Page 21 of Back to Claim His Italian Heir

And what was a marriage without trust? What was afamily?

‘Emma, surely you can see that?’ he pressed, his voice so very reasonable.

Yes, she thought reluctantly, she supposed she could, all things considered, and yet it still stung, alot, and it made her wonder how on earth this marriage of theirs was ever supposed to work, on any level. What did Nico even want—for her to fall in with his plans, pop out his baby, warm his bed?

Would that even be so bad?

Emma had always been a pragmatist; she’d had to be. Nico would always provide for her, she knew, and she could finally live without fear of where her next meal was coming from, or whether there would be a roof over her head. She’d never wanted to be loved, had chosen not to, and yet...

What if he walked away from their child, the way her mother had walked away from her? Could she subject her baby to such a risk?

Did she have a choice?

Nico couldn’t tell what was bothering Emma, at least not exactly. He eyed her as they rode to the appointment he’d booked at one of the city’s most exclusive obstetrics clinics in Beverly Hills, noting her narrowed eyes and pursed lips, the way she angled her head away from him. She’d been prickly since they’d woken up this morning...and what a way to wake up!

Was what had happened in bed between them this morning annoying her? As exciting as that delicious little interlude had been, it had also been unexpected, both of them caught up in the throes of their passion before they’d so much as blinked the sleep from their eyes. Not that he’d minded. At all. But, he acknowledged, it wasn’t something they had discussed or planned, and maybe Emma hadn’t been ready for it.

Or, he wondered, was it the fact he’d made this appointment? She’d seemed surprised and maybe even a little annoyed that he’d made it in the first place. Yet surely Emma could see the unfortunate necessity of a paternity test? It wasn’t meant to be an insult on her character, simply a sensible precaution. Although, he realised uncomfortably, he supposed itcouldseem as though he didn’t trust her.

Yet how was he meant to trust her when he’d walked in on her wedding to another man? Besides, considering his own parentage, he knew he needed to be absolutely certain that he was this baby’s father. The test, he knew, was as much about him as it was about her...not that he intended to explain to her about that.

In any case, he decided, he’d get to the bottom of it after the doctor’s appointment. Lay it all on the table, make everything clear. And tell her exactly what he expected from their marriage.

He glanced at her again, noticing the way she held herself, as if she were all sharp angles and edges, her expression both resolute and resigned. Nico found he didn’t like her looking like that. He liked seeing her laugh, giving as good as she got, but since he’d told her they were going to the doctor’s, all he’d got from her were monosyllables.

Last night—and this morning—had clarified things for him. Assuming the baby was his—and maybe even if it wasn’t—he knew now he wanted a proper marriage with Emma. They had too much chemistry to ignore, and even when she was infuriating him, she made him smile. He enjoyed her company and he genuinely liked her. All good reasons, he thought, for her to be a proper wife, and for them to be a proper family. This time he wouldn’t entertain fantastical notions of love, but he would enjoy all the other benefits of their union—from their time in bed to being a father.

As for Emma...she would have the same enjoyments. Surely she couldn’t argue against that? She’d been willing to marry that mopey software engineer for money, why not him? He was, Nico reflected, offering amuchbetter deal. So why was she looking so annoyed right now?

Perhaps, he mused, he needed to be clearer what he was offering. How much. She’d only had a taste of the wealth and luxury at his disposal before the crash; now he would give her the full measure of it. He’d enjoy pampering her, he realised. Although she’d been sparing with the details of her childhood, she’d made it clear that she had no family, and her circumstances when he’d met her had seemed dire indeed. He’d enjoyed pampering her before, and he would do so even more now. He looked forward to giving her all the things she hadn’t had before—travel, clothes, jewellery, evenings out...really, she had it made. She just didn’t realise it yet. He couldn’t wait to tell her.

The obstetrician’s clinic was just a short ride away, off Rodeo Drive, a discreet brick building with a gold-plated plaque. Nico kept his hand on the small of her back as he ushered her into the comfortable waiting room, and gave their names to the receptionist at the front desk. Glancing at Emma, he saw how closed and pinched her expression was, her arms folded across her middle as she seemed to be doing her damnedest not to meet his eye.

Within a few minutes they were called, and Nico accompanied her into the examining room, as much to support her as to hear the information himself. The obstetrician, a kindly faced woman with curly grey hair, smiled at them both, a slight query in her brown eyes as she looked between them.

‘Signora Santini?’ she asked, looking directly at Emma. ‘How can I help you today?’

Emma shot Nico an uncertain glance before replying in a half-mumble, ‘I just need a check-up, I suppose.’

‘Of course.’

‘And a paternity test,’ Nico filled in, only to feel as if the temperature in the room had taken a sudden nosedive. Emma was staring down at her lap and the obstetrician was giving him a coldly bland look.

‘I see,’ she said.

‘That is possible, is it not?’ Nico pressed. ‘The receptionist assured me—’

‘It is possible,’ the obstetrician agreed, in a tone that matched her decidedly cool expression. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I will examine Signora Santini in private.’

‘But—’

The obstetrician pointed to the door. ‘You can wait outside. Thank you,signor.’

Nico stared at her, flummoxed, before realising he had no choice but to exit the examining room.

‘Very well,’ he said, and with a glance at Emma, who seemed determined not to look at him, he left the room.

Outside he paced the waiting room, unable to stand still, wondering why he’d been excluded from the appointment, and fuming that he had. The whole point of this exercise had been to be more involved, not less. To build trust. Instead he’d been shown the door as if he shouldn’t have been there in the first place.