Nicolo: The Powerful Sicilian

Alessia was back again, this time in a short red dress that clung to every curve.

“Nick? I said, if we can help—”

“No,” Nick said quickly. “No. Thanks, but I don’t need any help. Really, things are going great. I just—I might not be home for a while.”

Silence. Then Dante said, “Okay, let me be blunt. This thing the old man sent you to do… Does it involve some woman?”

“No,” Nick said blithely.

“Because, the thing is, if it does—”

“Whoa. Sorry, guys. The call’s breaking up,” Nick said, and snapped shut the phone.

He hadn’t lied, he told himself as the clerk showed him a handful of silk thongs, not at all. Because this thing, for lack of a better phrase, this thing didn’t involve “some” woman.

It involved one woman. Only one. And when that one woman came out of the dressing room, cheeks rosy with indignation, and told him that the clerk said that the gentleman was paying for everything, for each and every item she’d tried on, and that if he thought she would ever permit him to do that he was crazy—

“I am crazy,” Nick said softly, gathering her into his arms. “Crazy for you.”

Alessia held Nicolo’s hand as they strolled across the Ponte Vecchio, the beautiful antique gold heart he’d just bought at a goldsmith’s shop warm in the hollow of her throat.

She was happy. No. That was too small a word for what she felt. Her heart was full of joy. Of love.

Of what she had discovered about her lover.

That he was good and kind. Generous and compassionate. That he was perfect.

Of course she’d fallen in love with him. What woman wouldn’t? What woman wouldn’t want to be his forever—and yes, she knew she was thinking much, much too far ahead but how could she not imagine that he might love her, too? That he might ask her to be his wife, to bear his—to bear his—

Dio mio!

She could almost feel the blood drain from her head. Her footsteps faltered; she came to a dead stop, heart thumping so loudly she thought it might leap from her breast.

No, she told herself, no! It was impossible!

She should have had her period five days ago.

And she hadn’t. She hadn’t! And she was always, always regular….

“Princess?”

Alessia looked up at her lover. “I—I just realized…” Stop it, she told herself furiously. Stay calm. Somehow, she managed to smile. “I have to stop at a pharmacy.”

He said he would help her find one. She said she knew of a shop nearby. When he started to walk into the place with her, she stopped him.

“I must purchase something—something personal.”

He flashed that devastating grin. Teased her. Said he was old enough not to be shocked at seeing a woman buy personal things. She knew he thought she meant she had to buy tampons. Dio, if only that were so!

Somehow, she made herself smile in return.

“This is Italy,” she said in a teasing tone. “You might not be shocked, signore, but others would be.”

It was a lie, but he could not know it. He rolled his eyes, said okay, he’d wait outside, and then he hauled her to her toes and kissed her on her mouth and she wanted to clutch his shoulders and tell him that she was terrified.

Instead, she went into the pharmacy and bought half a dozen early pregnancy test kits.

At the villa, she told him she needed privacy to try on the things he’d bought her and choose one outfit for dinner on the terrace. He kissed her again, said she could make him a supremely happy man if she let him watch and she clucked her tongue, told him to go away and he rolled his eyes again, kissed her…