Page 38 of Back to Claim His Italian Heir
She tried her best to banish that mocking inner voice and give Nico a smile of gratitude, which he surely deserved. ‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you.’
His lips twitched. ‘Why do I think you had to force yourself to say that?’
He knew her too well, already. ‘I’m just not used to any of this,’ Emma replied, something of an apology.
He touched her cheek, his smile turning tender, making her eyes sting. No, she really wasn’t used to any of this. ‘Then this will help you become accustomed,’ he told her gently, ‘which you’d better—this is the rest of your life, Signora Santini.’
Was that a promise? Emma smiled and tried to believe it, but even as Nico leaned over to kiss her, she knew she couldn’t. Not entirely. Life had taught her differently, too many times already.
Nico glanced in the mirror as he twitched the bow tie of his tuxedo, a frown settling between his brows. As much as he’d told Emma he was looking forward to this return to civilisation, the truth was he would have rather stayed on the island, alone with her, lost in a wonderful world of their own making—both in bed and out of it.
As much as he’d enjoyed the earthly delights they’d shared, he’d also found a surprising sweetness in simply spending time with her, whether it was walking, chatting, laughing, or cooking together; he’d jokingly referred to himself as her sous chef, happy to chop or grate while she studied the recipes she was trying with an endearing intensity. He’d loved watching her come alive—the excitement and enthusiasm that brightened her eyes and curved her mouth, the deep laugh that gurgled up when he teased her, far more genuine, he realised, than anything he’d heard from her before. She’d blossomed these last four weeks, he believed, and he was both glad and grateful.
He’d had his own kind of flowering as well, Nico knew, or at least a certain sort of unbending. After being a workaholic for most of his adult life, eschewing serious relationships in order to win his father’s approval, he had, for the last four weeks, put his working life more or less on hold in order to spend time with Emma. He’d done the minimum to keep the current business deals with Santini Enterprises going; after his being away for the months after the crash, his father and Antonio had both easily got used to working without him, and Nico found that he actually didn’t mind. He had his own private business interests to consider, as well; the investments he’d made with his own money that would, one day he hoped, provide the foundation for an independent business, separate from his family, his past.
After Emma had asked him on the plane what he’d really like to do if he had a choice, he’d realised that of course hedidhave a choice. His father’s lack of love and fidelity gave him a freedom he hadn’t fully appreciated before, but he realised now that he had no need to stay with Santini Enterprises, that he did not owe his father, or his father’s business, any loyalty...
It gave him room to think. To dream, in a way he never had before.
But even with those intriguing possibilities on the horizon, he wanted to focus on Emma, and the life they were building together. The appointment at the OB yesterday afternoon had been as different in every way from the last one as Nico ever could have hoped; he’d sat in on it, for a start, and the doctor had been encouraging about Emma’s weight gains and increased iron levels. Best of all, they’d seen the baby kicking and moving on the scan—a truly wondrous sight. He had the printout in his breast pocket; he didn’t think he’d ever tire of looking at that blurry form, their baby. Everything had looked healthy and hopeful, and for that Nico was incredibly grateful. No matter what troubles and tragedies surrounded their separate pasts, Emma and his child were the future. Their future.
Smiling at the thought, he went in search of Emma. He found her in the drawing room downstairs, gazing out of the long, sashed window at the view of St Peter’s Square. She turned as he approached, and his breath caught in his chest at the sheer loveliness of her. She had, despite her nervousness, enjoyed the beauty treatments—or at least she’d said she had—and the result was that she now looked utterly luminous. Her hair was piled loosely on top of her head, and her skin, dusted with bronzer, glowed with both beauty and health. She lowered her gaze as he walked towards her, a faint blush touching her cheeks.
‘I feel like Cinderella,’ she told him. ‘After the fairy godmother did her “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo” bit.’
‘You look like Athena,’ Nico replied as he walked across the room and took her hands in his. ‘Utterly stunning.’ The gown she’d chosen, one of a dozen he’d had ferried over, was an off-the-shoulder piece in bronze satin, its draped folds lovingly nestling her small bump before flaring out around her calves and ankles. ‘But there is one thing missing.’
She glanced up at him, amber eyes glowing like embers underneath her dark lashes. ‘Missing...?’
‘These.’ He withdrew a pair of diamond chandelier earrings from his pocket, the stones sparkling in the light; he’d seen them at a jeweller’s yesterday and thought they were perfect.
Emma’s eyes widened as she took in the magnificent earrings. ‘Tell me those are fake.’
‘Fake?’ Nico raised his eyebrows, smiling. ‘You insult me.’
‘I can’t...’
‘You can.’ Sometimes he wondered how he could have ever thought she’d only wanted his money. She hardly seemed to use it, always protesting when he lavished her with gifts—clothes, jewellery, anything. Now he helped fasten the earrings, letting his fingers linger on the delicate lobes of her ears.
‘You look beautiful.’
‘I’m scared I’ll do something stupid,’ Emma blurted. ‘Trip or say something silly... I don’t even know.’
‘All I want,’ Nico assured her, ‘is for you to be yourself.’
She shook her head slowly, the earrings nearly brushing her shoulders, her gaze wide and a little panicked. ‘This isn’t my world, Nico.’
‘And I’m glad of it. I like you just as you are, Emma. I don’t want you to be some fawning fashionista or boring socialite, whatever it is you have in your head that you think I’m expecting. I want you to be you.’ Because, he knew, he was starting to care—very much—about theyoushe was. If only Emma would let him. Would believe him.
At his words, her lips trembled and her eyes filled. ‘I suppose I have trouble believing that,’ she told him shakily, ‘because no one has ever wanted me to be me before.’
Gently Nico drew her into a hug, resting his chin on top of her head as she pressed her cheek against him. ‘We’ve both had to overcome issues around trust,’ he said. Heaven knew he’d had his own. ‘But you can believe me, I promise.’
‘I know that, really.’ With her smile still seeming shaky, she eased out of his embrace. ‘I don’t want to get make-up on your jacket,’ she explained as she turned away. ‘And we shouldn’t be late.’
‘No,’ Nico agreed, although he wished he felt more confident that he’d convinced her. He had so much more to say, to proclaim, yet he knew now was not the right time.
Twenty minutes later they were stepping into the ballroom of one of Rome’s grandest hotels, its floor-to-ceiling windows providing a panoramic view of the city, its elegant confines filled with well-dressed guests. Next to him Emma took a gulping sort of breath and Nico turned to give her a reassuring smile, but she wasn’t looking at him.