Italian Prince, Wedlocked Wife
“Two hours.”
“Two hours?” she gasped. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
He shrugged, lifting his hands in an expressive gesture. “I heard her talking in her crib, and I was awake anyway, checking sale
s figures from our Tokyo office. I thought you might appreciate a lie-in.”
It was the first time she’d had the luxury of sleeping in since Chloe had been born. Lucy felt wonderful. Well-rested. But she didn’t understand. He’d given up two of the precious twelve hours left—to let her sleep?
“Thank you. But your gallantry will not help you win.” The extra sleep had only made her stronger for battle. “You’ve just made your first mistake.”
“We’ll see.” He allowed himself a private smile. “If you are done with your coffee, shall we get ready to go?”
Chloe gurgled nonsense syllables at him, waving her wooden spoon happily.
“What’s that you say?” He warmly smiled down at the baby. “You want us to hurry?”
Lucy laughed up at them, then stopped.
Realization ripped through her like the beam of sunlight through the mullioned windows.
This. This was the family life she’d always dreamed of. This moment, right here. A laughing child, a warm kitchen, a handsome husband.
This was happiness…
It’s an illusion! she told herself desperately.
But her feelings only intensified as the three of them shared a picnic, sitting on a blanket on a hillside of flowers overlooking the sea. They laughed and ate a simple repast of roast beef sandwiches and fruit, with blueberry scones for dessert.
Afterward, in the sun-drenched field of flowers, beneath the wide blue Sicilian sky, Lucy actually saw her daughter take her first steps.
Three trembling, falling baby steps from Maximo’s arms to hers. And Lucy was here to see her daughter’s milestone. Thanks to Maximo.
“Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at his handsome face with a kind of dazed joy. “Thank you for making it possible for me to be with her.”
He held Chloe’s hands as she stood unsteadily on her feet. Reaching for the petals of a flower, the baby lost her balance and plopped back on the blanket. She spotted the picnic basket, crawled to it and discovered the last scone with a delighted cackle.
“I’m happy to be here with you. Both of you,” Maximo said. Something in the tone of his voice made Lucy turn to look at him. His eyes were an endless deep blue. “If I were the sort of man who wanted to settle down, I might think…”
“Think what?” she said, holding her breath.
“Kiss me.”
Across the blanket, he moved his head toward her and she couldn’t move away. Just a kiss, she told herself. Surely nothing bad could come of a single kiss? She’d worn skinny jeans—tight and very hard to take off—and a Victorian-inspired, high-necked blouse with a dozen tiny buttons. With his big fingers, Maximo would never be able to get the shirt off her.
And if that didn’t work, there was Chloe sitting next to them. She’d need a bath with all the blueberries she had plastered to her hair and clothes…
“Salve, Maximo!” A woman’s voice called from a distance behind them.
They both turned. Lucy saw an older woman waving at them as she descended over the hill. She had a chic white pageboy haircut, unlined skin and a happy smile.
“Salve!” he called back.
“Who’s that?”
“My zia—my aunt Silvana.” He gave Lucy a grin. “She’ll be watching Chloe for the rest of the afternoon. Just in case she gets lonely and needs company.”
A flutter of nerves went through her belly. So he’d seen through her baby ploy, had he?