“I get it.” Feeling sick, Honora looked at her husband in the grand foyer of the Italian villa. “So that’s what you do? Blackmail people? Hurt them?”
“Blackmail?” Nico looked at her incredulously. “What do you think this is? Real estate isn’t about making friends. It’s a battle. If I’m disciplined, I win. If I’m not, if I’m weak, I’ll be the one who’s destroyed.”
“You see sharing as weakness,” she said slowly. “That’s why when I told you about my parents, you said my secrets were safe with you.”
He straightened. “I want you to feel safe. To know I’m on your side. I will never let anyone hurt you, Honora.”
What about when he was the one who hurt her? she thought.
She was quiet as he drove them to the marina, where they boarded his yacht, the Lucky Bastard. She felt Nico’s gaze, his full attention. But what she’d learned that morning hung like a dark cloud over the distant horizon.
Maybe Nico was right about knowledge being a weapon, she thought. Because what she’d heard about him from Egidia Caracciola felt like a bullet wound in her heart.
She had to confront him about it, but she feared she already knew what his reaction would be. And if she was right, their marriage might come crashing to the ground. She was afraid it would be the end of everything, because how could she spend the rest of her life with someone so heartless and cold?
The yacht crossed the Tyrrhenian Sea to Capri, the legendary playground for the wealthy just off the Italian coast. Around them, the yacht’s staff bustled about, offering sparkling water and fruit, delicious meats and cheeses and freshly baked bread.
But for once, Honora had no appetite.
Nico remained close at her side, touching her hand, being charming, pointing out the sights—particularly the three rocky islands she’d looked at from a distance. “Le Sirenuse,” he said. “Also called Li Galli. There’s a story about sirens, luring lovestruck sailors to their doom...”
“I know,” she said flatly. She felt tears burning the backs of her eyes and blinked fast, looking out at the bright blue horizon. As the yacht skimmed lightly over the water, the beautiful isle of Capri loomed large, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to squelch her emotions for much longer. She turned her face to the sun and closed her eyes.
What else hadn’t he told her?
Who was Nico Ferraro?
“Is everything all right, cara?” he asked in a low voice. Blinking, she tried to smile.
“Of course.” But the words caught in her throat.
He clearly intended to make this afternoon special and romantic. When they arrived at the marina, he was quick to grab her red scarf when it got tugged away from her dark hair by the wind. Holding her hand, he helped her off the gangplank of the ship and along the dock into the charming seaside village. And he didn’t let go of her hand.
As they explored the island together on foot, he was attentive, warm, sweet. But that only made her feel sadder as they wandered in and out of tiny shops, including, at his insistence, the fancy designer boutiques and jewelry stores that filled this exclusive, dreamy island.
Honora preferred the quaint little tourist shops. Trying to avoid his direct gaze, she bought some Limoncello liqueur and gardening gloves for her grandfather, some cioccolato al limone for Phyllis and a hoodie and snow globe for Emmie.
“All these gifts for others,” her husband murmured, looking down at her, cupping her cheek. “I want to get something for you.” He put his large hand gently on her belly. “What do they call it? A push present? I want to get you the best push present in the world, so if you go through pain giving birth to our child, you won’t feel it, but you’ll only remember the reward.”
Honora looked at him, then said in a strangled voice, “Our baby is the reward.”
His expression changed. “Of course. But I also want to get you a gift. Just for you.” He grinned. “Think of it as recompense for all these weeks when I was so distracted.”
He thought people’s secrets were weapons to be used against them—even against his own family. He thought Honora wanted to get paid for giving birth to their child. He thought he could make up for his absence during their honeymoon by throwing money at her. All of it was adding up in strange ways. She swallowed hard.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “It’s early, but you didn’t eat much lunch...”
“If you want,” she said, still not meeting his eyes.
They ate dinner at a taverna on the edge of the sea, where she didn’t even taste her linguine con vongole, and the conversation was stilted. She could feel his bewilderment, that even though he was trying so hard to please her, somehow, it wasn’t working.
They finally returned to the yacht at twilight, and sailed back across the sea as the red and orange sun fell into the western horizon.
He pulled her beside the railing, where the staff couldn’t hear. “What’s going on, Honora?”
“Why do you think something’s going on?” she said, evading him.
Nico looked down at her, so darkly handsome that her heart twisted in her chest. “I wanted today to be special. I hoped to buy you a gift you could treasure...”