Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO REFUSED HIS MONEY
“Who are you?”
The question should have sounded threatening coming from a man surrounded by private security at thirty-seven thousand feet.
Instead, it sounded almost helpless.
I looked down at the six-month-old nursing against me.
His eyelashes were still wet. One tiny fist rested against my breastbone. Every few seconds, he paused as if making sure the milk had not vanished, then resumed swallowing with determined little gulps.
“My name is Hannah Reed.”
The billionaire’s steel-gray eyes shifted toward the curtain behind me.
“And the child in your seat?”
“My daughter. Maya.”
“How old?”
“Three.”
He frowned.
Then his gaze dropped briefly toward my blouse.
He was too controlled to ask the question badly.
So I answered it anyway.
“Yes, I’m still lactating.”
A flush rose into my face.
“My daughter still nurses occasionally at bedtime. She stopped for months, then started asking again after things at home became…” I paused. “Difficult.”
The bodyguard standing beside us looked away immediately.
The billionaire did not.
His stare became sharper.
“What kind of difficult?”
“That is none of your business.”
The bodyguard’s eyebrow rose.
Apparently people did not speak to this man that way.
The billionaire surprised both of us.
“You’re right.”
No argument.
No wounded ego.
Just acknowledgment.
He looked at his son.
“He hasn’t fed properly in almost fourteen hours.”
My professional instincts returned.
“Fourteen?”
“He took perhaps two ounces before boarding.”
“Wet diapers?”
“Two since this morning.”
“How many normally?”
“Five or six by this time.”
I frowned.
“That’s not good.”
His expression tightened.
“I know.”
“You said satellite pediatric support was involved?”
“Yes.”
“They should have told you prolonged refusal at this age becomes a dehydration issue.”
“They did.”
“And you stayed on the plane?”
A muscle moved in his jaw.
“We were over the Atlantic.”
Fair.
I adjusted the baby slightly.
“What’s his name?”
The billionaire looked at me as though somehow nobody in those eighty-seven minutes had thought to ask that question.
“Leo.”
“Hi, Leo.”
The baby continued eating.
“Any allergies?”
“None known.”
“Premature?”
“No.”
“Medical conditions?”
“No.”
“Recent illness?”
“No.”
“Why is he suddenly refusing bottles?”
That answer changed the billionaire’s face completely.
His eyes moved toward the dark window.
For the first time, the armed guards and expensive suit disappeared.
He looked simply like a tired father who had not slept in weeks.
“His mother died nineteen days ago.”
My breath caught.
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded once.
“She nursed him.”
There it was.
Not formula.
Not expensive bottles.
Not cabin pressure.
Loss.
“Exclusively?”
“Almost.”
“She had been trying to introduce one bottle a day because she planned to return to work. He hated it.”
“And after she died?”
“He eventually took donor milk from one particular bottle with his nanny.”
“Where is the nanny?”
“She developed appendicitis yesterday morning.”
I almost laughed from disbelief.
Of course.
“And you traveled anyway?”
His face hardened defensively.
“I had to.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
For a moment, he seemed ready to tell me it was none of my business.
Fair.
Then Leo tightened his fingers against my collarbone.
The billionaire exhaled.
“My wife was Italian.”
“Her family is in Rome.”
“Her mother filed an emergency petition regarding Leo.”
My eyes lifted.
“For custody?”
“Guardianship.”
“Why?”
His gaze went cold again.
“She believes I killed her daughter by neglect.”
That was not the answer I expected.
I said nothing.
Neither did he.
The silence stretched until Leo slowed.
I gently stroked his back.
His swallowing became softer.
His whole body was relaxing.
“His mother’s name?”
“Elena Valenti.”
Same last name.
I assumed married.
The man extended one hand.
“Nicolas Valenti.”
Of course.
I knew the name after he said it.
Everybody did.
Valenti Global owned hotels, shipping infrastructure, medical technology companies, and enough Manhattan real estate to make zoning boards nervous.
Nicolas Valenti appeared in business magazines with headlines like:
THE BILLIONAIRE WHO NEVER BLINKS
VALENTI’S $11 BILLION PORT GAMBLE
THE MOST FEARED NEGOTIATOR UNDER FORTY
I looked at Leo.
Then back.
“You don’t look like your pictures.”
Nicolas’s mouth twitched.
“I’m usually not covered in formula.”
There was dried formula on his lapel.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“Mr. Valenti—”
“Nicolas.”
“No.”
He blinked.
“We are not there.”
The bodyguard made a sound suspiciously close to a cough.
I continued.
“Mr. Valenti, Leo needs to be assessed when we land.”
“Already arranged.”
“Good.”
“He also needs a feeding plan that doesn’t involve me finding random lactating women in airports.”
“Yes.”
His gaze returned to mine.
The embarrassment came back.
“You do understand I didn’t walk up here planning to breastfeed a stranger’s baby.”
“I would hope not.”
The actress in 3B was still pretending not to listen.
I lowered my voice.
“My body reacted to him crying.”
Nicolas nodded.
“No judgment.”
That surprised me.
Many people had opinions about extended breastfeeding.
Richard certainly had.
He used to sneer whenever Maya climbed into my lap at night.
“She’s three, Hannah. You’re making her weird.”
Toward the end, even that tiny comfort became something I did secretly.
I looked toward the curtain.
“Maya.”
Immediately, Nicolas’s eyes shifted.
“I’ll have someone sit where you can see her.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I’m going back to her when Leo finishes.”
“Of course.”
He seemed almost offended that I thought otherwise.
Then Leo released.
His lips remained parted.
He gave one exhausted sigh and dropped his cheek against my chest.
Every person in first class seemed to breathe simultaneously.
A senior flight attendant whispered:
“Thank God.”
I checked Leo’s mouth, his color, his breathing.
Better.
Still tired.
“Can I burp him?”
Nicolas almost laughed.
“You just fed him. I think you’ve earned burping rights.”
I positioned Leo against my shoulder.
Three pats.
A monumental burp erupted.
The senator lowered his newspaper.
Leo fell asleep.
Nicolas stared at him.
The man looked devastated by relief.
I held the baby out.
His father’s arms came forward immediately.
Then stopped.
“What?”
I whispered.
Nicolas looked almost embarrassed.
“What if he wakes?”
“He probably will.”
His face fell.
“But you can soothe him.”
“I’ve been trying.”
“Not with a bottle.”
I nodded toward the empty seat.
“Open your shirt.”
The first-class cabin went silent again.
Nicolas stared at me.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Not like that.”
The bodyguard actually laughed this time.
I pointed to his tie.
“Skin-to-skin.”
“You want me to take off my shirt in first class?”
“You bought half the privacy doors around you.”
“I did not manufacture the airplane.”
“You know what I mean.”
A flight attendant quickly offered a blanket and privacy screen.
Nicolas looked like a man who would rather negotiate with armed pirates.
Good.
Parenting was humbling him.
Five minutes later, he sat in the enclosed suite with his dress shirt open enough for Leo’s cheek to rest against bare chest.
I positioned the baby carefully.
“Support his neck.”
“I know how to hold my son.”
His voice sharpened.
I stepped back.
“Then hold him.”
He looked at me.
A beat passed.
“I’m sorry.”
Good.
“Stress does not give you permission to speak to everyone badly.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You always this direct?”
“When I’m tired.”
“And when rested?”
“Worse.”
The bodyguard turned away again.
Nicolas adjusted Leo.
The baby stirred.
Nicolas froze.
“Keep breathing.”
“I am breathing.”
“You stopped.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Leo made a small whimper.
Nicolas began rocking.
Too fast.
“Slow.”
He slowed.
“Talk.”
“What do I say?”
“Anything.”
He stared at me.
I shrugged.
“Quarterly earnings if necessary.”
The corner of his mouth moved.
Then he looked down at his son.
“Your grandmother is going to tell a judge I’m incapable of raising you.”
Leo slept.
“She might be right about many things.”
Still sleeping.
“But she’s wrong about that.”
His voice cracked.
I turned away slightly.
That moment belonged to them.
When I returned to Maya, she was awake.
My coat had slipped from her shoulder.
Her rabbit was pressed beneath her chin.
“Mommy?”
“I’m here.”
She climbed into my arms instantly.
Her small body relaxed.
Exactly like Leo’s had.
A shadow appeared beside us.
Nicolas.
His shirt was buttoned again.
Leo slept against him in a carrier one of the attendants had found.
“I wanted to thank you.”
“You already did.”
“No.”
He glanced toward the cabin.
“I want to compensate you.”
There it was.
I stiffened.
“No.”
“Hannah.”
“No.”
“You provided something my son needed.”
“I fed a hungry baby.”
“My people can arrange—”
“Stop.”
He did.
Good.
“I am not selling milk.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I know.”
I looked at Maya.
“But I need this to remain something I chose.”
Nicolas studied me for a long moment.
Then nodded.
“Understood.”
He looked toward the empty first-class suite across from his.
“There is a seat available.”
“No.”
“It is not payment.”
“No.”
“It has a lie-flat bed your daughter can use.”
I looked down.
Maya’s head was already drooping against my shoulder.
My premium-economy seat had been survivable.
Not comfortable.
Nicolas continued.
“The airline has approved the move.”
“The airline?”
“Yes.”
“Not you?”
“I asked.”
I narrowed my eyes.
He corrected.
“I requested.”
Better.
I looked at Maya.
Then at the bed.
“Only for the flight.”
“Yes.”
“No expectations when we land.”
“Yes.”
“No car.”
He hesitated.
“Rome is currently surrounded by reporters waiting for me.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
“It becomes yours if photographs from this cabin appear.”
That was unfortunately true.
I thought.
“Airport exit assistance only.”
“Yes.”
“No hotel.”
“Fine.”
“No money.”
“I heard you the first seven times.”
Good.
Maya and I moved forward.
She slept almost immediately.
For the remaining four hours, Leo woke twice.
The first time, Nicolas managed to calm him skin-to-skin.
Not fully.
But enough.
The second time, Leo rooted desperately and began crying.
Nicolas looked at me.
He did not ask immediately.
Important.
“Hannah?”
I knew.
I sighed.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I fed him again.
Not because Nicolas Valenti was a billionaire.
Because Leo was six months old and grieving something his body could not understand.
At dawn, Italy appeared beneath us.
Maya woke and pressed her nose to the window.
“Mommy, look!”
Rome spread beneath clouds.
I smiled.
A new country.
A distant cousin.
A sofa.
Two hundred seventy-four euros.
No plan beyond survival.
My phone vibrated.
Twenty-seven missed calls.
Richard.
My stomach turned.
Then one text appeared.
I KNOW YOU LEFT THE COUNTRY.
Another.
YOU THINK I CAN’T FIND YOU?
And then:
MAYA BELONGS WITH ME.
My hand began shaking.
Nicolas saw.
His expression changed.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
He looked at me.
“No.”
I almost laughed bitterly.
Apparently I was not the only person who had learned to recognize that lie.
He lowered his voice.
“Is this the difficult situation you said was none of my business?”
“Yes.”
“Still none of my business?”
I looked at Maya.
Then at the sleeping baby whose life had intersected mine for less than five hours.
“Yes.”
Nicolas nodded.
No pressure.
Then he handed me a card.
Not money.
A phone number.
“Independent security coordinator in Rome.”
I frowned.
“Your employee?”
“No. Retired Carabinieri. Runs a firm my wife’s family used before we married.”
“Why?”
“If you decide your situation becomes dangerous.”
“I can’t afford private security.”
“He won’t charge you for one consultation.”
I opened my mouth.
Nicolas added:
“I already asked whether he offers free first consultations to domestic-violence clients.”
I stared.
“You did that while I was sleeping?”
“Yes.”
“Without giving him my name?”
“No name.”
Good.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
The wheels struck the runway.
Maya grabbed my hand.
Leo woke and whimpered against his father.
Nicolas kissed his head.
For one strange second, the four of us looked like something we were not.
A family.
I immediately rejected the thought.
I had escaped one man four days earlier.
I was not flying across an ocean to become dependent on another.
The plane taxied toward the terminal.
My phone vibrated again.
This time it was my cousin Lucia.
I opened her message.
Hannah, I’m so sorry. Richard found my number. He threatened my husband and says he’s coming to Rome. Carlo says you and Maya cannot stay with us. I’m so sorry.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
The sofa was gone.
The plan was gone.
I had €274.
A three-year-old.
One duffel bag.
And an abusive man who somehow knew exactly where I had fled.
Nicolas watched my face.
He did not ask what I needed.
Not yet.
Instead he said quietly:
May you like
“You don’t have somewhere to go anymore, do you?”
I hated that tears answered before I could.
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