Page 23 of Back to Claim His Italian Heir

Emma was out of the door as soon as the car had pulled up to the kerb, and she marched towards the hotel without waiting for Nico to catch up with her. All she wanted was to barricade herself in the bedroom, or wherever she could find some modicum of privacy. Unfortunately, he had the key card to work the lift, so she had to stand in front of the doors, silently fuming, while she waited for him to stroll up.

‘This tantrum of yours is most unbecoming,’ he remarked, and she swung around, fists bunched, ready to punch him—or maybe burst into tears.

‘Mytantrum? Haven’t you insulted me enough for one day? Or do you have some kind of quota you have to fill?’ Unfortunately the words of angry challenge were belied by the catch in her voice. Emma saw Nico’s expression change from irritation to confusion before she looked away, blinking as fast as she could to keep the tears at bay. Stupid,stupidpregnancy hormones. That was all this had to be, because normally she was so much tougher than this. She’d had to be.

The lift door opened and Emma marched inside, turning away from Nico. He remained silent as the lift soared upwards, the seconds ticking onward endlessly. Did it normally take this long? Eighteen floors wasn’tthatmany.

Then, finally, the doors opened and Emma hurried into the penthouse, ready to barricade herself in the bathroom, or wherever she could get the space to cry in private, because she realised that was what she was going to do, whether she wanted to or not. The tears were coming, blinking be damned, and she was afraid it wasn’t just because of hormones.

‘Emma.’ Nico’s voice was quiet. Gentle, which didn’t help. Now she was really going to blub.

‘Please,’ she whispered, and found she couldn’t manage any more.

‘Please tell me what’s going on,’ he stated quietly. ‘I’ve upset you, I realise, and I want to know why.’

‘If you don’t know why, then you’re an idiot,’ she retorted, her voice muffled with the effort of holding back her tears. One slipped down her cheek and she dashed it away as discreetly as she could.

‘Then I’m an idiot. Let’s talk this through, please.’ Although his tone was still gentle, it was one that didn’t brook argument. Autocratic even in this. Although, Emma realised, she didn’t even want to argue, at least not entirely. In twenty-four hours, Nico was going to discover he was the father of her baby, which meant he was either going to want to stay married, at least in some shape or form, or demand custodial rights and do what she feared most—take her baby away from her.

She had to make sure they worked things out, for better or worse, for the sake of their child.

‘Fine.’ She dropped her bag onto a chair by the lift doors and then walked to one of the leather sofas and curled up in the corner, letting her hair swing down to hide her face. She neededsomekind of armour. ‘Let’s talk.’

Nico stared at her for a moment. ‘First, I’ll order some food. You need to eat.’

‘So you’re always telling me.’ She waited for him to make the call, but he handed her the menu first.

‘What would you like?’

‘You’re not going to tell me what the best thing on the menu is?’ she retorted, before she could rein in her temper. Now was not the time to score petty points, but maybe that was all part of it. His arrogance. His authority. For a month, when she’d felt as if she’d fallen into a fairy tale, it had been more or less okay. But for the rest of her life?For her baby’s life?

‘I think you can decide for yourself what you want to eat.’ The smile he gave her was wry, and it calmed her a bit, because it showed he was learning, if just a little. He could change, at least in this small way, or at least act as if he could change. It was small comfort, but itwasstill comfort, and she’d take that where she could find it.

‘I’ll have the soup and salad, please.’ She handed him back the menu and he made the call, ordering a steak and salad for himself. With that out of the way, there was nothing for them to do but stare at each other and wait for one or the other to begin.

Nico sat on the sofa opposite her, loose-limbed and attentive, his green gaze steady on her. Even now she couldn’t help but marvel at how breathtakingly attractive he was. That jaw. Those eyes. The hooded brows, the dark hair, the smell of his aftershave...

Focus, Emma.

‘All right,’ Nico said. ‘Now, will you please tell me what has upset you?’

Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She angled her head up to stare at the ceiling because looking at him suddenly felt too hard, and it might keep the tears from slipping down her cheeks. They were definitely pooling in her eyes, so blinking was clearly not an option.

‘Nico, do you have any idea,’ she began slowly, ‘can you even imagine, how absolutely humiliating it is for the father of your baby to inform an obstetrician that he’s there for a paternity test?Heis, clearly not both of you, because he is the only one with the doubts about who you slept with. And then to face a whole bunch of questions after you’d left the room, to make sure I hadn’t been coerced into the marriage, or was being abused, or anything like that.’

As well as questions she wasn’t going to tell him about, about how she’d been treated as a child, why she had signs of malnutrition, of broken bones that hadn’t been healed. Emma had explained as quickly as she could about being in care, about how some families weren’t as nice as others.

And even the nice ones let you down.

‘Well?’ Emma asked when Nico was silent for a long moment. She couldn’t risk taking her gaze from the ceiling, although she realised she was curious—and more than a little apprehensive—to know what his expression was. The silence felt ominous the longer it ticked on. What was he thinking, and, if she dared to look at him, would she be able to tell from those hooded eyes, that still face?

‘Framed like that,’ he answered at last, his voice low and level, ‘it seems like it would be more humiliating for me than for you. Or at least more revealing. I’m not exactly thrilled that the OB thought I might be some kind of abuser.’

Emma let out a huff of humourless laughter. ‘Yet I’m the one who had to answer all those questions, and who felt like some—some floozy who has lost track of the men she’s slept with.’ Among other things. The pity in the doctor’s eyes when she’d explained about her childhood still made her cringe.

‘Emma, you’re not somefloozy. I know that.’

‘Then why did you insist on the test?’ She lowered her gaze to look at him, anger thankfully taking the place of hurt, so the tears didn’t fall.