Honora held desperately to the last shreds of her dignity, and her hope for a family created out of love, not cold obligation. She shook her head. “But if you can really be a good father, then I’ll let you share custody.”
“Let me?” The satisfaction in his handsome face faded to anger. “If I can be a good father?”
She felt his coldness and raised her chin. “If you can cut back on the Scotch and come back to the world of the living. If you can actually be good to her.”
“I already gave your grandfather my word I’d marry you.”
She shrugged. “You should have asked me first. I have something else in mind.”
“My chauffeur?”
Was he jealous? No, surely not. Nico Ferraro dated women by the score and tired of them quickly. If even a world-famous beauty like Lana Lee couldn’t keep him, what chance did an ordinary girl like Honora have? She knew, to her core, that if she married him, he’d only break her heart.
“If you truly want to be a father, I will do everything I can to support that.” She turned toward the beachfront mansion’s windows. The storm had abated, and she could see silvery moonlight frosting the clouds scattered across the ocean’s horizon. She said in a small voice, “But I can’t marry you. I want to be loved.”
Nico stared at her for a long moment.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said suddenly.
She blinked. “What?”
“It’s clear nothing I say tonight will convince you.”
Honora had been about to list more reasons why she could never, ever marry him. She felt strangely off-kilter by his sudden surrender. She told herself she was relieved. Wasn’t she? “Oh. Good. How will we explain it to Granddad?”
“I’ll talk to him. I owe him that much.”
“Right now?”
“It’s almost midnight.” Nico went to the wet bar. For a moment, she thought he was going to pour more Scotch into his half-empty glass. Instead, he dumped it all down the sink and turned to her with a charming smile. “I’ll take you back home in the morning. Until then, I bid you good night.”
“Good night,” she said faintly, her lips slightly parted as he turned and left the room without a word.
As she followed him up the sweeping staircase of the beach house, she could hardly believe it. She’d won. She’d actually won. Nico Ferraro had given up his desire to marry her.
So why didn’t she feel more joyful about it?
CHAPTER FOUR
WAKING UP THE NEXT morning in the master bedroom of the Hamptons beach house, Nico smiled to himself, amazed at how well he’d slept. Getting out of bed, he stretched in his silk boxers, then went out on his balcony to breathe the fresh ocean air.
The summer storm had cleared out, leaving only beauty behind. Wispy clouds of pink and magenta and peach traced the eastern horizon in the vivid colors of dawn. The deep blue sky, growing lighter by the second, stretched as wide as the Atlantic. He felt like his future, too, was wide open. Nothing but blue skies and blue ocean, ripe with possibility.
First on his agenda: making Honora his wife.
He felt a zing of nervous energy at the thought, and decided to go for a run on the beach. He had to dig in the closet for exercise clothes because he hadn’t brought any in his suitcase from Rome. The realization shocked him.
Before Christmas, he’d been very disciplined about intense daily exercise, as he was about everything. But since then, his only real exercise had been sparring in a boxing gym in Rome—and even that he’d only done out of self-preservation after an altercation with a random lawyer who’d tried to get his clients out of a real estate deal. Nico didn’t remember much about the work he’d sunk himself into over the last six months, but he did remember the moment he’d lunged across the boardroom table and punched the man in the face.
He’d paid for it, of course. He’d settled out of court for a million euros. Pretty expensive way to let off steam. After that, he’d started expending his dark energy at the gym. Better to vent his anger wearing gloves and face guards fighting willing participants or, better yet, a gym bag. Other than that, he’d just worked all day, every day, until he collapsed with exhaustion on the sofa in his private office.
Last night was the first time in months that Nico had slept the whole night through. He marveled at how much better he felt. He hadn’t known it was even possible for him to sleep ten hours.
He’d only had one drink last night—he’d thrown the rest down the sink. He’d wanted to prove a point to Honora, but he knew that wasn’t the only reason he felt better.
He had a mission again. A totally impossible mission, just like when, as a penniless teenager, he’d vowed to be rich.
He would convince Honora Callahan to marry him.