The Italian's Doorstep Surprise

“Our daughter!” He drew back, his expression shocked. “I would never do anything to hurt her!”

Honora took a deep breath, fighting to be reasonable and kind when she felt so hurt. “If that’s true, you can still be her father.”

“Big of you,” he said, sneering.

“I’ll make sure she knows you never abandoned her. You can visit her anytime you like. I’ll wait until after she’s born before I start divorce proceedings.”

Nico’s voice caught. “Divorce?”

She looked at him quickly. His darkly handsome face was as inscrutable as ever. She must have imagined emotion in his voice. He would never feel anyth

ing, certainly not hurt, let alone despair.

“I won’t ask for alimony. I’ll take all the blame,” she said. “She’ll live with me, but legally, we’ll share custody. As long as you’re good to her. And don’t turn her into your enemy, and try to punish her, or push her utterly out of your life any time she disappoints you.”

“You really think I would do that?” he whispered.

Honora took a deep breath, blinking back tears.

“It’s what you do,” she said.

Turning, she left the ballroom. She was proud of herself that she didn’t fall apart, but walked away steadily, without looking back. Pride was all she had to hold on to, and a quiet, desperate hope that someday, somehow, she might climb out of this misery.

I have to stand up for what is right, she repeated to herself desperately, her hands clenched. To truly love my daughter, I also have to love myself.

But it was hard for her to even imagine ever being happy, as she left the only man she’d ever loved behind, in the dark, forlorn ballroom where, just hours before, she’d thought they had a future ahead of them of limitless joy.

* * *

Nico had never imagined she’d just leave.

The villa was dark as he stood in the ballroom. A few minutes later, he heard her final footsteps and the slam of the front door. It crossed his mind to worry about how she would travel, whether she’d be safe. He paced, then called his security chief, who was staying in the carriage house. “My wife is heading for the garage. Take her anywhere she wants to go. Wake the pilot if necessary. Just go with her, Frank. Keep her safe.”

But as Nico hung up, his lips twisted bitterly. Why was he worried about her? In the short month that they’d lived here, Honora had made friends everywhere, both inside this house and in the surrounding villages. She would be safe. Everyone loved Honora, because she loved everyone first.

And she’d said she loved him. He’d thought he could trust her, that their marriage would last through anger and arguments and pain. He’d never imagined she’d just...disappear.

Or maybe he had. Nico took a deep breath. Some part of him, deep inside, had always been afraid to fully trust her. He’d known he’d always be on the outside, even of his own family.

Nico carefully set down the glass of Scotch. He’d drunk very little—it had been mostly for show, to prove to her that he could defy her, too. Perhaps to prove it to them both, after the way she’d humiliated him in front of their guests.

I was trying to help you. I wanted you to forgive your stepmother, and your father too, so you wouldn’t be so angry all the time. I thought if I could heal your heart, then maybe you could love us. The baby and me.

Feeling numb, he pushed the thought away. He slowly walked through the wreckage of the ballroom, with the mess of food, dropped napkins, used plates, colorful confetti and the pile of brightly wrapped wedding gifts. Gifts. How he hated gifts! As if an emerald necklace could ever make a difference, could make her stay!

Grabbing one wedding present wrapped in silvery sparkly paper with a big bow, he turned and smashed it against the wall. Whatever was inside broke into a thousand chiming shards, like crystal.

It didn’t make him feel better. Neither did the early phone call he got a few hours later, as he was trying and failing to sleep in the big bed alone.

“I just got a phone call from Egidia Caracciola’s lawyer,” his head lawyer told him happily. “I don’t know what you did, but she apparently left him a message late last night, as she was leaving your party. She’ll be coming into his office this afternoon to sign the papers, transferring the Villa Caracciola to you, free and clear. She’s not even asking for payment.”

“Pay her the full market value,” Nico said tightly.

“But it’s not necessary—”

“Do it,” he said, and hung up.

Dawn was rising over the eastern horizon, soft and pink. Nico felt restless, trapped in the villa, especially as the villa’s staff began arriving to tidy up from the night before.