‘Are you sure?’ she asked him.
He nodded, although his throat moved in a hard swallow. ‘Yes, it’s time to tell him.’
As they reached the stairs, she glanced at him and was shocked to see that, for the first time since she’d known him, Romeo looked nervous. Vulnerable.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked as they descended the stairs and headed towards the kitchen, where Lucca could be heard chattering away to Mahina and Emily.
Romeo gave a strangled laugh. ‘It’s not every day I tell an almost-four-year-old boy I’m his papà.’
Her hand closed on his and drew him to a stop. Standing on tiptoe, she offered what she’d intended to be a supportive kiss.
His hands locked on her hips, and he slammed her back against the wall to deepen the kiss. He kissed her as if trying to draw sustenance from her. By the time they pulled apart several minutes later, they were both breathing hard. His eyes were needy pools, searching and a little lost.
She placed her hand on his cheek, her heart melting when he cupped it and pressed it deeper into his skin. ‘You’ll be fine. He adores you as much as you do him.’
His head dipped as if he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with the alien feeling of being the object of a child’s adoration. ‘Grazie,’ he finally murmured. When he raised his head, the confident, virile man had slid back. ‘Let’s do this.’
He tugged her after him, and they entered the kitchen together.
Ten minutes later, in the privacy of Romeo’s study, Lucca stared at his father from the safety of his perch on his mother’s lap. Then his gaze moved to her face and back to Romeo’s, his eyes wide, hazel saucers. ‘You’re my daddy?’ he asked in hushed awe.
Romeo’s throat moved several times before he could speak. ‘Sì, I am your papà,’ he intoned in a deep, moving voice.
Lucca tilted his head to one side, then shook his head. ‘Not papà...daddy. I want you to be a daddy.’
A telltale sheen covered Romeo’s eyes and he blinked rapidly before he nodded. ‘Va bene, I will be a daddy.’
Lucca launched himself off her lap and threw his arms around his father. Romeo’s strong arms gathered the chubby body to him, his eyes closing on a depth of feeling that made Maisie’s eyes fill with helpless tears. Father and son stayed locked for an eternity. Or as much as a toddler could stand until impatience set in.
When he was lowered to his feet, Lucca stared up at his father. ‘Can I tell Emily?’
Romeo nodded. ‘You can tell whomever you wish.’
Lucca started to race out of the door but then stopped suddenly. ‘I wished very, very hard for a daddy,’ he said solemnly. ‘And it came true!’
Romeo looked stricken for several long seconds. Then he shook his head, as if denying whatever thought had crossed his mind. ‘I’m glad for you, bel bambino.’
After watching Lucca run off, Romeo turned to her and pulled her to her feet. Seeing her tears, he gently wiped them away and planted a soft kiss on her lips. ‘Grazie, il mio dolce.’
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she smiled. ‘I told you it’d be a piece of cake,’ she said.
His blinding answering smile lit her up from the inside, starting a shaky weakness that made her lower her gaze in case he read the depth of emotions moving through her. ‘Perhaps I should listen to you more,’ he suggested with a quirked brow.
‘Perhaps I should get that in writing,’ she answered.
He was still chuckling when they trailed their son. The announcement turned into an impromptu celebration with pancakes and juice, after which they got down to the urgent business of planning Lucca’s heavily duck-pond-themed birthday party.
Finding out that the Giordano family would be joining them on the island in two days, along with the guests staying at the villas, and that Romeo was expected to host a dinner party, Maisie felt a rush of panic.
The only party she’d thrown so far had involved a cake, sandwiches and screaming kids in a playgroup’s ball pit.
She was nowhere near sophisticated enough to handle a houseful of billionaires. She tried to pin a smile on her face as Romeo’s eyes narrowed at her from across the kitchen island.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked as soon as they were alone.
‘Nothing...’ she started to say, then blurted, ‘I’ve never thrown a dinner party before. Or a birthday party for a billionaire’s son for that matter.’
He frowned. ‘He’s still the son you raised from birth. As for the party, everything’s taken care of. I have caterers flying in from Honolulu to assist the chefs who cater for the island guests.’