The Italian's Doorstep Surprise Page 16

  Or maybe he had. Nico took a deep breath. Some part of him, deep inside, had always been afraid to fully trust her. He’d known he’d always be on the outside, even of his own family.

  Nico carefully set down the glass of Scotch. He’d drunk very little—it had been mostly for show, to prove to her that he could defy her, too. Perhaps to prove it to them both, after the way she’d humiliated him in front of their guests.

  I was trying to help you. I wanted you to forgive your stepmother, and your father too, so you wouldn’t be so angry all the time. I thought if I could heal your heart, then maybe you could love us. The baby and me.

  Feeling numb, he pushed the thought away. He slowly walked through the wreckage of the ballroom, with the mess of food, dropped napkins, used plates, colorful confetti and the pile of brightly wrapped wedding gifts. Gifts. How he hated gifts! As if an emerald necklace could ever make a difference, could make her stay!

  Grabbing one wedding present wrapped in silvery sparkly paper with a big bow, he turned and smashed it against the wall. Whatever was inside broke into a thousand chiming shards, like crystal.

  It didn’t make him feel better. Neither did the early phone call he got a few hours later, as he was trying and failing to sleep in the big bed alone.

  “I just got a phone call from Egidia Caracciola’s lawyer,” his head lawyer told him happily. “I don’t know what you did, but she apparently left him a message late last night, as she was leaving your party. She’ll be coming into his office this afternoon to sign the papers, transferring the Villa Caracciola to you, free and clear. She’s not even asking for payment.”

  “Pay her the full market value,” Nico said tightly.

  “But it’s not necessary—”

  “Do it,” he said, and hung up.

  Dawn was rising over the eastern horizon, soft and pink. Nico felt restless, trapped in the villa, especially as the villa’s staff began arriving to tidy up from the night before.

  He longed to go for a run, but the Amalfi Coast was rocky and steep, not like the flat shoreline of the Hamptons. Hiking the cliffs and mountains, with their gorgeous view of the sea for miles, would have to do.

  Pulling on a T-shirt and shorts and running shoes, he pushed himself as fast as he could, climbing and descending the rocky path, watching the ground so he did not stumble and fall off the edge to his death. His mind was carefully blank of everything but survival.

  He went five miles, brutally pushing himself into the mountains as the sun climbed the wide Italian sky. When he reached the top, he looked back at the vast blue sea. The world was fresh and new and he’d never felt so worn-out and old.

  Had she ever been his to lose?

  I love you, Nico.

  He could still remember how her eyes had glowed so dreamily when she’d first spoken the words. And the way her light had faded in his weeks of silence, as he’d never said the words back to her. How could he, when he didn’t know what love was? When his heart was stone?

  Honora deserved better. Both she and their baby deserved more than a man who had nothing to offer except cold, hard cash.

  A noise came from the back of his throat, and he suddenly stumbled over the steep rocky path. Looking down the rocky slope toward Trevello, he saw his father’s ancestral villa, the one he’d wanted for so long, and fought so hard to possess.

  I wonder if that’s what you were wanting this whole time, Nico. Not revenge. Connection. For your father to acknowledge you. And your stepmother. It was never about the villa. I think you were just trying to get their attention. I think you wanted to be a family.

  No. Ridiculous. He clawed through his hair. What kind of feeble thing would that be, for Nico to still be trying to get the attention of the people who’d hurt and abandoned him as a child? No. He wasn’t that weak or spineless. He’d done it purely for vengeance.

  And now he had it. His stepmother was giving the villa to him, as a gift. Last night, she’d publicly acknowledged him as her deceased husband’s son.

  But looking at the Villa Caracciola clinging to the cliff, Nico didn’t feel the happiness and pride he’d craved. Setting his jaw, he descended to the villa’s gate.

  The door was dangling open. Apparently Egidia Caracciola had already left. It was empty.

  As empty as he felt.

  His shoulders hurt. He felt bone-weary. And something more. Something he’d spent his whole life trying not to feel.

  He felt sad.

  But as he started to turn away, he heard a noise. Peeking past the gate, he saw the elderly widow collapsed across the steep, crooked stone steps. She was still wearing her ball gown from last night.

  Was she dead?

  With an intake of breath, Nico rushed forward. He only exhaled again when he discovered she was, in fact, still alive.

  Seeing him, Egidia whimpered, “My leg... I think it’s broken.”

  He reached for his phone, only to remember he hadn’t brought it on his hike. “I’ll go get help.”

  “No, please, don’t leave me.” Her voice was a quiet sob. “I’ve been out here all night. I thought I would die alone...”

  “Where’s your phone?”

  She gestured wildly to a dense thicket of trees farther down the treacherous hill. “Somewhere—over there—I think,” she gasped. “After I tripped, I couldn’t find it. I...tried.”

  Her breathing was uneven, her voice weak with her cheek pressed down against the stone. Nico felt a surge of worry. He kept his voice calm. “I’ll find it. What does it look like?”

  “It’s silver, a clutch bag.”

  He strode to the copse of trees, looking around with a swiftly pointed gaze, and soon found the 1990s-style bag and the barely more modern phone tucked inside it. Turning it on, he immediately phoned for medical assistance. Then he returned to kneel beside her.

  “The ambulance is on the way. Everything’s going to be fine,” he said gently. “Can I help you get more comfortable?”

  Egidia’s face was filled with pain and panic, but she nodded. He slowly helped her turn over, so her face wasn’t pressed into the stone steps. He flinched when he saw her fractured leg bone, stretching her skin. Following his gaze, she tried to laugh.

  “Serves me right. I should have sold you this villa last year, after Arnaldo died. The truth is, the stairs are too much for me.”

  She said the words lightly, but he saw the beads of sweat on her forehead.

  “I’m sorry I made you fight so hard,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t nice.”

  She looked at him quickly. “Neither was I.” Her breathing came quick and shallow. “It was hard for me to admit that my husband had a baby with the maid while I was still mourning all the sons we’d lost.”

  “Honora—” Nico’s throat closed around her name “—told me how you’ve suffered.”

  Her rheumy eyes filled with tears. “Three little boys. Two lost before birth. The other died before he was a month old. All had the same genetic disorder. After that, we made sure to have no more children. And then...” She looked down. “Then your mother ambushed us on the street in Rome. She pushed you forward, a sweet, dark-haired boy, and said Arnaldo was your father. He told me it was a lie, that your mother was just trying to get money. I wanted so desperately to believe him.” She grasped his hand. “And you are the one who suffered for it. I’m sorry.”

  Nico felt a strange tightness in his chest. “So it wasn’t because I seemed unworthy? Useless?”

  “Unworthy?” she gasped. “I looked at you on the street, this proud, black-eyed boy, and I wanted so badly for you to be mine. I would have done anything. All I could think of was how my own body had betrayed me, and would not give me what I wanted so badly.” She swallowed. “I couldn’t see past my own pain. And Arnaldo...he must have been ashamed.”

  Nico stared at her.

  “I
t was never about me, was it?” he said slowly. She shook her head.

  “You were an innocent child, caught up in the lies of adults. When I saw you last night, I was finally forced to admit you were his. And I hated myself for letting my own insecurities and grief keep me from loving you long ago. As every child should be loved.” She tried to smile. “You are the brother of the sons I lost.”

  In the distance, he could hear the siren of the coming ambulance. In the rhythm of the sound, he heard Honora’s voice: My parents made mistakes. They did the best they could. But I was never to blame. I was just a baby.

  “Please, forgive me,” Egidia gasped as the paramedics hurried past the gate toward them. Looking down at her, his injured, elderly stepmother, who’d spent the entire night stretched out on cold stone steps, alone and scared, he put his hand gently on her shoulder.

  “Only if you’ll forgive me, too.”

  With a sob, she whispered, “Bless you.” The paramedics stabilized her leg and loaded her carefully on the stretcher. “And your sweet wife...”

  “I’ll call the hospital later to make sure you’re all right,” was the best he could manage. But as he watched the ambulance depart, his heart felt strange.

  It felt...lighter.

  After all these years of being numb, of priding himself on his hard heart, he watched the ambulance disappear up the narrow cobblestoned street and felt like a burden had suddenly been lifted. Not completely, but just enough for him to be made aware of how heavy it had been all along.

  He’d thought his father and stepmother had made some judgment about him when he was a child, that they had found him lacking. But their reasons for rejecting him had had nothing to do with him. They’d been dealing with struggles of their own.

  Was it possible that all the times he’d felt ignored, unwanted, an outsider in his own home, it hadn’t been about him at all, but about other people’s insecurities and pain? His father’s shame? His stepmother’s anguish? His mother’s poverty and heartbreak?

  Had Honora been right? All this time he’d thought he wanted revenge, had he really just been hungering for connection, to know his place in the world, to be recognized and seen?

  He’d always believed that emotions were a sign of weakness. Anger was all he’d allowed himself. Was it possible that being courageous enough to feel joy, sadness and everything in between was the biggest strength of all?

  It’s love that matters, Nico. Loving your family, but also loving yourself.

  Honora’s sweetness, her kindness, her passion...all the times she’d sacrificed so much, and risked even more, in her amazing determination to make Nico happy, to make him whole—

  His heart was pounding. He felt overwhelmed with emotion. All around him, soft golden sunlight seemed to glow over the village of Trevello with a kind of magic as he thought of her. He could almost imagine her on this street, helping Egidia with her groceries, walking the housekeeper’s little white dog, talking to everyone, smiling and kind...

  Nico sucked in his breath.

  He loved her, he realized. He was totally and completely in love.

  This was what love meant. Honora was his family. His other half, his better half. He needed her. He would die without her.

  With a sharp intake of breath, Nico turned and ran up the hillside. He had to talk to her. Now.

  Reaching his villa, he threw himself into a cold shower to wash off the sweat. Pulling on a shirt and trousers, he remembered his private plane was still in New York. Grabbing his phone, he saw he’d gotten a text from Frank Bauer to say that Honora had arrived safely, and he’d dropped her off at her grandfather’s apartment at her request.

  Dialing a number, Nico told his assistant to charter a jet to New York immediately. After he hung up, he stared at the phone, trying to work up the nerve to call Honora. He yearned to tell her everything. To throw himself on her mercy and beg for another chance.

  But what if she said no? What if she said he’d hurt her so badly that she couldn’t love him again? His hand shook as he hesitated. Being in love was terrifying. She held his life in her hands.

  I hope you fall in love with her, Nico. Wildly and desperately. Lana Lee’s vindictive words floated back to him. And I hope you’ll suffer for the rest of your life when she never, ever loves you back.

  His phone suddenly rang in his palm, making him jump. The number on screen belonged to Honora’s grandfather, Patrick. He snatched it to his ear.

  His former gardener’s voice was terse. “Honora’s in labor. We’re at the hospital. She wanted me to let you know. And to tell you that everything is fine.”

  Even now, Honora was worried about his feelings? His heart was pounding. “Is everything fine?”

  Silence fell at the other end, then the old man said, “Look, I don’t know what you did to her... She says she doesn’t want you here.” He paused. “But you should come.”

  “Why are you telling me that? Going against her wishes?”

  “Because, well, damn it, you’re family.”

  And he hung up.

  Nico stared at the dead phone in his hand.

  You’re family.

  Those simple words cleared out the cobwebs of his mind, exploding the stone walls around his heart, making everything very clear.

  Honora was in labor with his baby. Possibly too early. Possibly dangerously so. Terror looped through him.

  Grabbing his passport and wallet, Nico ran to the garage. Jumping into the closest car, he started it with a roar, pressing on the gas, heading to the airport where the charter waited, praying he wasn’t too late.

  Whatever happened, he had to be there. To take care of them. To show them he lived for them. That he’d die for them.

  He loved them.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IT WAS TOO early for labor. Three weeks too early.

  Honora’s heart was pounding erratically as she sat in the hospital bed in Queens, in counterpoint to the rat-a-tat of her grandfather’s leather soles as he paced by the window. No matter how many times the doctor and nurses had reassured her that her baby’s heartbeat seemed healthy and strong, and that the labor hadn’t been caused by anything she’d done, she was scared.

  She’d been on Nico’s private plane crossing the Atlantic when she’d first felt contractions. Could the elevation change or pressurized cabin have somehow set off labor? Or had it been caused by the anguish of leaving the only man she’d ever loved?

  “Please, baby,” she whispered, her hand on her belly. “Please be all right.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Granddad said gruffly, stopping his pacing. “Everything is going to be fine.”

  She felt a catch in her throat. “What if it’s not?”

  “Your doctor seems like a pretty smart lady, and she said babies come early all the time.” He gave a rueful smile. “They say the baby’s lungs should be fine, and if there’s any problem, they can scoop her up and take her straight to the NICU... Aw, Honora! Don’t do that!”

  She’d burst into tears. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he patted her hand. “It’ll be all right...you’ll see.”

  “But it’s my fault...”

  He looked astonished. “How?”

  Honora looked up at him miserably. “I have been too upset. I’ve been crying for hours—and I was on a plane. I should have known better. After everything Mom and Dad went through, I shouldn’t have married him when I knew he couldn’t love me!”

  “Stop right there.” His hand tightened over hers. “If anyone’s to blame for your parents’ marriage, it was me. I shamed your mother into marrying him, and hoped he’d grow into his responsibility. But it didn’t turn out, though they both tried. And then—” he blinked fast “—I did the same to you. Hauling my hunting rifle over to Nico’s beach house like an old fool.”

  She stared at him in astonishment. Was
her grandfather...crying?

  “I’m so sorry, Honora,” he whispered. “I never should have done that. I should have listened to you. Trusted you to figure out what was right.” He gave a tremulous smile. “I’m sorry.”

  Shocked, she put her hand on his shoulder. “You were trying to help.” Thinking of how she’d tried to help Nico, she looked down. “But sometimes you can’t help. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do, except love someone from a distance.”

  Looking up, he said, “You’re right. How did you get to be wiser than me?” He tried to smile. “You’ve always had such a big heart. So eager to help everyone. You love people more than they deserve. Me most of all.” He looked up, his eyes full of tears. “I’m so proud of you, Honora. You should know that. How much I...love you.”

  She couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d taken off his boot and thrown it at her.

  “You...” Her throat closed.

  His eyes were watery. “I never was good at saying that, was I? Or showing it. But I’ve always loved you, kid.”

  Her grandfather loved her. The thought was like a warm hug. He hadn’t just been taking care of her out of his sense of duty. She’d never been a burden. He loved her.

  “I love you too,” she choked out, and he hugged her.

  Patrick drew back, smiling. “Now, I’m about to meet my new great-grandbaby, who I already know is going to be the brightest, feistiest, most loving child. Just like her mother.” His green eyes, so much like her own, glowed beneath his bushy gray eyebrows. “And if that husband of yours can’t see what he’s missing, he doesn’t deserve either of you.”

  A sudden longing for Nico went through her heart. As she sat in the hospital room, she looked out the window. Outside, it was twilight. Fading red light slanted through the half-open blinds over the sterile equipment and easy-wash floor.

  “Oh,” she choked out, tensing as she felt a new labor pain start to rise.

  As Honora started to gasp with pain, her grandfather rose quickly to his feet. “I’ll get the doctor, tell her you want an epidural after all—”