Page 15 of Back to Claim His Italian Heir
Nico did his best to keep things matter-of-fact as he showed her the master bath, attached to the bedroom with its tempting, king-sized bed. The only bed in the suite as it happened, but they’d cross that rather interesting bridge when they came to it.
The bathroom was fitted out just as Emma had hoped—with a huge sunken tub of black marble and many jets. ‘There’s a dressing gown on the door,’ he told her. ‘And plenty of toiletries there, on the shelf. If there’s anything else you need...’
‘My stuff, I suppose,’ she replied. ‘I don’t actually have any clothes with me besides this dress.’
‘Where are your things?’
‘At Will’s apartment, in Santa Monica.’
He kept his expression neutral although he realised he hated the thought of her belongings there,herthere. She would have been right now, as the man’s wife, if he hadn’t come into the church and disrupted the wedding. The thought was enough to make him grit his teeth, but he forced himself to relax. It hadn’t happened. She was here, with him, and it was their future he had to focus on. Their child.
‘If you give me the address,’ he told her, ‘I’ll have Paulo fetch them for you and bring them here.’
She hesitated, and then nodded once, seemingly reluctantly. ‘All right. Thank you.’
‘Do you want to get them yourself?’ he surmised, a bit sharply, and she sighed.
‘No, Nico, not particularly, but I do feel I owe Will an explanation. He is a good, kind man, and I basically dumped him in it, deserting him at the altar.’
‘With good cause.’
‘Still, he deserves a conversation. I should call him tonight.’ She glanced around, her eyes widening in sudden realisation. ‘I just remembered, I left my bag at the church, with my phone and wallet—’
‘Paulo retrieved your belongings from the church earlier. They’re in the car. I’ll have them brought up to you.’
She hesitated, seeming as if she wanted to argue the point, and then she nodded. ‘Thank you.’
He paused and then said quietly, ‘I know I’ve been angry, Emma, but I’m not some kind of monster here. I am trying to be reasonable about all this.’ As hard as that was. He supposed he could ease up, a little.
‘I know,’ she said quietly, but she didn’t sound particularly convinced, and he had the sense that it was as hard for her to trust him as it was for him to trust her. Yet had he really ever given her any reason to doubt him?
‘Enjoy your bath,’ he said, and then left, closing the door behind him. He heard her turn the lock with an audible click.
Out in the living area, Nico poured himself a healthy measure of whisky from the decanter on the bar and then stepped outside to the wraparound balcony, the glittering lights of Los Angeles spread all around him, the ocean a blanket of darkness in the distance. He breathed in deeply and let it out in a rush as the events of the last few days caught up with him, leaving him wrung out and just about as exhausted as Emma.
Less than a week ago he’d been in Jakarta, his memory coming back to him over the course of a difficult month, first in vague fragments and confusing pieces, and then with more clarity and precision. He’d remembered Emma first; when the rest of his life had remained cloudy and unfocussed, she had stood out like a beacon of hope, a shining angel.
He was embarrassed now to recall just how much he had clung to her memory, how he’d felt it had helped him to recover. When he’d been struggling to walk, to focus, to so much as think clearly, he’d pictured their future together, their joyous reunion, her incredulous wonder at finding out he was alive, and it had compelled him onward.
The fact that reality had been so far removed from his absurd fairy-tale fantasy had made him, he realised, a bit angrier and more accusing with her than he might have been otherwise. Than perhaps he should have been. Still, the discovery of her wedding, her betrayal, her shameless admission of marrying him for money...it all stung, still.
Two weeks ago he’d finally been in touch with his cousin, Antonio, who had been shocked to hear of his survival, and then, belatedly, pleased. Nico knew there was no love lost between them; Antonio would always be angry that his father had chosen him, the cuckoo in the nest, over his own blood, even if he’d only done it to save himself the humiliation of admitting to the world his wife had betrayed him.
When he’d returned to Italy, he’d received the news, from a rather smugly certain Antonio, of what really had happened after his alleged death. How Emma had demanded money from him immediately after the memorial service. How she hadn’t wanted to be in touch, hadn’t wanted anything to do with his family at all, just the cold, hard cash. Antonio had given her ten thousand dollars, a paltry amount really, but Nico supposed he understood his cousin’s reluctance to offer more to someone who had clearly revealed herself as nothing more than a shameless gold-digger...just as he’d said she was.
And yet Emma had taken it, so Antonio had indicated, and gladly, considering the prenup he’d had her sign before their whirlwind wedding—the one spot of sense in his dazed unreality. She would have been entitled to more than ten grand, though, he realised, so sloping off with that relatively paltry amount of money, he mused now, was hardly the action of a gold-digger, at least not a very ambitious one—something he hadn’t considered in his anger and hurt, when he’d learned from Antonio that she was marrying again. So what was really going on? Or maybe ten grand had seemed like a pretty good deal to her. He really didn’t know.
What this all showed him, he thought as he tossed back the last of his whisky, was that he really didn’t know his wife at all. And whether he could trust her remained to be seen. But if she was having his child, he would have to remedy both those situations as soon as he possibly could.
CHAPTER SIX
EMMALEANEDHERhead back against the cool marble of the sunken tub and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of the hot, bubbly, rose-scented water frothing about her, her muscles starting to relax, her bones to melt. This was, she acknowledged ruefully, about as close to heaven as she could get right now. If only she could stay in this lovely warm bath for ever and forget the world—and the man—awaiting her on the other side of the bathroom door.
Unfortunately she couldn’t. Her temples throbbed even as her body relaxed, and she wondered—again—whether she’d made a mistake in telling Nico about the baby. Well, she told herself, doing her best to be pragmatic as she opened her eyes and gazed about the opulent bathroom with its black marble and gold fixtures, the reality was, mistake it might be, but she’d made it. She’d told Nico he was the father of her child, whether he believed her or not, and she now had to deal with the fallout. Would Nico come round or would he stay suspicious? Would he keep her in his life so they could attempt to be some sort of family? Was that something she even wanted to risk?
A shudder of apprehension went through her, and she tipped her head back against the tub and closed her eyes once more. She couldn’t think about all that just yet. One day at a time, one minute at a time, was the most she could manage if she wanted to hold onto her sanity. Eventually she would formulate a plan, a way forward she could live with. Hopefully. Right now, though, she was too tired, and all out of ideas.
Her hand crept to the slight, reassuring swell of her middle. ‘I’m trying to keep you safe, little one,’ she murmured. ‘I really am.’ Unfortunately, she still had to figure out just how to do that, with Nico now in the picture.