Her Sicilian Baby Revelation Read online

  Their passion: unrivaled

  Her revelation: unforgettable!

  Orla O’Reilly knew the father of her precious three-year-old son must be out there somewhere. But after a car accident left her with amnesia, she’s unable to recall his name. Until Tonino arrives at her sister’s wedding, and suddenly it comes flooding back. Their connection...and his betrayal...

  Billionaire Tonino is astounded by Orla’s return. The memory of their short but intense affair has never left him. But convincing Orla that he has the right to his child—and her heart—will be far from easy...

  Could it really be him?

  It had been almost four years. All they’d shared was one night. Or was it two? Or three? Or more? Orla wished she could remember, but her memory had as many holes in it as a lump of Swiss cheese.

  “Mummy!”

  Her son’s voice broke through the fog of fear in her head.

  Stretching her cheeks into a smile, she finally had a clear view past her sister to the spot at the left of the altar where she’d been promised she and Finn would sit.

  The smile froze, half-formed.

  A tall, dark, utterly gorgeous man sat beside Finn. His black stare was fixed directly on her.

  Her stomach plummeted. Thick heat pulsed and swirled through her head, dizzying her.

  The man watching over her son until she could take her place beside him was Tonino. Finn’s father.

  Michelle Smart’s love affair with books started when she was a baby, when she would cuddle them in her cot. A voracious reader of all genres, she found her love of romance established when she stumbled across her first Harlequin book at the age of twelve. She’s been reading—and writing—them ever since. Michelle lives in Northamptonshire, England, with her husband and two young Smarties.

  Books by Michelle Smart

  Harlequin Presents

  A Bride at His Bidding

  Conveniently Wed!

  The Sicilian’s Bought Cinderella

  Bound to a Billionaire

  Protecting His Defiant Innocent

  Claiming His One-Night Baby

  Buying His Bride of Convenience

  Cinderella Seductions

  A Cinderella to Secure His Heir

  The Greek’s Pregnant Cinderella

  Passion in Paradise

  A Passionate Reunion in Fiji

  Rings of Vengeance

  Billionaire’s Bride for Revenge

  Marriage Made in Blackmail

  Billionaire’s Baby of Redemption

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Michelle Smart

  Her Sicilian Baby Revelation

  This book is dedicated to my munchkin Zak xxx

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM BOUND BY MY SCANDALOUS PREGNANCY BY MAYA BLAKE

  PROLOGUE

  ORLA O’REILLY BLEW her nose and swallowed back a breath, trying her hardest to stop fresh tears falling down her sodden cheeks. She didn’t want people to see her like this.

  She’d flown to Sicily ten days ago on a mission to meet the man her mother had always unkindly referred to as ‘Orla’s sperm donor’. Only now did she understand her mother had actually been diplomatic.

  Her father, who’d returned from his travels that morning, had refused to see her. He had no curiosity about his twenty-three-year-old daughter. No curiosity at all.

  She hadn’t expected a grand reunion or anything but his outright rejection...

  It hurt. Really, really hurt. Now all she wanted was Tonino’s strong arms holding her tightly and his breath whispering into her hair that everything would be okay.

  At least something good had come from her time in Sicily. She’d met the man of her dreams.

  Ten days ago she’d taken one look at her room in the budget hotel she’d checked into and gone back to the reception. Orla was not one for complaining but the state of it would have driven a saint to boiling point. The bed sheets were stained and crumpled, the carpet sticky under her feet and the bathroom...well, the less said about that, the better.

  She’d stood at that reception desk for exactly six minutes before a tall, imposing figure had appeared from a door marked Privato and Orla had found herself face-to-face with the sexiest man she’d ever set eyes on.

  Until that first sight of Tonino, she’d never understood what it meant to meet someone and feel as if you’d been struck by lightning.

  When she’d returned to the hotel much later that day, her first attempt to meet her father scuppered due to him being abroad, she’d found her room hadn’t just been cleaned but sanitised. New furniture and furnishings had been installed, including a brand-new carpet. Her melancholy mood had lifted when the gorgeous hotel manager had knocked on the door and asked if she would like to meet for coffee in the morning.

  What had followed had been the most wonderful week and a half of her life, right until two hours ago when she’d returned to her father’s home for her second attempt. All those glorious hours with Tonino had infused her with a sense of optimism. She had become certain that her first meeting with her father would be the stuff of Hollywood; all tight embraces and schmaltzy words.

  It had taken her father exactly eight minutes to break her heart, the length of time his housekeeper had made Orla wait alone on the doorstep before she’d returned with the ‘regretful’ news that he didn’t want to meet her.

  She must try not to think about her father. Keep her focus on Tonino.

  That was what she needed to keep the tears at bay. To think of the man who’d brought her to life and stolen her heart.

  She wished she’d told him about her father. She wished she’d had the courage to be upfront about her real reason for being in Sicily but it was such a shameful thing to admit, that she was the secret love child of one of Sicily’s most notorious playboys; a child created through infidelity.

  All her life she’d shied away from meaningful friendships and relationships. The only people she’d ever trusted were her sister, Aislin, and her grandparents. Her grandparents had both since died so that left Aislin.

  And then she’d met Tonino.

  She was ready to tell him now. He would understand. He would comfort her. He would be the rock she’d always dreamed of having but had never believed could exist.

  Tonino had left her in bed that morning with a lingering kiss. He’d stroked her cheek and promised that that night they would talk. The expression in his eyes and the tone of his voice had told her this would be of a serious nature. As hard as she tried to temper the wild emotions raging through her veins, not even her father’s rejection could completely stamp them out. A future was dangling before her. For the first time in her life, Orla felt that her future could mean more than a career. It could involve...love...

  The taxi driver pulled up outside her hotel behind a sparkling stretch limousine that stuck out like a sore thumb in this run-down area. Orla wearily slipped out, intent only on getting to her room and soaking in the bath while she waited for Tonino to return from
his business trip in Tuscany. This was the first time they’d been apart for more than a few hours. How lucky was she to have found the man of her dreams just as he was due to take his annual leave, giving them all that time together!

  ‘Permesso.’

  A ravishing stick-thin blonde with eyes like a cat’s blocked Orla’s path to the hotel’s elevator.

  Orla held her hands up and tried to move around her, but the woman mimicked her moves, blocking her efforts.

  ‘Can I help you?’ The richness of the woman’s clothes and the expert precision of her hair and make-up made Orla think she must be the possessor of the limousine.

  The woman raised an immaculately plucked eyebrow. ‘English?’

  ‘Irish.’

  ‘You give me two minutes.’

  ‘Err...’ Annoyed, Orla was about to push her way around the woman when the four fatal words were uttered.

  ‘Is about Tonino Valente.’

  Prickles raced up Orla’s spine. Her abdomen clenched. ‘What about him?’

  The woman raised her left hand and pointed at her wedding finger. A huge diamond ring lay snugly on it. ‘I am Sophia. Tonino’s fiancée.’

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later and the two women were in Orla’s hotel room. Sophia perched delicately on the small armchair while Orla sat on the floor feeling as if she’d been punched by a heavyweight with lead in his gloves. Spread on the carpet around her were photographs of Tonino and Sophia. Many photos. There were also press clippings and glossy magazines. Orla didn’t understand Sicilian but some of the words in the article needed no translation. Tonino and Sophia’s engagement party two months ago had been deemed newsworthy.

  ‘I sorry to tell you this,’ Sophia said in a tone that suggested she was loving every minute of it. ‘Tonino has made fool of you. He has lied to you. You are fun to him. Sì?’

  ‘I’ve been a bit of fun?’ Orla whispered. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘Sì. That why I here. I warn you. Tonino loves me. We are to marry.’

  Orla was unaware that tears were leaking down her face, and too numb to care that there was a warning in the Sicilian woman’s tone as well as in her actual words.

  This must be what he’d wanted to talk to her about that night.

  Fool that she was, she’d believed he wanted to discuss a future for them.

  Her hand shook as she picked up the glossy magazine containing a twenty-page spread of their engagement party.

  How could an ordinary hotel manager attract such a wealthy, high-maintenance woman like this? And why would an ordinary hotel manager be the recipient of the kind of press attention usually reserved for the rich and famous?

  Fearing she could be sick, she groped for her phone and keyed Tonino Valente’s name into the search engine.

  Ten minutes later she was still reading and searching but it was as if someone had taken possession of her body and was reading the damning evidence for her.

  She felt light-headed. Boneless.

  Tonino had lied about more than his marital status.

  He wasn’t the manager of the hotel as he’d led her to believe. He was the owner. This hotel was just a small cog in a vast empire.

  Tonino Valente was the sole owner of Valente Holdings, a chain of mostly hugely expensive hotels across Europe that catered for the filthy rich. Tonino, who was also an enthusiastic investor in start-up businesses, was filthy rich in his own right.

  The man she’d opened her heart for, who she’d dared believe she could have a future with, was a cheat and a liar. The worst kind of liar. A rich, powerful liar. His grandfather was one of Sicily’s top judges. His mother was one of Sicily’s leading criminal lawyers. His father was a leading Sicilian politician.

  Her Internet search revealed that the immaculately beautiful woman in the obscenely expensive outfit sitting on Orla’s hotel-room armchair was Sophia Messina. The Messinas were a Sicilian family as wealthy and powerful as the Valentes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, meeting Sophia’s cold, unflinching eyes. ‘I knew nothing about you.’

  ‘Now you know...you go?’ It was framed as a question, but the underlying threat hung between them.

  Orla didn’t need the threat.

  ‘Yes.’ Breathing heavily to quell the rising nausea, she stumbled over to the wardrobe. ‘Yes. I go.’

  CHAPTER ONE

  Four years later

  ‘WILL YOU KEEP still a minute?’ Orla rebuked with a shake of her head. How was she supposed to fasten her sister’s wedding dress if she didn’t stop jigging on the spot?

  ‘I’m trying,’ Aislin protested.

  ‘Try harder. These clasps are fiddly. Breathe in.’

  Aislin gave a theatrical intake of breath.

  Using all her limited strength, Orla hooked the second tiny clasp. Excellent. Only another fifteen of the blasted things to go. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to wear a bra?’

  ‘It’s a strapless dress.’

  ‘Then wear a strapless bra. What will you do if the dress falls down and your boobs start wobbling for all of Sicily’s high society to admire?’ If there was one thing Orla was envious of, it was her sister’s magnificent bosom. Orla barely had a handful to waste.

  ‘It’s a bespoke dress. It’s not going to fall down.’

  She hooked the third clasp. ‘I don’t get why you won’t let the designer hoist you into it.’

  ‘She’s around if we need her.’

  ‘But she’s used to doing this. Her fingers work. My fingers are useless.’ Fourth hook clasped, Orla blew out a puff of air from the exertion.

  ‘Untwist your knickers and chill. Anyone would think you were the one getting married.’

  ‘Aren’t you the slightest bit nervous?’

  ‘Nope.’ Through the reflection of the full-length mirror, Orla saw the beaming smile spread over her sister’s face. And well she should smile. Not only was Aislin marrying the love of her life, but she’d discovered a month ago that she was pregnant.

  That the man Orla’s sister was marrying happened to be Orla’s half-brother—Orla and Aislin had different fathers—was, to her mind, only further cause for celebration.

  She just wished they were marrying in Ireland, not here in Sicily. She was certain the deterioration in her coordination was down to the knots of dread in her stomach. Or were they knots of excitement?

  All she knew for certain was that the beats of her heart had steadily increased in tempo and density in the weeks leading up to the wedding and now that she was finally in Sicily, there was an anticipation...or dread...that something was going to happen.

  It was close to four years since Orla had been in Sicily on her futile mission to meet her father. A serious car accident six months after her return to Ireland had left her with major memory problems. Time had healed most of the holes in her memory but the period from Sicily to the accident itself remained stubbornly locked away.

  She knew her wish to meet her father had gone unfulfilled only because Aislin had told her so and because every time Orla thought of Salvatore Moncada she wanted to cry. She’d shed a bucket of tears when she’d learned he’d died a year ago but even during that mammoth crying session was the feeling that she was crying for more than the father she’d never met.

  She comforted herself that she’d gained a brother, Salvatore’s son, Dante. He was technically a half-brother, as Aislin was technically her half-sister, but Orla had never been able to see it like that. You didn’t love someone in halves. You either loved them or you didn’t. Aislin was only three years younger than her so she had no memories of life without her. Aislin was her sister and they would fight to the death to protect each other.

  Dante, who Aislin had found for Orla and fallen in love with for herself, had only been in their lives for four months but it felt as if he’d be
en a part of it for ever.

  Aislin’s phone buzzed. ‘Can you get that?’

  ‘Okay, but don’t move. If the clasps pop open I’m not redoing them.’ She still had a dozen of the ruddy things left to hook together.

  She strode to the suite’s dressing table, grabbed the phone, handed it to Aislin and then got back to work on the dress.

  ‘It’s a message from our dear mother.’ Aislin spoke in an unnaturally high voice.

  A shiver ran up Orla’s spine and her fingers fumbled on the delicate clasp she’d only just gripped hold of. ‘What does she want?’

  ‘To wish me luck.’

  She snorted. ‘How big of her.’

  ‘Now, now, don’t be like that. You know it isn’t easy to jump on a plane to be there for your youngest daughter’s wedding.’

  ‘True. It’s not as if her daughter’s fiancé is a billionaire who’d offered to pay for a private jet to fly her over or anything.’

  ‘And it’s not as if she hasn’t seen her daughters in, what? Seven years?’

  ‘Or never met her only grandchild.’ Finn, Orla’s precious three-year-old son, her miracle of life, currently napping in one of the suite’s bedrooms under the watchful gaze of a nurse, had never set eyes on his grandmother.

  She met Aislin’s stare through the reflection of the mirror and they burst into peals of laughter.

  The sisters had long ago learned that the best way to keep the anger and pain of their mother’s actions at bay was to laugh and treat it all as one big joke. If they didn’t laugh there was a good chance they would never stop crying.

  ‘I suppose you should be grateful she remembered,’ Orla pointed out dryly.

  ‘I’m brimming with gratitude.’

  She sniggered before confiding, ‘I’m dreading meeting Dante’s mother.’ Orla’s conception had been the catalyst for Dante’s parents’ divorce twenty-seven years ago.

  ‘Don’t be. I told you, she has no animosity towards you.’

  ‘But she sounds terrifying.’