Claiming His Baby at the Altar
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Michelle Smart
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CHAPTER ONE
THE FLASH OF cameras was blinding.
Flora Hillier kept her gaze fixed ahead and ignored the questions being shouted at her by the horde of jostling reporters. A microphone brushed against her cheek. Another jabbed her neck. She would not give the vultures the satisfaction of reacting.
The dozen or so steps she climbed to enter the centuries-old building were wide but short in depth and she prayed not to trip.
At the top of the steps, the double doors were opened for her. A court guard took her arm and swept her inside.
The low-level hum of noise inside the court building was a welcome contrast to the shouts and hollers she’d just endured. Flora removed her sunglasses and placed a hand to her aching lower back. The pain had been strong enough to wake her that morning.
Filling her lungs with air and fortitude, she put her bag on the tray to be scanned and stepped through the body scanner. She wondered if this level of security had long been a part of Monte Cleure’s criminal court or if they’d installed it specially for Ramos. She imagined there were any number of people out there who would be happy to form an orderly queue for the opportunity to do harm to the Spanish bastard. She’d be right at the front of it.
He was here, in this building. Soon, very soon, she would see him again. More importantly, he would see her.
She approached the curved reception area and handed her passport over.
The lady checking it raised an arched eyebrow before inputting the details into a desktop computer. ‘Look in the camera,’ she said in English, pointing up.
Flora lifted her stare to the domed device on the ceiling. Less than a minute later, a lanyard pass with her name and picture was handed to her.
‘Go to room four,’ the lady ordered.
‘Thank you.’
Sliding the lanyard over her head, Flora headed down the wide corridor until she found the room.
Justin was already there, huddled around an oval table with his small legal team. He greeted her with an exhausted smile.
She held up a sympathetic hand to him and then sank gratefully onto a chair one of the legal team pulled out for her, and rubbed again at her aching lower back.
Today was the start of a trial expected to last two weeks. When found guilty, Justin could expect to spend two decades behind bars.
Monte Cleure allowed reduced time for good behaviour only in the most exceptional circumstances. Funnily enough, those exceptional circumstances only ever seemed to apply to the fabulously rich. Justin was no longer rich. Ramos had made sure of that. Ramos had also made sure the evidence against Justin was watertight. Ramos had chosen Monte Cleure to press charges against him deliberately.
It pained Flora beyond reason that the case against Justin was watertight only because Justin was guilty of the crimes he was about to go on trial for. Theft of a million euros. Fraud had been added to the charge for good measure.
Which room was Ramos currently holed up in? The one next door? Further away? No doubt he too would be huddled around a table with his legal team. Maybe two tables to fit them all in. His team would vastly outnumber Justin’s. What was the atmosphere like in that room? She doubted it was the resigned, subdued atmosphere permeating this one. Most likely, anticipation and expectation.
Anticipation and expectation that Justin Hillier be not only punished but destroyed.
If Flora had any tears left in her she would weep for her brother but the last year had spent her of them. There came a time when they would no longer form. Her tear ducts had simply dried up.
A knock echoed on the door. An official stepped in.
It was time.
Flora heaved herself back to her weary feet and stared into her brother’s gaunt face. She straightened his tie even though it was already perfect, wiped away a fleck of imaginary flint from the lapel of his suit jacket, and kissed his cheek.
‘I love you,’ she whispered to the man who’d been more of a father to her than theirs had ever been.
His smile was sad. ‘I love you too.’
There was nothing more to be said.
The hum of noise when Flora had arrived was now a buzz, the corridor bustling with bodies. It was a rare event that Monte Cleure’s criminal court was the setting for such a high-profile crime. The principality was used to the press swarming for the goings-on of its rotten royal family and the fabulously wealthy people who inhabited the glamorous, sunlit place, and when Flora was led to the front of the public gallery overlooking the court, the press were already crammed into their section like eager expectant meerkats, faces bobbing in all directions for the star attraction’s appearance.
They didn’t have to wait long.
The prosecution team entered. Amongst them strode the tall figure of Alejandro Ramos, suave and gorgeous in a navy suit and tie and grey shirt. Today, he was clean shaven, his thick dark hair cropped short.
The last thing Flora expected was the jump of her heart into her throat at his appearance.
She placed her trembling hands on her belly and breathed deeply, telling herself the jump of her heart was only to be expected considering the last time she’d seen him had been when he’d passionately kissed her goodbye.
Much better was the spike of hatred that came when he sat amongst the prosecution lawyers on the prosecution bench. The spike pierced her to see him as one with them. In England he’d be nothing more than a witness.
Look at me, she silently urged him.
The smooth-looking man seated beside him whispered in his ear. Ramos tilted his head to hear more clearly then nodded with a grin.
How could he smile when he was condemning his best friend to decades of imprisonment?
Look at me.
The Justice of the Peace entered the court from his private room at the back.
An order was called out. Everyone rose to their feet.
The Justice took his seat and indicated for everyone to follow suit.
Flora, her stare fixed on Ramos, stayed standing.
Look at me, you bastard.
As if he could feel the weight of her stare, he turned his face up to the gallery. To her.
Flora had chosen her clothing that morning with care. She’d selected a simple, short-sleeved cream summer dress with tiny buttons running its length that fitted snugly over her form. She’d wanted nothing that could detract the eye from the huge swelling of her stomach.
For the briefest of moments Ramos’s eyes locked on hers then flittered away as if he hadn’t seen her.
A wave of longing crashed through her, as unexpected and as frightening as the jump in her heart at the sight of him had been, but she swallowed hard and remained standing.
Barely a beat passed when she caught the sudden stillness in his frame.
Slowly, he turned his gaze back up to her.
Clenching her teeth tightly in an attempt to keep any emotion from showing on her face, Flora pointed both forefingers at her belly.
If he was looking closely enough he would see the bulge where their child had just kicked her.
If the situation weren’t so desperate and heartbreaking, Flora would have found much amusement in the first hour of the trial. The leading prosecutor rose and made his opening speech, not a word of which she understood as it was all conducted in French. Ramos would have understood but she was willing to bet not a single word penetrated his head.
The supremely confident, arrogant man who’d walked into the courtroom looked shell-shocked. Poor diddums. Her heart bled for him. It really did.
Only when the prosecutor sat back down did any animation show on his handsome face, and he whispered into the ear of the man beside him, who in turn whispered down the line until the whispers reached the prosecutor, who got back up and shuffled over to Ramos. The pair of them whispered frantically between themselves. The whispering culminated in Ramos scrawling onto a piece of paper that was immediately handed to the Justice, who read it, rose to his feet, addressed the court, and then swept back into his room.
The buzz in the courtroom as everyone filed out was strong enough for Flora to feel it on her skin. The excitement coming from the press box and the many glances being thrown her way told Flora her stunt hadn’t gone unnoticed. It couldn’t be helped. She’d tried everything else.
Rather than join the exodus, she stayed seated and closed her eyes. The muscles on her face hurt from the tight, unmoving position she’d held them in and, now that she relaxed them, emotions she’d contained just as tightly rose to the surface and threatened to choke her.
Rubbing her belly, she concentrated on breathing in and out. Something was going to happen and she needed to be calm and in her zen zone to cope with whatever that something would be.
Would Ramos decide to ignore her obvious pregnancy just as he’d successfully ignored her these last eight months? Ignore was the wrong word. He hadn’t ignored her. He’d ghosted her. He’d seduced her, kissed her adios and then cut her dead.
Or would he acknowledge her pregnancy but think it a jest? Or assume another man was the father?
She would put nothing past him.
If he ignored her or denied paternity then so be it. She was mentally prepared for that. She had the trial to get through and she needed to stay strong for Justin’s sake.
She’d done her duty and ensured her baby’s daddy knew their child existed. The rest was up to him. For Flora, best case scenario would be Ramos acknowledged their child, offered child support—she really didn’t want to have to go the legal route for that—and limited his involvement to the odd visitation. He wouldn’t want to be a full-time father, that was for sure, not with his lifestyle. A baby would definitely cramp his style.
‘Mademoiselle?’
She opened her eyes.
An official beckoned her.
She summoned a smile and heaved herself to her feet. She hadn’t realised how exhausted she was until she put one foot in front of the other. That silent confrontation with Ramos had drained her. She supposed it was because it had been so long in coming and she’d built it up so much in her head. The ache in her back felt more intense.
As she left the viewing gallery, she was about to head to her brother’s designated room when the official touched her arm and pointed in the other direction.
‘Mademoiselle? Come.’
Immediately pulled out of the zen zone she’d calmed herself into, Flora hesitated before following.
Okay, so it looked as if Ramos wasn’t going to ignore her.
The official pushed a door open. It was a waiting room with a coffee machine and plump sofas and, though she’d expected to find him there, her heart still leapt back up her throat.
He was sitting on a single sofa, leaning forwards, hands locked together.
His dark brown eyes penetrated her from the first lock of their gazes.
Flora had imagined this moment so many times. She’d planned how she would act and what she would say. Act nonchalant. Speak only in practical terms about their child. Do not do or say anything that would make him think she felt anything for him but contempt.
The reality was very different. Enough emotions zoomed through her to make her nauseous with their strength. Hate. Fury. Despair. Longing. The last of them was the worst.
How could she long for him after the way he’d treated her?
How could she have fallen under his spell in the first place?
Flora had known Ramos since she was eleven years old and he and Justin eighteen-year-old students. The young Spanish man had been a regular presence in the Hillier home. He’d even joined them for Christmas a couple of times.
Her brother’s closest friend, a veritable hunk in impeccably tailored clothing, a classically chiselled handsome face women swooned over...and, boy, didn’t he know it. Flora had been determined not to become one of those swooners. The way Ramos and her brother treated women had nauseated her. They might as well have set up a deli counter and handed out numbers to the ‘lucky’ recipients who would be discarded in turn before they got stale.
Ramos had discarded Flora even quicker than he’d discarded the others.
His set jaw loosened enough for him to say, ‘You should sit.’
Thirteen years she’d known him. That his lightly accented voice had a real depth and richness to it were qualities she’d only noticed the night they spent together.
Now, it fell like velvet on her ears and it shook her enough for her to force a laugh to cover it. ‘That’s the first thing you have to say to me? You should sit?’
‘You look like you’re about to collapse.’
Aww, he was concerned about her welfare. Such generosity of spirit.
Easing herself carefully onto a leather two-seater, she wished her huge size hadn’t made her movements so ungainly and graceless when every inch of him reeked of sophistication. It was just another of the discrepancies between them, all weighted in his favour.
Until today, she’d rather enjoyed being so obviously pregnant. The number of smiles she would see as people clocked her watermelon belly lightened her heart. There was something magical about the late stage of pregnancy that people responded to and she liked that it made her feel less alone in a world where her mother was dead, her father an unreliable, useless deadbeat and her beloved brother incarcerated.
Now she felt none of the magic, only a weight in her chest that her precious child should be saddled with such an unworthy and undeserving father.
Ramos’s full but firm lips were tightly compressed as his uncompromising gaze scrutinised every inch of her. He really did have beautiful eyes, so dark they could be mistaken for black, and with such depth that a woman could lose herself in them.
Flora had avoided looking into those eyes for years and a pang ripped through her heart to remember the night they had gazed at her with such intensity and then melted with something more than naked desire, something that had filled every cavity in her chest and seen her fall into their hypnotic pull.
‘When is the child due?’ he asked.
She blinked the unwelcome memory away and forced her voice to remain steady. ‘In three weeks.’
He exhaled and inclined his head. ‘I am to assume from your stunt in the courtroom that it is mine?’
‘Yes.’
If he asked how she knew it was his, she would throw her bag at him.
‘And I am to assume that your stunt was designed to bring attention to this to the whole world?’
Her mouth dropped open. Incredulous, she shook her head and laughed. ‘Seriously?’
His jaw clenched again. ‘What else am I supposed to think? A note to a member of my legal team would have been as effective.’
‘I would have done that if I thought you’d read it.’ She wished she could sit straight with ease and cross her legs, project the image she wanted him to see rather than the reality, which included swollen feet and ankles. Instead, she had to use her elbows for purchase to straighten. ‘I’ve spent seven months trying to tell you.’
He raised a sceptical eyebrow.
Quelling the burst of fury this provoked and determined to speak without a hint of emotion, Flora leaned forwards as much as her belly would allow and eyeballed him. ‘You blocked my phone number and email. I called two of your homes and spoke to two of your housekeepers. I spoke to your PA three times. I wrote you four letters. Four. I told you in every single one of those letters and the messages I left for you that I was pregnant with your child, but it wasn’t until I made another call to your office and spoke to a temp that I was told you had instructed all communications from me in whatever form they came to be ignored or destroyed and that anyone who so much as whispered my name to you would be fired for gross misconduct. You cut me off dead and refused to have my name spoken in front of you, not just a refusal but a specific order—that’s why I had to show you publicly. It was the only way to guarantee you’d notice.’
Ramos’s hands were still clasped together but now the knuckles had whitened. The tension on his handsome face was such that the flick of a pebble onto it would see it shatter.
Low in Flora’s belly, her baby shifted. It was a movement she adored, and had the effect of staunching the anger that had been building in her. She rubbed in big, sweeping motions and was rewarded with a foot or a hand poking against her palm.
She didn’t want to get angry and lose her temper. Trying to maintain a zen edge for her baby’s sake while her life was falling apart at the seams had, at times, felt impossible, but from the moment the pink line appeared on the pregnancy stick, protective love for her growing baby had overridden all the other emotions engulfing her. That love was primal, strong enough to douse the terror of a future raising a child alone without the mother she’d loved with all her heart and the brother who—for all his faults in his personal life—had always been there for her; a rock for her to lean on. Flora had found an inner strength she’d never known she had and she was not going to let Ramos undo all that hard work, especially not so close to the birth.
But it was so hard. Being in the same room as him for the first time in eight months was awakening memories she’d spent eight months trying her best to forget...
Waking in his arms, their mouths fusing together and then the fusion of their bodies before Ramos woke enough to drag himself away for protection...that memory came in a rush of vivid colour. The passion she’d experienced with him, the utter rightness she’d felt in his arms.
She pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder. If the pain in her back hadn’t sharpened, she would have hauled herself to her feet. She wanted out of this room and away from the man who’d taken her to heaven and dropped her into hell.
‘Well, you know about the baby now,’ she said, speaking tightly through the pain. ‘Let’s get this trial over and done with and then we can talk about your future involvement.’
He leaned his muscular body forward, animation returning to his eyes, his movements like those human statues she’d seen on the Embankment and Trafalgar Square. ‘Future involvement?’
‘If you want to be a part of his or her life...’ She pinched the bridge of her nose, knowing he would likely want no involvement at all. ‘Entirely up to you, but I will need child support. The sooner the better.’
Distaste flashed on his face. ‘So that’s what that little scene was all about. You’re after my money.’
Flora clenched her teeth and swallowed back a fresh wave of anger. ‘You’re the father. You had a right to know, but your insistence on having Justin tried in a country where every criminal trial is prosecuted whether or not the defendant pleads guilty has wiped me out financially.’
The clenching of his jaw was pronounced.
‘Someone had to help him.’ The pain had lessened enough for Flora to straighten her back, the act of straightening her spine injecting another dose of steel into it. ‘You chose to prosecute him in a country that doesn’t have legal aid and made sure all his assets were frozen. Well, I paid for his legal fees, by remortgaging my home and taking a loan on my business and I am now skint, so yes, I want your money, as much as the law entitles me to but only so I don’t have to raise our child in poverty, and if you want to think me a gold-digger for that then be my guest. I couldn’t give a fig what you think of me. I care about two things—my brother and my child. You’ve already ruined my brother and I will not let you ruin my child too, and if you want to fight me about money then fine, when the press next swarm around me, I will talk to them and I will give a statement and I will tell the world how the father of my unborn child seduced me when I went to him pleading for mercy and then cut me dead, and I will name and shame you.’
His bronzed skin darkened with every word she said, a tight contortion of emotions playing on his face. And then he smiled.
It was the cruellest smile she’d ever seen.
‘Will you tell them how you prostituted yourself too?’
