Page 16 of Back to Claim His Italian Heir

What, she wondered with a bittersweet pang, would have happened if he hadn’t been in that plane crash? Would they have continued in their idyllic, time-out-of-reality way for much longer? Surely that fairy tale couldn’t have lasted for ever. For the month she’d been with him she’d been sure it would end at any moment, that Nico would glance at her with a resigned sort of smile and say,It was fun, but...

Instead he’d asked her to marry him. She remembered the moment perfectly, as if it were engraved in her mind with crystalline clarity—she’d been on the balcony of his palatial apartment in Rome, gazing out at the ancient city streets, the Forum in the distance twinkling with its own lights. She’d had to pinch herself, quite literally, because she couldn’t believe she was standing there, in such luxurious circumstances, with a man who made her head spin and her heart beat hard. Not, of course, that she’d had any intention of falling in love with him. She knew better than that. And yet...she’d been close, alarmingly close, simply because he’d been so kind to her.

Since she’d met him—well, truthfully, fifteen minutes after—Nico Santini had showered her with attention, care, interest and compassion. For someone who had learned to live life on her own a long time ago, it had been a much-needed, and rather frightening, balm to her soul. So she’d stood on the balcony and cautioned herself to be careful, to stay cautious.

Then Nico had walked onto the balcony, taken her into his arms, and murmured against her hair, ‘Emma, marry me.’

Emma had stiffened in his embrace, utterly shocked. She’d never, not for one moment, not for onesecond, thought their fling was actually going anywhere. Nico Santini, hot billionaire, was amusing himself with the likes of her for a little while, and that was fine.Fine.She was of the take-what-you-can-get school of thinking. She’d had to be.

As Nico’s arms had tightened around her, she’d eased back to gaze up into his face, searching his intent expression for clues.

‘You aren’t serious.’

‘I am.’

He’d sounded so heartfelt. She’d been completely confused. ‘Why?’ she’d asked, meaning the question genuinely. Utterly.

‘We’ve had fun these last few weeks, haven’t we?’

‘Yes, but...’ That was all it had been.Fun.You didn’t get married because you’d hadfun. A man like Nico—wealthy, powerful, sexy as all get-out—didn’t actuallymarrysomeone like her. He just didn’t. Emma had known that. She’d understood it, accepted it, and she’d thought Nico had, as well. And yet there he was, holding her in his arms, asking herthatquestion.

‘Marry me, Emma,’ he’d said again, sounding so much as if he’d really meant it, and even though she couldn’t understand why he’d want to, the second time he’d asked she hadn’t been able to resist. Even if it had made sense to be cautious. Even if it had been smart to guard her heart. How could a girl like her, who’d had to fight her way off the street, have said no to the best offer she’d ever had, was ever likely to have? The closest thing to a fairy tale that she could have hoped for?

A girl like her didn’t say no, not to something like that. Even if she hadn’t really known why he was asking. Even if she’d been scared of falling in love. Even if she’d been determined not to.

And so she’d said it. Simply, sweetly, on something between a sigh and a laugh. ‘Yes.Yes!’

And Nico had taken her in his arms, and kissed her senseless, and for a few seconds—a whole week, even—it had seemed easy. They’d married in a small civil ceremony in Rome, a couple of his employees as their witnesses. She’d signed a prenuptial agreement and hadn’t minded the understandable precaution.

He’d messaged his father and cousin, but she hadn’t met them, not till the memorial service. She’d stayed in his flat pretty much for their entire marriage, save for the occasional outing for a coffee. Nico had either worked or taken her to bed, with not much else in between. She hadn’t met his family, his friends, anyone. He’d never had to introduce her as his wife.

If any of it had rung alarm bells, Emma hadn’t let it, because she’d wanted the fairy tale to be real, if only for a little while. Deep down she’d always known it would end one day, the way everything ended, because why wouldn’t it? Why would a man like Nico—rich, powerful, unbearably attractive—stay married to someone like her? Maybe he’d needed to get her out of his system, slum it for a while before he moved on. Emma had told herself she was under no illusions...but part of her had still hoped.

Then, a week later, he’d left, and, while still at his apartment in Rome, she’d heard from a coldly drawling Antonio about the crash. She couldn’t think about him, the way his mouth had pulled down and his dark eyes had tracked her, without her stomach cramping.

‘Absolutely no survivors,’ he’d said shortly. ‘And as you’ve only been married a week, and Nico was tiring of you anyway...’

She hadn’t wanted to believe that last part, and yet she had, because peoplealwaystired of her. The foster families who hadn’t wanted to keep her, who had moved her on because she wasn’t lovable enough...even the one that she’d let herself love back.

‘Emma? No, absolutely not...’

The certainty in her foster mother’s voice, a woman she’d dared to love, who she’d begun to think loved her, rejecting her out of hand, with such certainty. It was a memory she couldn’t bear to think about, not even all these years later.

In any case, Antonio had made the situation abundantly clear. ‘You are not part of this family, and never will be. I’ll give you ten thousand dollars, merely as a gesture of goodwill, with the assurance that you will never come sniffing around here again. Is that clear?’

By that time she’d been desperate to get away, stinging from his contempt, from the knowledge that if he’d been around, it would have been Nico, not Antonio, sending her on her way with such a disdainful expression. And so, as she’d clung to the last remnants of her pride, she’d nodded.

‘Yes, absolutely clear,’ she’d told him, making herself sound mocking, even though her heart had felt as if it were in pieces.

It wasn’t. She wouldn’t let it be, because she didn’t let herself love anyone, not any more. Not even Nico. Especially not Nico.

And yet where did that leave her—them—now?

As exhausted as she’d been earlier, Emma knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she’d spoken to Nico. She wouldn’t rest until she knew what he intended for her, for their baby. And if she decided he couldn’t be trusted? That he’d take away her child? Well, she knew how to run—far and fast.

But first she needed to explain everything to Will. She certainly owed him that much.

She reached over and pulled out the plug, watched the water swirl down the drain in rose-scented suds. Then she got out of the tub and wrapped herself in the thickest, fluffiest dressing gown she’d ever seen, combing her fingers through her hair and making good use of the hotel’s luxury lotions. With nothing more to distract or delay her, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and headed out of the bathroom.