The Italian's Doorstep Surprise

Dialing a number, Nico told his assistant to charter a jet to New York immediately. After he hung up, he stared at the phone, trying to work up the nerve to call Honora. He yearned to tell her everything. To throw himself on her mercy and beg for another chance.

But what if she said no? What if she said he’d hurt her so badly that she couldn’t love him again? His hand shook as he hesitated. Being in love was terrifying. She held his life in her hands.

I hope you fall in love with her, Nico. Wildly and desperately. Lana Lee’s vindictive words floated back to him. And I hope you’ll suffer for the rest of your life when she never, ever loves you back.

His phone suddenly rang in his palm, making him jump. The number on screen belonged to Honora’s grandfather, Patrick. He snatched it to his ear.

His former gardener’s voice was terse. “Honora’s in labor. We’re at the hospital. She wanted me to let you know. And to tell you that everything is fine.”

Even now, Honora was worried about his feelings? His heart was pounding. “Is everything fine?”

Silence fell at the other end, then the old man said, “Look, I don’t know what you did to her... She says she doesn’t want you here.” He paused. “But you should come.”

“Why are you telling me that? Going against her wishes?”

“Because, well, damn it, you’re family.”

And he hung up.

Nico stared at the dead phone in his hand.

You’re family.

Those simple words cleared out the cobwebs of his mind, exploding the stone walls around his heart, making everything very clear.

Honora was in labor with his baby. Possibly too early. Possibly dangerously so. Terror looped through him.

Grabbing his passport and wallet, Nico ran to the garage. Jumping into the closest car, he started it with a roar, pressing on the gas, heading to the airport where the charter waited, praying he wasn’t too late.

Whatever happened, he had to be there. To take care of them. To show them he lived for them. That he’d die for them.

He loved them.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

IT WAS TOO early for labor. Three weeks too early.

Honora’s heart was pounding erratically as she sat in the hospital bed in Queens, in counterpoint to the rat-a-tat of her grandfather’s leather soles as he paced by the window. No matter how many times the doctor and nurses had reassured her that her baby’s heartbeat seemed healthy and strong, and that the labor hadn’t been caused by anything she’d done, she was scared.

She’d been on Nico’s private plane crossing the Atlantic when she’d first felt contractions. Could the elevation change or pressurized cabin have somehow set off labor? Or had it been caused by the anguish of leaving the only man she’d ever loved?

“Please, baby,” she whispered, her hand on her belly. “Please be all right.”

“Don’t you worry,” Granddad said gruffly, stopping his pacing. “Everything is going to be fine.”

She felt a catch in her throat. “What if it’s not?”

“Your doctor seems like a pretty smart lady, and she said babies come early all the time.” He gave a rueful smile. “They say the baby’s lungs should be fine, and if there’s any problem, they can scoop her up and take her straight to the NICU... Aw, Honora! Don’t do that!”

She’d burst into tears. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he patted her hand. “It’ll be all right...you’ll see.”

“But it’s my fault...”

He looked astonished. “How?”

Honora looked up at him miserably. “I have been too upset. I’ve been crying for hours—and I was on a plane. I should have known better. After everything Mom and Dad went through, I shouldn’t have married him when I knew he couldn’t love me!”

“Stop right there.” His hand tightened over hers. “If anyone’s to blame for your parents’ marriage, it was me. I shamed your mother into marrying him, and hoped he’d grow into his responsibility. But it didn’t turn out, though they both tried. And then—” he blinked fast “—I did the same to you. Hauling my hunting rifle over to Nico’s beach house like an old fool.”