Page 37 of Back to Claim His Italian Heir

She’d never been to that kind of high-profile event before; in their first month-long relationship, she and Nico had kept to hotels and private restaurants, seeing no one. She’d never had to wear a fancy dress, or mingle with important guests, or act as though she fitted in when she never had before. Why did she think she would be able to now? Why did Nico?

Just thinking about it all made her feel as if an icy pit had opened in her stomach, hollowed her right out. On the island, away from reality, she’d been able—mostly—to keep her old insecurities at bay. Now, as Rome drew ever nearer, they rose in full, clamouring force.

She was a fraud. Nico couldn’t possibly want to spend the rest of his life with her. He’d walk away from her, just as everyone else she’d ever cared about had, when he realised what a dud she was.

Not that she wanted to admit any of that to Nico. And not, she knew, that he would give it any credence. But what Nico felt about her away from the rest of the world was surely different from when he had to parade her in public. She’d never been on the kind of display that she would be at this gala, and she was afraid—deeply so—that she wouldn’t be up to the challenge. And even more worryingly, that Nico would see that—and agree. Tomorrow night felt like a test, and one she was desperately afraid she would fail.

The last four weeks had been, Emma acknowledged with a pang of nostalgia for what already felt in the past, incredible. It was the same amount of time she’d spent with Nico before the crash, but this time had been, she knew, different in every way. Their previous relationship had been, she realised now, nothing more than a figment, a fantasy, little more than snatched moments in bed in between Nico working, with her always waiting for him to tire of her and the whole thing to end. She’d never shared herself with him, not truly, and he hadn’t with her. In comparison, the weeks they’d shared on the island had felt real and total.

They’d spent hours talking, chatting, laughing, sharing, as they’d explored the island, lounged in the garden, or swum in the sea; in the evenings they’d read books, or watched movies, or, more often than not, gone to bed where the pleasures there had continued unabated and deeper and more wonderful still.

Nico had taught her to play chess, and after the first week, Emma had worked up her courage to experiment in the kitchen, whipping up various meals. Nico had delighted in making sure she had whatever ingredients she required for the recipes she wanted to try, whether it was black truffles from France or sun-dried tomatoes from a farm in Sicily.

It had been fun and even exciting to make the meals they ate together, a form of caring that felt practical, tangible, a way to show him she cared without having to admit it to him—or even herself. And while it was true that not every meal had been a roaring success, Nico hadn’t minded, and neither had she, both of them able to laugh at the unmitigated disaster that had been a very crisp sea bass with far too much lemon and garlic. Emma had been glad to return to her love of cooking, yet another avenue of her life that she’d turned away from, all because she’d been afraid to fail.

She’d learned a lot about herself over the last few weeks, and while it had been good, it had also been uncomfortable. Painful, even, to realise her own flaws and failures. In getting to know Nico, and having him get to know her, she’d begun to see the patterns she’d fallen into both as a child and an adult, mainly to guard her own heart. She’d never truly tried at anything, she’d realised, because she’d been so afraid to fail, both with relationships and in life, and she hoped she could be different now. She knew, with Nico, she wanted to be. She just didn’t know whether wanting, or even trying, would be enough.

‘Enjoying the sun?’ Nico asked as he strolled onto the deck from the yacht’s main cabin. He was dressed in loose trousers and a white open-neck shirt that made his skin look even more deeply bronzed. The weeks in the sun had only made him more beautiful, his eyes like bits of jade in his tanned face, his white teeth gleaming, and his hair as black as ever.

‘I am,’ Emma replied, shading her eyes with her hand. She enjoyed seeing him looking so relaxed, so far from the tense, suspicious man who had strode into her wedding. These weeks, she hoped, had been as healing for him as they had been for her. ‘How long until we get to Civitavecchia?’

‘Another hour, I think.’ He smiled wryly as he sat on the deck chair next to her. ‘Don’t look so thrilled,’ he teased.

‘I’m nervous,’ Emma admitted, although that wasn’t even the half of it.

‘About seeing my cousin? Trust me, I fully intend to have words with him about how you were treated.’

‘I don’t want you to fall out with your family,’ Emma protested, and Nico shook his head.

‘That, I’m afraid, has already happened. Things were tense with Antonio before you even came onto the scene.’

‘Well, in any case, it’s not that. At least not just that.’

Nico frowned. ‘What, then?’

How could she explain it to him? Emma wondered helplessly. How could she make him understand her fear that once they were out in the real world, it would be different? That he would be different, that she would. And the relationship they’d been building would fall apart. Again.

‘Whatever it is, Emma,’ Nico said, reaching for her hand, ‘we’ll deal with it... Together.’ His smile turned playful as he squeezed her fingers. ‘And I hope we’ll have fun while we’re at it. After a month on a remote island, aren’t you looking forward at least a little to getting back to civilisation?’

Emma managed a half-hearted smile back. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said, although the truth was she’d have been happy to stay tucked away in their own private idyll for ever. But beyond the charity gala, she also had a doctor’s appointment and another scan this afternoon, and so the city—and real life—beckoned, whether she was ready for it or not. Whether they were.

An hour later, having changed into a simple tunic-style dress that left room for her ever-expanding bump, Emma disembarked from the yacht with Nico, to the SUV waiting to drive them into Rome for her appointment and scan that afternoon. A week of sun, sleep and good food, as well as plenty of prenatal vitamins and iron had, she hoped, put her back on the road to health both in terms of her weight and her anaemia. She hoped she wouldn’t disappoint Nico in that regard, even if tomorrow night’s gala turned out to be a disaster.

‘I’ve arranged for you to have some beauty treatments tomorrow,’ Nico told her as they drove through the city, a mix of modern buildings, ancient ruins, and pleasant piazzas.

Emma stiffened slightly, although she tried not to show her alarm at such a seemingly innocuous suggestion. ‘You have?’

‘Yes, I thought you’d enjoy them.’ He glanced at her, bemused. Clearly she wasn’t doing a good enough job hiding her unease. ‘Most women do, don’t they? Hair, nails, facials, that sort of thing? I thought it would be a treat for you.’

‘Yes, I suppose.’ What else could she say? He’d already told her there would be an array of gowns to choose from, brought directly to the hotel, for the gala. She knew she should revel in playing Cinderella for a day, fairy godmother included, but she only felt afraid. Yet another test to try to pass, to fail.

During their whirlwind relationship, she’d always been expecting it to end; even after they married, Emma had wondered how long their relationship could really last. She hadn’t let herself get invested, but now, she knew, it was too late.

She might not love Nico—and that was simply because she wouldn’t let herself—but she still cared. Too much. She knew she’d be hurt—devastated, frankly—if he changed his mind about her after seeing her fail here in Rome.

And hasn’t everyone changed their mind about you?

Why would Nico—rich, powerful, attractive,amazingNico—be any different?