The Billionaire's Gemini Bride

TOM

"You abandoned your own child."

Those were five words I'd never hoped to hear in this lifetime. Only six years ago, I learned a painful truth about my fertility status.

While sitting inside my cool office, my secretary delivers an envelope to me, watching me curiously before I dismiss her.

For some reason, my fingers begin to shake nervously as I bring out a folded paper from the envelope.

I reach for my water bottle and drink, as I could barely understand the medical jargon, but a single word stands out.

Water burns the back of my throat; I begin to cough violently.

"What the hell?"

I dial the doctor's office; he answers on the second ring.

"Are you sure about this?" I demand.

"Yes, Mr. Ciccotelli," Dr. Meyers replies. "We're one hundred percent sure that the baby's DNA matches the father's."

"So..." I loosen my tie as the air around me suddenly grows thinner. "Hypothetically, what are the chances if the father were infertile?"

Silence, then a crackle.

"I'd say he's a lucky man because one in thirty-three men conceive naturally." Dr. Meyers says. "By the way, we'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone we conducted the test in secret-"

I slam the receiver down, cutting him off.

A rush of excitement swarms me, and a smile slits through my mouth before I catch myself.

I'm the luckiest guy in the world!

Then I slowly frown, remembering the stakes involved here.

"Damn it," I whisper to myself.

The dumbest thing I ever did was check into that hotel with Genevieve and believe she was on the pill.

I straightened my tie again.

I've always been a man of action, taking risks and keeping control; it's how I became CEO instead of my older brother Sebastian.

Gwen O'Brien wouldn't be a problem.

The next day, I sit in her apartment, and Gwen stares at me nervously while holding Michael in her arms.

Her twin kept her skin tan, with a nose ring, but Gwen was fair and looked prettier even without makeup.

Her lips part open, and something warm stirs inside me. God, the way she tried to attack me at the station was very sexy.

No, there was no way I actually liked Genevieve's sister.

"Why did you bring these guys along?" Gwen eyes the three men sitting on her couch. "Friends of yours?"

"My lawyers," I reply.

Gwen stares at me, twisting her body on the dining stool she sits on. "I don't understand. I thought you said the DNA was positive."

"I did, but I prefer to tie up loose ends before taking on a liability," I say, eyeing my son, raising a closed fist.

Gwen narrows her eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Twelve million dollars."

"Okay?"

"That's all the money I'm offering for you to disappear from this city and go back to London. I'll handle the police situation."

As expected, Gwen's eyes widen comically, and her mouth drops open. Twelve million was barely a drop in the ocean from what I earn yearly.

She smiles, and somehow I feel a dread that she's going to take the money anyway.

"Crikey, that's enough for a three-bedroom house in Chelsea!" she explains, then presses her lips together. "I mean the city in England, not the one here in New York."

I forcefully roll my eyes. That's the thing with women; you offer them a tiny diamond, and they'll do anything.

Gwen wasn't any different.

How disappointing.

"Are you daft?" She asks.

I frown. "Huh?"

"Sorry, let me rephrase." She clears her throat. "Did your mom perhaps drop you on your head when you were a baby?"

I hear someone snort, and I glare at one of my lawyers, then back at her.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that."

"Do you and your vultures think you can buy me off?"

I smirk. "Ah, I see. Twenty million."

"Can you shut up for ten dollars?" She glares at me. "You're not going to buy me off."

"Anyone can be bought off or bought over, Gwen," I remark, while taking in her messy living room. "Your sister had me with the baby. You must be quite exhausted from looking after him. When Mitchell comes home with me, he'll have a professional nanny."

Her jaw drops at my suggestion; I wonder if I've said something wrong.

"You can't trade a baby's life for money." She hisses.

I break into a dry laugh. "What about during surrogacy or adoption? There's always a fee involved to get a child. You're getting the higher bargain."

From the way she holds the baby's rattle firmly, I can tell I've struck a nerve, and I hope she's not going to throw it at me.

"Thomas, can your money buy you any dignity?" She asks. "Your son's name is Mikey, as in Michael. You didn't even care about him until I suggested a paternity test!"

I give her a puzzled look. "What kind of an idiot willingly accepts the baby of the woman who stole his family heirloom without confirming the DNA?"

"The same idiot who walks around with his family's heirloom in his wallet," she retorts.

The room grows quiet. One of my lawyers suggests we settle this mutually.

I glare at her. "You realize I could take you to court and get full custody, right?"

She places the baby into its crib, and thankfully, it doesn't cry; she picks up her telephone.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Oh, I wonder how the public will feel when they hear Thomas Ciccotelli, a proud billionaire tycoon from an alleged traditional family, suddenly had a son and was trying to bribe his aunt just to keep custody?"

Gwen muses with a devious smile as she pushes the dial button. "Oh man, the media is definitely going to bury you alive. Your stocks will go down, and I hope you have a retirement plan."

I barely have time to think when I hear a female voice on the other end say..."New York Post newsroom?"

I leap to my feet, and in two quick strides, I snatch the phone away from her.

"Are you out of your mind?" I ask angrily.

"Are you ready to listen to my terms?" she counters.

* * * * * * * *

"What do you mean you have a son?" Diana Ciccotelli asks me the next morning in her office, while staring at her tablet. "This headline says rumor has it that a powerful New York dynasty is hiding an illegitimate heir, and while the article doesn't say a name, they mention the father's Italian."

Crossing my arms across my chest, I reply, "Mom, I told you it's just a low-rate website."

"This is the New York Post; they don't publish anything if it's not true," Diana growls. "How could you hide this from your family?"

My voice rises in a deep echo. "Because I just found out?"

She stares at me long enough for me to pull my gaze away, and I drag my fingers through my thick hair.

"She wants me to find her sister."

Diana scoffs. "Oh, great, the thief and the mother of my grandson, God forbid."

"Mama, I don't know what to fucking do about this," I admit. "Okay, let's say I request full custody with the DNA report; it's going to go public and break into a scandal. Gwen has made it clear that money is out of the question; besides, I don't know how long it'll take to find Genevieve.

Diana shuts her eyes. "Let me think about this for a moment."

Two days later, Gwen and I meet again, this time at a restaurant for dinner while her friend is watching Michael.

"I don't want thirty million either, Tom," Gwen says to me.

A knot forms in my gut. "Yes, you're very noble, but have you considered the fact that Genevieve might be dead?"

Gwen pauses midway through taking a bite of her food. "No. If she were, I would probably feel it. Have you hired a private investigator?"

"Sweetheart, the PI says these types of cases could take months or years because she took a huge gamble on stealing a high-profile heirloom. She wanted to leave."

Gwen turns pale, and her eyes become glossy with tears that did not fall. "Then you better hurry it up."

I glare at her. "The press can be unforgiving. Did you at least think about your safety, or Michael's, in the biggest crime city in the country? He could get kidnapped, and I could end up paying double the money I offered."

When Gwen realizes that I'm not bluffing, she closes her eyes, and her skin turns sickly pale.

A thought sharpens in my mind as I feel elated at my triumph. A Ciccotelli never backs down without a fight.

"Until your sister is found, I want you to take her place," I offer evenly, "In exchange for security, I won't even charge your sister unless she returns the medallion. You, Gwendolyn O'Brien, will marry me."