Page 41 of Back to Claim His Italian Heir
His cousin’s sardonic tone gave him pause, and again, more unrelentingly than ever, he felt that odd, tickling sensation at the back of his head, as if everything would make sense if he could justremember...
‘Nico?’ Antonio frowned, his eyes narrowing. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘I...’
A memory was slamming into him as he stared at his cousin.
The pilot of the plane, a panicked look on his face, a parachute on his back.‘I’m sorry, signor.’
Him, alone in the sabotaged plane, no parachute, no idea what to do. The fuel had been let out of the tank...he was flying low over the ocean...
He blinked Antonio back into focus. ‘Sorry,’ he said stiffly. ‘I just...’ He could think of no excuse. ‘I’ll see you next week.’
Antonio nodded tersely and Nico strode away, his mind reeling.Antonio...Could it be possible? Was he remembering things correctly? Antonio, his own cousin, had arranged the accident, hired the pilot to sabotage the plane? Had tried tokillhim?
‘Nico?’ Emma’s soft voice startled him out of his spinning thoughts. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes.’ He bit the word off tersely; he could not tell her his concerns—his fears—now. He would not burden her with them, not until he was sure he could trust his memories, not until he knew what to do—and did it. Of this he would be in control. Completely.
They rode in silence back to his town house, Nico barely aware of Emma sitting so quietly next to him, her face turned to the window. When they arrived back home, Emma murmured something about having a bath, and Nico nodded his approval before closeting himself in his study to make some much-needed calls.
Two hours later, he was staring out at the dark night, his face cast into stark relief by a pale sliver of moonlight as the truth thudded through him. This, he realised, changed everything.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ITHADBEENtwo days since they’d returned from Rome via Nico’s yacht, and what a miserable two days it had been. The journey had been as swift as possible, and Nico had claimed he had pressing business to attend to, leaving Emma alone. Since their return she had moped around the villa while Nico had made himself scarce in his study, intensely occupied, almost seeming to avoid her. No, she realised, bleakly, not almost. Definitely.
He’d skipped dinner both nights, even though she’d made something specially, and come to bed late, after she’d fallen into a restless, unhappy sleep. When she’d dared to ask him if everything was all right, he’d assured her it was—while not meeting her eye. They’d barely spoken since the gala, and Emma was afraid she knew why.
He’d tired of her, just as she always knew he would. And why wouldn’t he, when she obviously hadn’t managed the gala very well? She’d seen him talking to Antonio right before they’d left—had his cousin been dripping yet more poison into his ear? Poison that had obviously convinced Nico, since he was determined to keep her at arm’s length.
Yet what could she do about any of it? In the past, Emma would have cut and run. She’d long ago learned not to wait around to be given the boot. Leave before someone made you, that had been hermodus operandi, and it was her instinct to do the same now—an instinct she resisted.
She’dchanged, hadn’t she? She’d learned and grown and fallen in love. It seemed almost absurd that she’d realised she loved Nico just as he was realising the opposite about her, and yet even now, when her heart felt as if it were being rent in two, Emma knew it was true. She loved him. And if she truly loved him, she wouldn’t run away as soon as things got a little dicey. A little tough.
No, what she’d do instead was confront him. Tell him how she felt. The prospect, which had already been terrifying, felt even more so in light of Nico’s coolness towards her, and yet perhaps that made it all the more necessary. She’d stand her ground this time, Emma told herself even as she quaked at the thought. She’d fight for the hope of their family, of them. For love.
It took another endless, miserable day of Nico avoiding her before she managed to tiptoe up to the door of his study where he’d been closeted since early that morning, hand poised to knock. Her heart was thundering in her chest but before she summoned the courage to tap at the door, she heard Nico’s voice. He must be talking on the phone, she realised.
‘I want it done immediately,’ he said, sounding more tersely clipped than she had ever heard him before. ‘Immediately, do you understand? Absolutely no delays.’
No delays towhat? Her hand hovered by the door as she strained to hear.
‘Emma?’ The surprise in Nico’s voice made her tense. ‘No, absolutely not. Absolutelynot.’
Emma stumbled back as his words reverberated through her—the same words she’d heard a lifetime ago, when she’d been only ten years old, listening at the door of the kitchen as her foster mum had spoken on the phone to her care worker. Back then Emma had felt as if her heart had broken, but it was nothing to how she felt now.Shattered.Completely and utterly shattered, her heart nothing more than a handful of broken bits.
Blindly, without even knowing where she was going, she whirled around. Headed up to her bedroom and pulled out a duffel bag from the cupboard, started stuffing things into it. None of the clothes Nico had bought her, no, she’d take nothing of his. Just her own things, shabby as they were.
You’re back where you started, Emma, are you really surprised?
Yes, she was, and that was the hardest thing. She’d given up on her own principles of staying smart and safe by falling in love—and look where it had landed her.
Dashing the tears from her eyes with an angry hand, she hurried out of the bedroom, and then slipped down the stairs and out of the front door. As she’d packed, she’d considered her plan—how to get off this island without Nico knowing, because she knew she couldn’t bear to face him. Whether it was pity or contempt, she didn’t want to see it on his face. She just wanted to go.
She’d get the groundskeeper, Maria’s husband, Stefano, to take her in Nico’s boat—not the yacht they’d taken to Rome, but the little motorboat he used to get supplies from Capri or the mainland. She’d come up with an excuse, or maybe she’d just beg, but somehow she’d get away.
Of course, it wasn’t as easy as that. First she had to find Stefano, who was in the gardens, and then stammer out some story about how she wanted to go to Naples for some ingredients for dinner, and would Stefano take her? She knew it was at least an hour’s trip, and before she’d finished her plea Stefano was frowning and shaking his head.