught herself, composing herself as she straightened her stance.

“I would never lie, not to this extent, Luca. Never this. I hope you know that.”