The D'amici Mistake by Alyson McLayne

Author:Alyson McLayne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sexy, hot, contemporary romance, millionaire, heiress, santa barbara, unplanned pregnancy, selfmade man, adult contemporary romance, contemporary romance series
Publisher: Alyson McLayne

Chapter Eight

Her parents—here? Together?

Elena took another step backward and fell into empty space. Santo’s arm snapped around her waist and pulled her to safety. He cursed beneath his breath and squeezed her close to his side as her mother threw her hands upward in exasperation.

“Do be careful, Elena. You could have bloodied the steps.”

Santo stiffened beside her, and Elena suppressed the urge to laugh—or cry. “Lovely woman, isn’t she?”

“Elena,” her father barked. “You will respect your mother.”

“Respect is earned, Dad.”

“Don’t even bother, Giancarlo,” her mother said to her father, sounding hurt. Elena knew it was all an act. “She’s hated me since we divorced. You got your sweet, young thing, and I got a teenager who blamed me for everything. I should never have come.”

She retreated into the house, and her father shot Elena an admonishing look before following his ex-wife.

“Unbelievable,” Elena said, shaking her head. “She can’t have been in the city for longer than a day and already she has the man wrapped around her little finger. How in hell does she do that? I’ve been back a year, and I’ve barely seen him.”

Santo faced her. “You call your mother Amanda?”

“Yup. She insisted on it. We’d just moved back to New York, and she didn’t want people to know she had a twelve year old daughter. Of course, I would ‘forget’ and let it slip just when it mattered most. She’d be flirting with some guy on the street or at a party, and I would call her Mommy and mention my older brother who attended Harvard.” Elena smiled wickedly. “She’d get so mad.”

Her smile faded, and she rubbed her forehead. “Why is she here? And why is she with my dad? As far as I’m aware they haven’t seen each other in years.” Her father had moved out of the family home after the divorce, leaving it to Elena and Lorenzo, and now lived in a suite at one of the Berrucci hotels in Los Angeles. In retrospect, her mother could have been there numerous times without Elena being any the wiser.

“I don’t know, Kitten. Let’s find out.” Santo grasped her hand and led her inside.

With every step, her chest tightened. By the time they reached the grand ballroom—where silk drapes were pulled back from arched windows that looked onto the gardens, and velvet brocade couches and chairs were grouped around a stately fireplace—her legs shook.

She hadn’t seen her mother in over a year, and she’d seen her father maybe four times since she’d returned to Santa Barbara. Giancarlo always seemed uncomfortable around Elena—like he didn’t know what to say if he wasn’t telling her to listen to or respect her mother. A line she’d heard repeatedly as a child.

Which made no sense, then or now, considering how little he seemed to respect Amanda. Although, by the way he hovered over her as she sat on the Queen Anne chair looking wounded, that might have changed—again.

Her stomach churned as the familiar anxiety from childhood rose to the surface.

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