The Italian's Doorstep Surprise

Nico’s hand felt so good in her own. She shivered. He was so powerful, so broad-shouldered, towering over her. She wondered what the penthouse staff, who’d all watched Honora grow up, would think if they saw their billionaire boss holding her hand like this.

But by now they already knew about her pregnancy. Her grandfather hadn’t exactly been discreet, and Benny knew too, as well as the staff at the Hamptons house. There’d likely be general gossip about Nico’s pregnant date at Au Poivre, too. Soon, everyone would know she was Nico Ferraro’s unwed baby mama.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He’d wanted to marry her, and she’d refused him. No one would ever believe that.

The elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse with its wide, sparsely decorated spaces and hard, modern furniture that seemed designed to impress, rather than be comfortable. But she’d always loved the big windows with the views of Manhattan, and the rooftop garden on the terrace was filled with flowers for nine months of the year.

Nico followed her gaze to the hard-edged furniture. “It doesn’t look very baby-friendly, does it?”

“No,” she agreed.

“You can help me figure out how to change it. And turn the guest room into a warm, cozy nursery.” He grimaced. “Obviously my usual interior designer doesn’t do warm and cozy.”

“You want a nursery?”

“Sure. If we’re sharing custody, sometimes the baby will be here. She’ll need a place to stay.”

Honora stared at him in dismay. Her mind hadn’t gotten that far—imagining what would happen as they raised the baby separately. But of course Nico was right. Sometimes he and their daughter would have joys and make memories that Honora wouldn’t share, because she wouldn’t be with them.

And someday, when Nico got married, he’d have a family. And if Honora was very lucky, she would someday do the same. But their daughter would always go back and forth between them, never really at home anywhere.

“I wish this all could be different,” she whispered.

Nico looked at her. “Why did you sleep with me at Christmas, Honora?” he said suddenly. “You weren’t drunk.”

She looked down at her sandals. “I told you.” She spoke quietly. “I thought I was in love with you.”

“And now?”

“Now...” She looked away. “I hate the thought of you raising our baby here without me. Each of us someday marrying someone else, starting a new family.”

His voice was low. “You said that was what you wanted.”

“None of this is what I wanted,” she choked out, then turned away. Grabbing her overnight bag, she fled for the guest room before he could see the tears in her eyes. “I’m going to bed...”

Climbing into the big, empty bed of the penthouse guest room, Honora looked out the windows. Stretching up into the inky black sky, skyscrapers glittered like stars.

Why had she slept with Nico?

Why had she taken the subway to his penthouse on Christmas Day, telling her grandfather she urgently had to pick up a book she’d left there—for a homework assignment that wasn’t even due till January? And why, when she’d found Nico brooding and alone, had she decided to stay?

Closing her eyes, she remembered that darkening afternoon, when she’d found him sitting alone on the hard furniture, staring at the flickering fire, beneath the wan lights of the Christmas tree. She’d hoped for a glimpse of him, that was all. Nico Ferraro was always surrounded by beautiful women, or friends as ruthless and powerful as himself.

She’d been shocked to find him alone. He’d looked at her, and the expression on his handsome face had starkly mirrored her own loneliness.

Her whole life, she’d felt like she had to earn her right to exist. By being cheerful. By being helpful. No one liked a girl who was selfish. Selfish girls caused parents to die in car crashes. If her grandfather hadn’t taken her in, Honora would have gone to foster care. In the back of her mind, she’d always feared that if she were ever too much trouble, then perhaps he might send her away.

So seeing her same loneliness reflected in Nico’s dark eyes, Honora had felt so drawn to him that she forgot to be afraid. She’d sat beside him on the sofa.

“I know how you feel,” she’d whispered, as the firelight flickered in the room.

“How can you?” His expression had been blank as he took another sip of the drink in his hand. She saw a half-empty bottle of Scotch on the end table. But his words weren’t slurred. He seemed in perfect command of his senses, only sad.

With a deep breath, she’d said quietly, “For most of my life, I’ve felt alone, too.”

Nico had turned to her. His dark eyes seemed to devour her whole, as if he were truly seeing her for the first time. And then, leaning forward, he’d suddenly taken her in his arms and kissed her.

Their passion had been a revelation. The happiest night of her life—cut short because she’d had to slip away at midnight, while Nico was still sleeping, to take the subway back home, so her old-fashioned grandfather wouldn’t worry, or know what she’d been up to.