The Italian's Doorstep Surprise

But the next morning, Honora had been tired but shyly happy as she accompanied Patrick to work at the penthouse. She’d wondered how Nico would greet her, if he’d take her in his arms and immediately make his claim. She dreamed about him telling her grandfather straight out that they were in love, about him asking for her grandfather’s permission to court her. It had been a delicious fantasy.

But Nico hadn’t been there. The housekeeper, Janet, had crisply informed them that their boss had already left for Rome, with no immediate plans to return.

Honora had felt like a fool. How could she have ever dared hope that she’d meant anything to him at all?

But yesterday, Nico had asked her to marry him. He wanted her. And she’d refused him. Her brain, her heart couldn’t quite believe it.

She slept hard, in a dreamless sleep, and even when she woke, she felt like she was in a strange dream all day. She showered and put on sandals and a knit purple sundress with spaghetti straps. She went to the courthouse with Nico, who was wearing a white shirt and dark trousers. He drove the Bentley himself, since Benny Rossini had been suddenly and inexplicably transferred to another job.

She watched her grandfather, grinning and obviously beside himself with joy in his coat and tie, speaking marriage vows in front of a judge, before he kissed his new bride, who was wearing a simple white dress. Nico insisted on taking them all out for a late lunch, and then drove them to the docks to board their cruise ship.

Her grandfather seemed to shi

ne with some brilliant inner light. Was that what love was? Should Honora hold out for the thing that everyone said made life worthwhile?

Or was it all just an illusion, as Nico had said? She thought of his mother and love that promised to last forever but swiftly died. Even her own parents, hadn’t they both believed, at least when they were dating, that they were in love?

“Do you want me to take you home?” Nico asked quietly as he drove her away from the docks.

She thought of the small Queens apartment. Somehow it no longer felt like home. Even with it empty, she would feel like an interloper in a space that now belonged to the married couple.

“No,” she said in a low voice. She looked at him. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

Nico’s dark eyes widened but he didn’t ask questions, only stepped on the gas.

When they arrived back at the penthouse, it was just past sunset. Honora went straight out to the terrace garden.

Outside, the rising moon traced lines of silver over the ivy climbing the walls of the garden, and lights dangled from every trellis, making it look like a fairyland.

She took a deep breath of the cooling air, breathing in the scent of honeysuckle, rose, gardenia. After so many hours spent here, this garden had always felt like home, even more than the tiny Queens walk-up apartment. It was her home. Her heart.

Which suddenly felt like it was breaking.

“Honora.” Nico’s voice was husky behind her. “What is it?”

She turned to face him, fighting back tears. “I don’t want you to have your own nursery.”

Nico came closer, towering over her, making her feel petite and feminine by comparison. He started to reach for her, then stopped himself, dropping his hands. “This pregnancy wasn’t planned, by either of us,” he said quietly. “But maybe it’s fate. The start of something wonderful, for both of us. You know I want to be our baby’s father, Honora. I want to be your husband.” Looking down at her without touching, he whispered, “Whatever your dreams are, let me try to make them come true.”

Honora’s heart was pounding as she looked up at him.

Nico was so handsome, so broad-shouldered and powerful, standing in the rooftop garden in the moonlight. It seemed like a scene out of a movie, in which he’d start suddenly waltzing with her beneath the sea of lights sparkling in the velvety black sky with the glass and steel skyscrapers all around them.

Whatever your dreams are, let me try to make them come true.

But her greatest dream had always been to be loved.

“I don’t want to feel like a burden. Never again...”

“A burden?” He looked incredulous. “Are you insane? Don’t you understand how much I want you?”

“Because of the baby...”

“You’re right. What do I know about children? I need you to teach me how to be the parent I want to be. But it’s more than that. I like you, Honora. I respect you. I want you as my partner. My friend. I want you at my side.” He whispered, “I want you in my bed.”

She wanted all those things, too. But if it meant she’d never be loved, would the exchange be worth it?

Was it possible that Nico was right? That the dream Honora had hungered for all her life—love—was at best a passing emotion and at worst a manipulation?