Page 9 of Back to Claim His Italian Heir
Well, Felix Trattoria in Venice was the best Italian restaurant in Los Angeles, but he didn’t care what she thought of it—or him—any more. No matter what the nature of their relationship turned out to be, that kind of emotion was definitely off the table.
They didn’t talk for the rest of the short journey to the trattoria in one of LA’s most bohemian and laid-back neighbourhoods, the restaurant just a few blocks from the beach and boardwalk.
After the driver opened their door, Nico helped Emma out of the car and into the restaurant, to the private table he’d already reserved in the back, a quick call made by his driver on the way over.
‘Here we are.’
Emma eyed the table for two set in the secluded alcove askance, and again Nico wondered why she was so reluctant to be in his company. If he’d let himself think about it—and he’d been reeling too much to give it much thought on the twelve-hour plane journey over here—he would have expected her to have some explanation, no matter how absurd, as to why she’d been willing to marry again so quickly. He would have thought she’d try to get him to take her back, crawl on her hands and knees, metaphorically speaking—or maybe not—to get back on the gravy train.
Why wasn’t she? What did he not know or understand that would make this situation make sense? Maybe he needed to start with Will, her erstwhile groom.
‘Did you love him?’ he asked baldly as they sat down, and a discreet waiter laid heavy linen napkins in their laps.
Emma threw him a swift, startled look. ‘Love him...’
‘Your groom.’ He couldn’t make himself say his name.
A small sigh escaped her and she looked down at her lap. ‘No.’
‘So he was just another meal ticket?’
She looked up quickly, her eyes flashing gold at his sneering tone. ‘He wasn’t, as it happens, but is there something wrong with that?’
‘Marrying someone for money? I would say so, yes.’
‘Says someone who has never been hungry.’ She pressed her lips together and picked up the menu, her stony gaze flicking down its offerings.
Nico found himself in the irritating position of having to backtrack slightly. ‘I admit, there is no shame in marrying for money if you are clear that is why you’re doing it,’ he allowed. ‘A marriage of convenience can be a very sensible thing, I’m sure.’ Perhaps they would indeed come to a similar arrangement, in time. ‘But pretending to care when you don’t is reprehensible.’ Feeling as if he’d already revealed too much, he picked up his menu.
‘And that’s what I had with Will,’ Emma told him, her tone turning both quiet and fierce. ‘We were completely honest with each other from the start. I didn’t love him, and he didn’t love me, and that was fine. We were just friends, good friends, and it suited us both.’ She put down her menu. ‘So perhaps you should stop with your assumptions.’
He hadn’t been talking about Will, but that was something he was certainly not going to point out. ‘Have you decided what you’d like to eat?’ he asked instead.
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Emma, don’t be childish.’
‘I’m not being childish,’ she replied, her voice rising. ‘I’m actually not hungry.’ She glanced away. ‘I haven’t had much of an appetite lately, as it happens.’ She bit her lip, as if she regretted saying that much, and his gaze narrowed.
‘More of the flu?’ he surmised as he lowered his menu and sat back, his gaze sweeping slowly over her, noting the rush of colour into her cheeks, the way she wouldn’t look at him. Every sense prickled with suspicion. What was she hiding? ‘Emma?’
A sound escaped her, something between a sigh and a sob. She bowed her head, and the suspicion prickling along the back of his neck sharpened into alarm. Was this the missing piece, the thing he didn’t understand? ‘Emma,’ he said again, this time not a question, but more of a promise, although what he was even promising, he didn’t know.
He leaned across the table, brushing her hand with his own. Her skin was so soft and so cold, and he had a sudden urge to wrap his fingers around her own, draw her to him, imbue her with his warmth. The anger he’d been feeling melted in an instant, replaced by a sudden, deep, pervading concern. ‘Emma, tell me. Are you ill? Seriously, I mean?’ He pictured hospital scenes, shock diagnoses, the secret she’d felt compelled to keep. ‘I can arrange the best medical treatment—’
‘No, I’m not ill,’ she cut across him, ‘not unless you count it as an illness.’ Her voice was small and sad and defeated, but as she finally looked up at him her eyes still contained that old spark. ‘Oh, Nico...the truth is, I’m pregnant.’
CHAPTER FOUR
EMMALETOUTa laugh at the look of utter and complete shock on Nico’s face. It wasn’t remotely funny, of course, but laughter had always been her defence, and, in any case, she didn’t think she’d ever seen him look so blindsided, so completely pole-axed, as if she’d just hit him over the head with a two-by-four. She shook her head, pressing her hand to her mouth.
‘You should see the look on your face,’ she told him, and his look of blatant incredulity morphed into a scowl.
‘I can well imagine,’ he bit out tersely.‘Pregnant.’He shook his head slowly and Emma dropped her hand from her mouth with a sigh. No, not funny at all, especially when he looked far from pleased, just as she’d feared. Why had she told him? And yet how could she not have?
She knew she’d just taken a huge risk, that this could change everything. Nico, in all his arrogance and pride, would be certain to want to call all the shots about her life, her baby’s life. So whyhadshe told him? Because, she supposed, she had a core of honour just as he did, even if he would never believe it of her. And, she acknowledged, because she’d never known her father, and she was reluctant to have her baby not know theirs. And yet...what if that would have been the better choice? The safer one?
Telling him she was pregnant might have been just about the stupidest thing she’d ever done, and yet she couldn’t quite make herself regret it.