“Naturally, the Ferraros would manage to get her in their family,” Elie said. “Her genetics are amazing even for my lineage.”
Taviano felt Nicoletta stiffen.
“Well,” Eloisa said, sitting back in her chair. “This is rather amazing. I didn’t think this girl would be worth much to the family, and yet she’s a prize beyond belief. Her children will be the riders we need to carry on the family name. It’s just possible, Emmanuelle, that you won’t need to have kids if she can produce several like she should, wouldn’t you agree, Stefano? That really takes the pressure off everyone.”
Nicoletta pulled her hand out from under Taviano’s. When he reached for her, she stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m feeling a little sick to my stomach right now.”
She didn’t wait to see what anyone said. She walked away, not toward the inside of the house, where the other women were, or any one of the numerous bathrooms, but toward the elevator. She was leaving. Her back was ramrod stiff, her shoulders straight and her head high. She knew how to make an exit.
Stefano shook his head. “Why is it, Eloisa, that you always know exactly what to say to wreak havoc?”
“What did I say? I implied she was extraordinary. I wanted Emmanuelle to know she might be off the hook. It was a good thing. Nicoletta said she was ill. Maybe she’s already pregnant.” There was a hopeful note in Eloisa’s voice.
Taviano ignored the exchange and, swearing under his breath, hurried after Nicoletta. He stepped into the elevator just as the doors were closing. She didn’t say anything to him, but her eyes all but dared him to talk to her. He didn’t make that mistake. Instead, he remained silent and just stayed close to her.
Nicoletta stepped off the elevator and walked right into the middle of the Ferraro luxury hotel, oblivious to the sudden turning heads of those in the lobby. Taviano glanced around. Emilio and Enzo came hurrying in through the rotating door, no doubt called in by Stefano. They slowed down when they spotted Nicoletta striding toward the doorman, who had stepped up to courteously open it for her. She smiled at him without really seeing him and went right out onto the sidewalk without checking for danger first.
Taviano clenched his teeth. Nicoletta wasn’t used to the danger she could be in just by being married to him. Fortunately, few people were aware of their marriage yet, but she needed to be more careful. He stepped close, ignoring the fact that she quickened her pace as if she wanted to get away from him. Enzo and Emilio fell into step behind them. They were smooth about it, as if they weren’t really in any way shadowing them.
“I didn’t say or even think what Eloisa said.” He kept his voice low.
She sent him one smoldering look from under her long lashes. “Don’t talk to me yet.”
He counted to a hundred, his own temper mounting with each step rather than fading. He was trying to be understanding, but he wasn’t the one who’d fucked up. That was Eloisa. That was his mother—trying to regulate Nicoletta into being a broodmare and their children into being nothing but shadow riders. He had never once said that was what he wanted. If anything, he had reassured Nicoletta over and over that he wanted her, not babies.
“Damn it, Nicoletta,” he hissed under his breath. He caught her hand as they stalked down the street like two soldiers marching on Armageddon. At least she didn’t pull away from him, and it was a damn good thing, too.
She glanced up at his set jaw. He knew his eyes were blazing fire. He felt like strangling his mother. And maybe Nicoletta, too. She could try believing in him. Her dark chocolate eyes went from a lethal smoldering to suddenly bright, brimming over with laughter. He didn’t see anything the least bit funny at all about what had happened. His mother’s behavior or hers.
Taviano set the pace now, and the direction, heading toward Petrov’s Pizzeria. It was only the best pizza in Chicago as far as he was concerned, and if he was missing out on a home-cooked meal at Francesca’s, even if he was helping to cook it, to hell with it, they were having pizza. He quickened his stride, texting Tito—the co-owner with his father and manager of the pizzeria—one-handed, to ensure he had the Ferraro private table available as well as a table close for Emilio and Enzo.
A small sound that sounded suspiciously like laughter escaped Nicoletta’s throat. She had that sweet little musical laugh that was always on such perfect pitch there was no mistaking it. The sound always made him want to smile with her—but not this time. He glared at her. “You don’t get to storm out, mad as hell at me for no good reason, and then laugh.”