The Italian's Doorstep Surprise

Feeling the ache in her throat, she looked away at the dark glittering sea. “The gifts I treasure aren’t things you can buy.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, trying to tease her. “A diamond tiara? Your own yacht? A green Ferrari to match your eyes?”

She said in a low voice, “That’s not what I care about.”

“What is it, then?” Red twilight was turning violet across the Tyrrhenian Sea as he looked down at her grimly. “Tell me what’s wrong, Honora.”

She took a deep breath.

“I want you to tell me why you’re trying to hurt people. And don’t tell me it has anything to do with business.” She looked him in the eyes.

“Why are you trying to destroy your own family?”

* * *

After all their days apart, Nico had wanted today to be special. He’d wanted to romance her, if he could not love her.

After weeks of frustration, his lawyers had finally found a way to force the sale of his father’s ancestral home. Nico’s stepmother had been vicious, keeping the villa tight in her grip, using every trick she could, calling in favors from old friends in law and government, even pulling in environmental and architectural objections. In the last month, Nico had spent millions of euros in legal fees, far more than the property was actually worth.

But now, finally Villa Caracciola would be his. His stepmother was out of money and out of options. The villa was her only asset. She had no choice.

It had been a long, hard fight, but it was nearly over.

Through it all, Nico had missed being able to enjoy his wife’s company, since he’d seen her only at night, in the dark heat of their bed. He’d never intended for her to spend the days of their honeymoon alone, or for their time here to stretch to a month. But as he’d told her, real estate was a war, and this was one battle he did not intend to lose.

Now, he was eager to make up for lost time with Honora, with some grand gesture to delight her. And what better place than the famously romantic island of Capri?

Sailing across the sea in their yacht and walking the charming streets hand in hand with his beautiful wife—so lovely in her white T-shirt showing off her curves, and the red scarf pulling back her long, tumbling dark hair—should have been the most perfect day of their honeymoon.

Instead, the day had been useless. Honora, usually so loving and warm, had refused to even look at him.

Now, out of the blue, she’d attacked him like this.

Nico pulled away from her on the yacht’s railing, feeling strangely hurt. He didn’t understand what she was talking about, but he felt her harsh criticism, just when he’d least expected it.

“Trying to destroy my family?” he repeated, blinking in the twilight. “What are you talking about?”

“You never told me you had a stepmother!”

“Are you kidding? Her? She’s not family.”

“Of course she is.” She lifted her chin. “No wonder you bought a villa so close to Trevello. You said you were going to knock down your father’s ancestral home. You neglected to mention someone was still living in it—a sweet old lady!”

“Sweet old—” He stared at her, speechless. “You’ve got to be kidding. That woman is horrible. A snooty aristocrat who believes she’s better than everyone else.”

“If you ask me, you’re the one who thinks you’re better,” she said coldly. “You make your own rules. You want what you want, and don’t give a damn who gets hurt while you get it.”

Nico stared at her, feeling sick as he stood on the deck of his yacht in the fading purple twilight. Honora’s lovely eyes were hostile and angry—the eyes of an enemy. In his home. In his yacht. With his name. Carrying his baby inside her.

Beneath his feet, he could feel the sway of the waves unsettling him, making him feel like at any moment he could get knocked down.

How had it happened that his sweet, kind wife, the woman he’d thought would never challenge him or work against him, was hurling accusations from the same sensual lips he’d kissed so passionately?

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said in a low voice. “Egidia Caracciola is not some gentle, helpless old lady.”

“No? She can’t even carry her own groceries, and you’re trying to drive her from her home without a cent!”

“It’s not my fault my father left her a pile of debts.”