The Italian's Doorstep Surprise

“Tell me.”

“I had...some problems. I hadn’t been sleeping, and I took pills for a...bad headache. Janet—” that was the penthouse’s housekeeper “—found me collapsed on the hallway floor the next morning and called an ambulance,” he said bluntly. “You didn’t know?”

She shook her head, wide-eyed.

“Good.” He was relieved his housekeeper was discreet and not spreading rumors. He felt foolish enough to imagine himself insensate and drooling on the floor when she’d discovered him. It was horrible to imagine he’d made a fool of himself in front of Honora, slurring his words or stumbling around. “I didn’t seem...off to you on Christmas Day?”

“You did seem a little...different. You had some bruises, but you laughed it off and said it was just from boxing in the gym.”

So he’d told her that much. “It was.”

“I knew you’d broken up with your fiancée the day before.” She looked at her hands. “I thought I was so lucky, like you’d suddenly realized I was the one you’d wanted all that time.” She looked up. “But I was just a booty call, wasn’t I? No, worse, I was a booty delivery—I just happened to be there.”

It hadn’t been breaking up with Lana that had crushed him, but losing the dream of revenge that had poured rocket fuel on his whole life. But he could hardly explain, since only one other living person even knew that Prince Arnaldo Caracciola was his biological father. “I’m sorry.”

It was the second time he’d said that to her. It was starting to become a habit.

“Me too.” Her eyes met his. “I was so sure I loved you. Then, when you disappeared and never even bothered to contact me again, I realized I’d loved a dream.”

Nico hated imagining that he’d caused her pain. He didn’t know her very well, but the more he knew, the more he thought that she was like her name: honorable. And also loving and kind. Perhaps too much of those things—because how could she ever have looked at Nico, with his tattered soul and empty heart, and imagined in her innocence that she saw something worthy of love?

“Honora,” he said in a low voice, “you must know I never meant to—”

He stopped as the butler came in with a mug on a tray.

“Your tea with milk, madam.” He sounded faintly disapproving. “We had to send out for organic milk.”

Honora’s cheeks turned rosy. “I never asked for—” But when the butler continued to hold out the tray, she took the mug with a sigh. “Thank you. I’m sorry I was so much trouble.”

“My pleasure, madam.” The butler turned toward Nico. “Anything else, sir?”

“No, nothing,” he said coolly, not even looking at him.

After the butler left, she took a small exploratory sip. She looked very cozy on the sofa in the flickering shadows of firelight. Still holding his barely tasted Scotch, he went to sit beside her, a little closer than he’d been before.

After another sip of tea, she looked at him. “It’s not bad.” She tilted her head. “You aren’t very worried about your employees’ feelings though, are you?”

“What?” Frowning, he said, “They should be worried about mine. It seems ridiculous that we’d be out of milk and chocolate, even if I arrived with no warning.”

“Do you usually require organic milk and cocoa powder?”

“No, I never touch the stuff.” Her lips lifted on the edges, and he realized her point. So he changed the subject. “I didn’t like Sebastian’s tone with you.”

“Since your bodyguards didn’t shoot Granddad, I’m happy for your staff to talk in any tone they want.” She tilted her head. “Two bodyguards? Is that really necessary? Is there so much crime in the Hamptons?”

“Any self-made man makes enemies,” he said shortly. He didn’t want to talk about his employees. He moved toward her on the sofa. “So is that why you don’t want to marry me? Because I hurt you when I ignored your messages in Rome? I told you, I had no idea—”

“It’s not just that,” she said in a small voice. Looking down at the mug in her hands, she bit her full, tender pink lower lip. “You’re very rich, Nico,” she said finally. “Incredibly powerful. And as handsome as the devil himself.”

He knew she didn’t mean it as a compliment. “But?”

She looked up. “A relationship has to be more. There has to be respect on both sides. Trust.”

“And you think you can’t trust me.”

Honora shook her head. “We have nothing in common.”

He looked at her baby bump.