The Italian’s Doorstep Surprise by Jennie Lucas

CHAPTER NINE

“I LOVEYOU.”

Nico felt the words like a blow, as if she’d punched him in the throat.

I love you.

Those words had been said to him before, by overeager girlfriends trying to take the sexual affair to the next level, to tie him down, to get him to put a ring on it. He’d seen them for the manipulations they were.

This was different.

Nico looked down at his beautiful pregnant wife in his arms. Honora. So beautiful inside and out. She meant the words. He saw emotion shining in her big green eyes. Love. What did that even mean?

Her heart-shaped face was filled with adoration—adoration Nico knew he didn’t deserve. He knew he was selfish and ruthless and cold.

How had Honora convinced herself to see something else? Had he been complicit in her self-deception?

He also saw her unspoken longing for him to return her love.

Why? His demons reared their ugly heads. So she could possess and control him? He would never allow himself to be so weak, so vulnerable, so helpless, giving his soul up into the power of another. As a boy, he’d always yearned desperately for attention, to feel like he belonged, like he was valuable. Instead, he’d been neglected, heartsick and alone, always wondering what was wrong with him that even his own mother seemed to regret his existence. Never again.

But as Honora looked up at him, as her soft body pressed against his, he looked down at her full breasts, pushing up against the thin straps of her red cotton sundress, and felt a different emotion. The only one he could allow himself to safely feel.

Desire.

Even after hours of making love to her—in the Hamptons, on the private jet—Nico suddenly wanted her more than ever.

She loved him. He’d never asked for her love, but now he possessed her, body and soul.

And if he couldn’t love her back, he could at least give her his body, because it was utterly and completely hers...

The sky above the villa was bright blue, and a warm wind blew in from the azure sea as he held her amid the lemon groves. Nico saw the growing question in her beautiful face: Did he love her, too? He could not break her heart with the truth.

So he kissed her.

She felt warm in his arms, her baby bump pressed against him in her red sundress, as he stroked her bare arms. Her hands reached up to pull his head down to deepen the kiss, which made him ache for her even more. It was as close as he could get to love.

He ran his hands through her long dark hair, which swept loose and long over her bare shoulders. Her fingertips stroked lightly through his short black waves, then down over his shirt. Around them, he could smell the scent of lemons, of Italy, of the sea. He smelled roses and vanilla—the scent of his wife’s perfume. He kissed her passionately, holding her close.

Cupping his unshaven cheek, she whispered against his lips, “I love you, Nico.”

Again. He shuddered from a mixture of desire and dread. He liked her loving him, he realized. But if she knew he could never return her feelings...

He had to make sure she never realized that. For her sake. He had to protect his wife’s feelings, to make sure she never knew his heart felt nothing.

But his body—

“I want you,” he whispered huskily. He kissed her again and felt the sweet pleasure of her lips drawing him down, down into an intoxication more thrilling and mind-numbing than he’d ever experienced with alcohol. He felt her shiver in his arms.

Taking her hand, Nico pulled her away from the lemon groves, through the formal Italian garden, past the roses and burbling marble fountains. The warm sun caressed their skin as he drew her back to the enormous white wedding cake villa that was perched on a cliff overlooking the coast.

He paused for only a moment when he saw Benny Rossini scowling as he was escorted into a waiting SUV by his security chief. Honora watched, her face shadowed with worry and guilt.

Nico ground his teeth. Why would she feel guilty? Rossini himself was clearly to blame for his own bad judgment. But Honora’s heart was so tender and kind that she blamed herself for everything.

“Make sure he gets his full salary for the month, and any vacation time owed,” he told Frank Bauer, who nodded.

Honora turned to Nico. “I feel bad—”

“Didn’t he say he was glad to go to Hollywood?” he said shortly. “He’ll be fine.”

“But—”

“Honora.” As the SUV drove away, he looked directly into her eyes. “Why do you always blame yourself? It wasn’t your fault. Let it go.”

She bit her lip, then sighed. “Fine.”

He pulled her inside the villa, and the tall oak door closed solidly behind them.

Inside, the two-hundred-year-old classical villa was elegant, stately in its age, and crowded with antiques, the antithesis of his sleek Hamptons beach mansion and stark Manhattan penthouse.

Honora looked with surprise at the foyer’s checkered marble floor and frescoed ceilings of cherubs soaring high above. “This is...yours?”

He shrugged. “I bought it with the furniture intact.”

Looking around, she gave an amused laugh. “This is the shack you’re slumming in until you can buy the villa you really want?”

“Until I can build it. I told you. When I get my father’s ancestral home, I will raze it to the ground and build something modern and new.”

“An ancestral home?” She frowned. “That sounds important. Why not remodel and restore it?”

He looked away. “It’s a symbol,” he said quietly, “of everything my father did. The place where he seduced my mother, who was a maid in his house. Then he threw her out and refused to take responsibility for her pregnancy. He represents everything that’s wrong and corrupt and cruel. I want to burn it all to the ground.”

“Oh, Nico,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. No wonder you want to tear it down.”

His eyes met hers. “I do. Then I will build a new villa. A new home. With you.”

She seemed to visibly melt at his words. Emotion made her green eyes glow. At first it warmed him—but then his heart started to pound. Danger! He could not let himself feel emotion.

But desire...

Taking her hand, he pressed it to his lips. “I expect the Villa Caracciola to be mine within the week.” He slowly kissed up her bare arm to her shoulder, feeling her shiver. “Until we can build our real home,” he whispered, cupping her cheek as he slowly lowered his mouth to hers, “we’ll just have to make do...”

Nico kissed her in the foyer until she sagged against him in surrender, both of them lost in pleasure. When he pulled away, he saw her beautiful face was dazed with desire. Taking her hand, he pulled her up the grand staircase.

He’d only visited this villa once, the previous November, when he’d bought it. He was relieved to find he still knew the way to the master suite. It was the only thing he’d refurbished, combining three bedrooms to make a single large modern one.

Huge windows and a balcony overlooked the picturesque sharp cliffs jutting into the turquoise sea. At the center of the room was an enormous bed. The white duvet was dotted with red rose petals. The marble fireplace had been filled with an enormous bouquet of pink and red long-stemmed roses. Nearby, an intimate table for two was covered with chocolate-dipped strawberries, sparkling pink lemonade, small canapés, fruit and tiny sandwiches.

Honora stopped, her sandals almost screeching to a halt on the hardwood floor, her eyes wide as her dark hair swayed over her red sundress. “What’s this?”

Nico felt glad in this moment, so glad, that he’d taken the time to ask his Italian housekeeper to set it up. All so simple, and yet his wife looked more touched than when he’d dragged her to Cartier and insisted on buying her a twenty-carat diamond. She looked, in fact, as if she were about to cry.

Maybe he couldn’t give her love. But romance, romance he could do.

“For you, my darling bride,” Nico whispered. Coming forward, he cupped her cheek as he slowly lowered his lips to hers. “Roses and chocolates and kisses. Kisses most of all. Everything I have, everything I am...is yours.”

Honora woke up smiling.

Late-afternoon sunshine was flooding through the west-facing windows of their bedroom. She must have fallen asleep naked, she realized, after their lunch and lovemaking. She stretched languorously, loving every sweet ache of her body.

Every part of her felt touched by him, blessed. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but then, she’d been tired even before they’d arrived at his villa, with all the passion they’d shared while crossing the Atlantic in his private jet, and before that in his Hamptons house.

Although, she knew Nico would say, if he were here, that it was their private jet. Their Hamptons beach house. Their Amalfi Coast villa.

But the thing she loved most about all of those places was that he was in them.

So where was Nico? Getting out of bed, she looked around her. Unlike the rest of the villa, which had been chock full of antiques, this gorgeous master bedroom was as sparse with furniture as Nico’s other homes. Pulling on a silk robe that she’d bought in New York as part of the wedding trousseau he’d insisted on buying her, she peeked into the en suite bathroom.

It was gleaming, modern and new. And empty.

She glanced at the small clock over the bedroom’s sleek marble fireplace, above the vase of long-stemmed pink and red roses. It was six o’clock. Almost dinner time, at least by American standards. And she was hungry. Being pregnant really gave her an appetite.

Or maybe she’d worked it up doing something else. Again and again. She blushed.

Taking a shower in the large walk-in shower, Honora relished the warmth against her skin as she scrubbed her hair. So much easier to do here than in that postage-stamp-sized shower on the private jet. Stepping out, she wrapped herself in a thick white cotton towel. As she wiped the steam off the mirror, she looked at herself in amazement as she brushed her teeth.

How had she stepped into this life? She didn’t understand how she could be so lucky. What had she ever done to deserve it?

You didn’t have to work for it. You’re just marrying it.

Her smile fell a little as she remembered Emmie’s bitter words, words her friend had apologized for and tried to take back. But it had never been about money for Honora. She would have been mad about Nico, rich or poor! She loved him just for himself!

She loved him. But did he love her?

Everything I have...everything I am...is yours.

Honora shivered, remembering how she’d felt when he’d kissed her earlier and taken her on that bed.

That meant love, didn’t it?

Anyway, she didn’t need him to say the words. He cared for her; he was committed to her. That was enough. Honora’s heart could love enough for both of them. It could.

Getting dressed in a pretty, new cotton sundress, she pulled her hair back into a long ponytail and went downstairs.

After some aimless wandering along the villa’s hallways, she finally found Nico in a home office with his assistant and several other men in suits, all of them speaking in tense, rapid Italian as they looked over papers spread across a large table. They looked up as she entered. Nico smiled.

“Honora. Did you enjoy your rest?”

Could his men guess why she’d so desperately needed one? She blushed. “Yes.”

“I’m just getting some details ironed out for that real estate acquisition. You were asking to taste real Italian pasta, yes?”

“Yes?”

“As soon as I’m done here, I’ll take you out to dinner in Trevello, if you’d like.”

“Sounds lovely.”

Nico’s warm gaze traced slowly from her eyes to her lips, down her body to her sandals, leaving a trail of heat wherever they lingered. “I’m sorry I have business with my lawyers. I’ll be done soon.”

“I’ll go wander the garden,” she said, not wanting to be a bother.

The formal garden was even more lovely on closer viewing. Standing alone in the middle of the villa’s perfect garden, with its spectacular view of the sea, she wished her grandfather could see these flowers. But he was busy with Phyllis, working in the flower shop, redecorating the Queens apartment. They’d decided to turn Honora’s old bedroom into a home gym. “I gotta stay healthy to keep up with my wife,” her grandfather had told her happily.

Honora looked out at the bright sun, lowering toward the sea. She was glad he was happy. She was, too. She was married and expecting a child.

So why did she suddenly feel so uncertain and alone?

“Stop it,” she told herself aloud. “You have everything you could ever have wanted. More than you deserve.”

She walked through the garden until it grew dark, then went inside to sit on the sofa outside Nico’s home office with an old leather-bound book she’d found on the shelf of the library. By the time Nico shook her awake, it was hours later, nearly midnight.

“Sorry.” He gave her a charming smile. “My lawyers took longer than I thought.”

“That’s all right,” she said, rubbing her eyes, trying to wake herself up and be ready to eat dinner when her whole body said she should be sleeping. She felt totally upended by jet lag.

Outside the villa, there were streaks of velvety stars in the dark purple night. Helping her into his sports car, Nico drove her through the gate and out to the cliff road, twisting along the edge of the black Tyrrhenian Sea.

“The restaurant is just up there. The best pasta in Campania, which means the best in Italy, which, of course, means the best in the world.”

But as he started to turn into the parking lot, a big RV coming from behind clipped the edge of his back bumper, causing the sports car to spin wildly through the gravel lot, rocking back and forth chaotically.

Their car spun toward the edge of the cliff.

Honora screamed. For an instant, she was eleven again, watching the whole world spin in front of her eyes. It was just like before. In selfishly asking for something she wanted, she’d ruined her life. Killed the people she loved most—

Nico gave a low, tense curse, gripping the wheel hard and forcing it to turn.

The car suddenly stopped. But her screaming didn’t.

“Honora. Cara—”

She felt Nico’s hand on her shoulder, heard his gentle voice. She opened her eyes and saw that the world had stopped spinning. Their car was still. Other than a cloud of dust around them, there was nothing to show that they’d nearly plummeted into the sea.

“I’m—sorry,” she choked out. “I didn’t mean to scream.” Suddenly she was sobbing and his arms wrapped around her.

“It’s all right.” His voice was tender as he stroked her hair. “We were never in any danger, but I’m sorry you were scared.” He looked fiercely behind them. “Damned tourists should know better than to try to drive this road in that thing.”

Honora felt embarrassed, making such a fuss when they were trying to have a romantic evening. Pulling away, she wiped her tears. “I’m fine now.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, avoiding his gaze. “Absolutely.”

Opening her door, he helped her from the low-slung sports car and led her into a charming restaurant, which seemed very local. Perhaps because it was after midnight, the restaurant had no other customers. The owner was thrilled to see him. “Mr. Ferraro! I am so glad you are here!”

“Grazie, Luigi.”

“My wife, she said you would come and bring your new American bride, your first night in Trevello. I said no, lovebirds have better things to do than eat! But my wife, she said, doing those things, one always gets hungry...”

“I can speak for myself,” said his wife, who came over, smiling. She had an Australian accent. The two of them were good-looking and gray-haired, and Luigi pulled her into his arms, looking down at her lovingly.

“I will, and I do, and I should always listen to you.” He kissed his wife’s temple. “To listen as well as I love you, which is infinite and forever.”

She looked up at her husband. Luigi abruptly cleared his throat, as if he’d just remembered they had customers. “So Peggy told me you called for a reservation...?”

“Yes. Um...” Nico had the grace to look sheepish as he clawed his hand through his dark hair. “I’m sorry we’re so late.”

The wife waved her hand, which was filled with menus. “That is no problem. We expected as much, seeing as it is your honeymoon. We are honored that you chose our restaurant for your first night.” Escorting them to an amazing table by the window, with a view of the moon-swept sea, the lights of the village of Trevello and a flickering candle between them, she handed Honora a menu. “This is your first trip to Italy, signora?”

“Yes,” she replied shyly. She looked at the menu, then said, “Nico says this is the best restaurant in all Italy, and as it is yours, will you please tell me what I should order?”

Luigi beamed at her, then plucked the menu from her hand. “You chose a good one, Signor Ferraro. Signora, I will be most pleased.”

Fifteen minutes later, she was dismayed as they were served two full plates of portobello mushrooms sautéed with spinach in garlic and olive oil.

“Enjoy, signora!” he said.

“My favorite thing here,” Nico said, and dug in.

Picking up her fork, Honora tried to smile. She cut very slowly with her knife, and she forced herself to take a bite.

“How do you like it?” Nico said, watching her.

“Delicious,” she managed to say, trying not to breathe through her nose or taste the mushroom as she gulped it down.

He set his jaw. “Honora. If you don’t like something, don’t suffer in silence. Be honest. Speak up.”

“I hate mushrooms,” she blurted out. For a moment, she was shocked at herself, and even proud.

Then as she sat in the picturesque Italian restaurant with its amazing view, fear surged through her. What if Luigi’s feelings were hurt by her honesty? What if her husband was embarrassed, or what if he despised her for not being sophisticated enough to enjoy this meal? Would he tell her he no longer wanted such an unpleasant wife who made such selfish demands?

Setting down her fork, she nervously lifted her gaze. Her husband smiled at her, his dark eyes glowing. Then he turned, lifting his hand for the restaurant owner’s attention.

“Luigi. My wife doesn’t care for mushrooms. Please get her something else.”

“Sì, signore. But of course.”

Nico’s smile spread to a grin as he reached for her plate of mushrooms. “And I will take care of this.”

Two hours later, they finished the most delicious seafood pasta Honora had ever tasted, along with crusty bread and Caprese salad with ripe tomatoes, basil leaves and fresh mozzarella laced with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. She felt happy, relieved. It was strange. Something about Nico made her feel brave, like she had the right to speak up for herself. Like she shouldn’t take the blame for things that weren’t her fault. Like she wasn’t a burden, but a treasure.

Smiling, she drank creamy decaf coffee and finished a cannoli that was as sweet and light as air. Then her smile fell as she saw, on the other side of the empty cliff-side restaurant, Luigi tenderly kiss his wife. She saw his lips form the words Ti amo.

And just like that, all her happiness dissolved. Having told Nico that she loved him, she yearned so badly to hear those words back. How wonderful it would be to be loved, now and forever, after her hair had long turned to gray.

But why would she ever think she deserved to be loved like that, when—

She tried to push the thought away. But suddenly she couldn’t.

“What’s wrong?” Nico asked quietly. She looked at him, so handsome on the other side of the table, shadowed by the flickering light of the candle.

“I don’t deserve this,” she whispered. “Any of it. I never have.”

“How can you say that? Of course you do. You’re the kindest person I know.” He gave a grim smile. “If you don’t deserve happiness, no one does.”

“You don’t really know me. What I did.”

“So tell me.” His voice was gentle.

Honora looked away. Through all the open-air windows, she could see the clusters of lights of Trevello’s houses and shops, stretching joyously up from the sea to the sky, twinkling like stars.

“When our car almost went off the cliff, just because I wanted pasta...it all came back.” She licked her lips, closing her eyes. “How I begged my parents to take me up to a pumpkin festival in the countryside, two hours outside the city. I thought if we could go, then maybe we’d be a happy family like in the ads.”

“What happened?”

“My parents fought the whole time. Just like always. My mother cried and begged as my father drank and criticized her. He drank the whole time we were at the autumn fair, then crashed the rental car into an oncoming truck on the way home. The other driver lived. So did I.” She looked up, her eyes filled with tears. “But my parents died because I just had to sit on a hay bale and eat pumpkin bread.”

“No, cara.” His voice was gentler than she’d ever heard as he put down his small cup of espresso. “They died because your father chose to drink while he was driving his family in a car. It wasn’t your fault. You were a child.”

Honora looked up at him, her heart pounding. Then she told him the worst. “They were miserable because of me. They only married because of me. Because I was born. They grew to hate each other. That was why she cried and he drank. They felt trapped but didn’t know how to get out. Because of me.”

He put his hand over hers on the table.

“It was not your fault,” he said quietly. “Your parents made their own choices.” He pulled away his hand, straightening his shoulders as he sat back in his chair. “Forget the pain they caused you. Be happy. Live your life only for yourself.” He gave her a crooked grin. “That’s what I do.”

The thought was shocking to her.

“Live for myself?” she said. “But it’s the people I love who give my life meaning. My grandfather. Our baby.” Her eyes met his wistfully. “You.”

A strange, stricken look came over Nico’s face, and he abruptly looked away. In the flickering shadows of the restaurant, his jaw seemed hard enough to snap.

“Luigi, the check,” he called. Turning back to her, Nico’s expression was cold. “Your secrets are safe with me. I give you my word.” Tossing his linen napkin down over the empty plate, he rose to his feet. “It’s late. Are you ready to go?”