The Italian's Doorstep Surprise

Nico’s head turned, and she saw his sudden scowl, edged with silver light. “What do you mean? Of course it was. You’re the one who invited her here.”

Honora shook her head, lost in her own realization. “My parents made mistakes. They did the best they could. But I was never to blame. I was just a baby.” She looked down, her hand resting protectively on her own unborn child. “I’ll never do that to you,” she whispered. “Never.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She looked at him in wonder. “My whole life, I’ve felt like I didn’t deserve to be happy, or speak out for the things I wanted.” She shook her head. “You helped me learn to stand up for myself.”

“And you turned against me.”

“I was never against you, Nico,” she said quietly. “I’m always on your side, even now, though you can’t see it. I love you.” She looked down. “But you’ll never love me back.”

Nico’s posture changed. His dark eyes looked haunted.

“Love was never part of our arrangement,” he said in a low voice. “But I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought if I romanced you, with passion and gifts—”

She gave him a sad smile. “I know.”

He set his jaw. “But trust, watching each other’s back—that’s what I expected in our marriage. And you couldn’t even uphold your end of the bargain. That’s what your so-called love is good for.”

Standing in the ballroom of this elegant Italian villa, pregnant with a much-desired child, married to a handsome billionaire and draped in jewels, Honora had never felt so sad and alone.

She thought of how her mother had loved her, so much that Bridget had given up her own chance for happiness, for her child’s sake.

What would have happened if her mother had left her father that night for good, and never gone back? Could Bridget have learned to be happy? Could her father have cleaned up his act? Would they both still be alive today—blessed to live long enough to learn to do better?

Honora suddenly saw her choice clearly.

Would she stay with a man who considered her an enemy if she said he’d made a mistake? Would she teach her daughter to feel like a burden? Teach her that families should be filled with anger and blame, rather than forgiveness and love? Teach her that wives stayed and put up with misery, no matter what?

No, she thought. No.

“You have no love in your heart,” she whispered. “Not for me. Not for anyone. No love. No forgiveness. Nothing.”

“It’s who I am,” he said coldly. “You knew that when you married me.”

“But I thought—” She took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t live like this anymore.”

His mouth fell open. He quickly recovered. “You can’t leave. Under the terms of the prenup, you’ll get almost nothing.”

“You think I care about that?” she choked out.

“Everyone cares about money, no matter what they say.” His dark eyes glittered. “Money is power, and power is everything.”

She gave a laugh that was more like a sob. “Money? Power? It’s love that matters, Nico. Loving your family, but also loving yourself. It’s about being kind and helping each other. Because living can be hard, and everyone has secret bruises and broken hearts they try to hide.”

Nico looked at her coldly. “I don’t.”

Honora stared at him. The pain in her throat felt radioactive. “I realize that now. Nothing I can do will help you or heal you. Because you don’t want to be helped. You don’t want to be healed.”

His dark eyebrows lowered. He walked toward her, and his handsome face came fully into the moonlight. He looked younger than he was. His expression seemed strangely lost.

“You can’t leave.” His voice was uncertain.

“I have to,” she whispered, “or you’ll drag me into your darkness. Drag all of us.”

Stiffening, he glared at her. “Just because I protect myself and don’t forgive my enemies. Just because I seek justice. Just because I’m angry you went behind my back and—”

She held up her hand, stopping him midtirade. She felt tired and so, so sad. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done it. But I can’t let you ruin my life—and our daughter’s.”