Page 39 of Back to Claim His Italian Heir

‘It will be fine,’ he murmured, and she nodded, tilting her chin and throwing back her shoulders, filling him with pride.

‘Right.’

And it was fine, more than fine, Nico realised as they circulated among the guests. Emma was quiet at first, but then someone asked her something, he didn’t even know what, and within minutes she was in an animated conversation with someone about a cooking show, of all things. It made Nico smile.

He looked forward to teasing her about it later.What did you have to be worried about?he’d say, and she would give one of her irrepressible laughs and roll her eyes before he took her to bed...

Yes, he was looking forward to that very much. He stood slightly on the sidelines as Emma continued to chat and circulate, enjoying watching her shine. Loving that she was able to be the woman she’d always been meant to be.

Loving her.

The realisation jolted through him. He’d been telling himself all along that what they had worked because they didn’t love each other, but now he realised what an absurd fantasy that was. Ofcoursehe loved her; what was loving, after all, but doing the things he’d done? Feeling the way he felt? Wanting more for her than he wanted for himself? It wasn’t some ephemeral will o’ the wisp that he could guard against, ward off if he just steeled himself; it was this. Her. Now.

And, he realised as he watched Emma shine, the prospect of loving her, the reality of it, didn’t scare him at all. On the contrary, it filled him with hope—and joy. This was what he wanted. And he would tell her, he vowed, at the first opportunity.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THISWASN’TSOBAD, Emma thought as she sipped her drink and smiled and nodded at her new acquaintance—a woman who was as addicted to the Food Network as she was. Her new friend might be worth millions, have a career as a human rights lawyer and a billionaire entrepreneur as a husband, but when it came to rating the best chefs on television, they were equals. A laugh escaped her at the thought, and she clapped her hand over her mouth before she realised she would smudge her lipstick.

As she lowered her hand, her gaze snagged on Nico’s—he’d stepped back a bit, content, it seemed, simply to watch, although he was about as far from a wallflower as one could get. Now a faint smile quirked his lips and he raised his champagne glass in a silent, approving toast. To her.

How she loved this man, Emma thought, only to freeze, her mouth dropping open, appalled at the thought. The realisation that was thudding through her, because she’d tried so hard not to love him. Not to love anyone.

The woman she’d been chatting to had moved away, and Emma took a few steps to the side of the ballroom, her mind spinning with what she’d inadvertently revealed to her own wary heart.

She loved him.

She’d tried to stop it, resist it in every way, stay safe and smart...but he’d breached her defences anyway. With his kindness. And his tenderness. And his willingness to be vulnerable himself. And, she thought as another laugh bubbled up, his being attractive as all get-out—put together, it was an irresistible combination, and her battered heart hadn’t been able to stand firm.

Still, she felt incredulous that he’d slipped through her defences without her realising. Torn down her barricades without her realising she was basically handing him the bricks. How had this happened, and how had she let it? And more importantly, far more importantly, what would she do now?

Emma knew her instinct was, as it always had been, to walk away. Run, even.

Don’t fail; quit first.

She’d told Nico that had been her unofficial motto, uninspiring as it was, but it was hard not to protect yourself. Not to not want to get hurt. To walk away before someone else did the walking.

And yet...

Did she really want to run away from Nico? Nico, who had shown her so much kindness and passion, tenderness and care? Nico, the father of her child, the guardian of her heart?

No, and that was the scariest thought of all. Shedidn’twant to walk away. She wanted—or least was willing—to risk her heart for once, to take this leap into the terrifying unknown. To let herself be as vulnerable as it was possible to be, by telling him she loved him, that she was choosing to believe in the fairy tale they were creating for themselves, moment by precious, tender moment.

But how? When...?

‘Didn’t you land on your feet?’

The cold, drawling voice had her twanging with tension as Emma slowly turned around. Nico’s cousin, Antonio, stood in front of her, looking every bit as derisively mocking as he had the last time she’d laid eyes on him, at Nico’s memorial service.

She glanced around the ballroom a bit desperately, hoping for Nico to come to her rescue, but even though she’d only seen him seconds ago he’d somehow disappeared. Where had he gone? Why?

‘Hello, Antonio,’ she forced out coolly, doing her best not to let her voice tremble. Chin, tilt. Eyes, flash. Face this man down as who he was, cruel and louche. Nothing like Nico.

Are you sure about that?

‘So how,’ Antonio mused, ‘did you manage to snare him a second time? Was it the brat?’ He nodded, rather crudely, towards her modest bump. ‘Clever, that, especially when he must have been using protection. Nico isn’t stupid, after all.’

Emma straightened, stiffening her spine. ‘I don’t need to talk to you,’ she declared in as firm a voice as she could manage, which, she feared, was not firm enough. Not firm at all.