The Italian's Doorstep Surprise Read online

  I love you, Honora. You’re all that matters. The light of my life. I love you.

  It had been the last time she’d heard those words from anyone.

  “No, don’t,” Honora gasped. She felt an ache in her throat that was as sharp as a knife. “Don’t...don’t make me cry. It’ll...it’ll wreck my makeup, and...the planner will yell and there will be a delay and cause everyone trouble.”

  Patrick glanced toward the wedding planner scornfully. “Huh. Let them wait.” He leaned in close to his granddaughter and whispered, “Are you sure about this?”

  She blinked hard to kill the tears and smoothed her face in a smile. “About what?”

  “Do you love him, Honora? Nico? Your fella? Does he love you?”

  Her smile dropped. She stared at him in shock. These were not questions she’d ever imagined her grandfather would ask. “You ask me this now? Right before the ceremony? After you were ready to shoot him with your rifle if he didn’t marry me?”

  Patrick shook his head, his bushy gray eyebrows furrowing. “I didn’t understand it then.” He ran a hand over his forehead. “After seventy-odd years on this earth, I didn’t understand till now, how wonderful it can be to love the person you’re married to. I didn’t know.” He looked up, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “Life’s not just about duty, Honora. At least, it shouldn’t be.”

  What? “But you said...”

  “The last two weeks have been the best of my life. Don’t wait until you’re my age to learn about love. Don’t make my mistake.” He put his hand over hers. “If you don’t love Nico Ferraro, if he doesn’t love you, then don’t do it. You can come live with Phyllis and me. You and the baby both. As long as you need. It’s your home, too.”

  Honora stared at him, stricken.

  “It’s time,” the wedding planner trilled. “Maid of honor, go!”

  “Honora?” her grandfather said urgently.

  “Of course Nico loves me,” she lied. “And I love him.” She tried to smile. “Let’s do this.”

  But as she held her grandfather’s arm, and they went outside into the bright summer sunlight, she was suddenly afraid. Her grandfather’s change of heart troubled her more than she’d thought possible.

  Life’s not just about duty, Honora. At least, it shouldn’t be.

  As they walked down the makeshift aisle between the folding chairs, on the grassy bluff overlooking the wide blue sea, she saw her friends and neighbors, the people she’d looked up to and loved her whole life. She saw Emmie’s parents and her four strapping younger brothers crammed together, their shoulders overflowing the width of the folding chairs. She saw Phyllis beaming at Patrick, whose shoulders straightened a little as he walked by where his new bride was seated, and became visibly younger just at the sight of her.

  Honora’s footsteps faltered when she saw someone she hadn’t expected—Lana Lee, Nico’s famous movie-star ex, looking glamorous and insanely beautiful, and wearing big sunglasses in the back row.

  You’re so ordinary in comparison, her insecurity whispered. Why would he ever love you if he couldn’t even love her?

  “Steady,” her grandfather said, holding her arm as he smiled at her. “We’re almost there.”

  And then Honora saw Nico, standing beside a minister and his best man, whom she didn’t know, beneath an arch of white and pink flowers. She felt the warm sea breeze and breathed in the scent of salt and green grass.

  Her fiancé’s dark eyes met hers. Above his sleek tuxedo, Nico’s handsome face was shining, as if he’d never been happier. As if she were the most beautiful woman in the world. When she reached him, he took her hand.

  Ten minutes later, he was kissing her as the minister presented them as husband and wife, to the guests’ approving murmurs and applause.

  Nico’s kiss burned through her. And as Honora looked up into her husband’s eyes, all her doubts were caught by the wind and blew out to sea. There was only him. Them. Forever.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WOULD THIS DAMNED reception ever end?

  Nico didn’t care about the wedding toasts—neither Emmie Swenson’s sweet, tender good wishes, nor Theo Katrakis’s surprisingly classy tribute.

  “My assistant wrote it!” the Greek confided later, with a grin.

  Nico wasn’t hungry for the elegant beachside luncheon of lobster and asparagus in hollandaise sauce. He didn’t want white wedding cake with raspberry filling. And the one thing that might have been palatable, the chilled champagne, he didn’t touch, since Honora couldn’t.

  There was only one thing he actually wanted. And every minute he had to wait was agony.

  Tables had been spread across the lawn with a view of the ocean. The July afternoon was bright, the sky a perfect blue. With only a hundred guests, the reception was intimate.

  But not nearly intimate enough for him.

  He looked down hungrily at Honora sitting beside him at the head table. Honora. Mrs. Ferraro. His wife.

  She was leaning back against him in her wedding dress, her green eyes sparkling as she laughed at some joke Theo had made. The Greek was being his usual charming self, likely for the benefit of her maid of honor sitting on Honora’s other side. But even still. Nico didn’t like it, all that joy in her face, caused by another man.

  He wanted his bride all to himself.

  He’d never forget the moment he’d first seen her at the end of the aisle, in her strapless wedding dress, perfectly formfitting around her full breasts and baby bump, holding a small bouquet of pink roses. Her dark hair was falling free over her shoulders, and she had matching pink roses in her hair. Her green eyes had glowed as she walked toward him, holding her grandfather’s arm.

  Nico’s knees had actually gone weak. He’d heard the thundering roar of the surf behind him as his blood rushed through his veins.

  In that moment, everything else had fallen away. And he’d known she was the solution to that nameless emptiness, the anger, the restlessness he’d felt all his life. Once he possessed her, he would be whole.

  Nico’s voice had been calm and confident as he’d spoken his vows. Honora’s had been quieter, seeming to hesitate, to tremble on the edges. But as the minister pronounced them husband and wife, and Nico took her in his arms and kissed her, he almost hated the applauding guests. He wished them a million miles away. He’d already waited weeks. Months. Years. In some ways, he’d waited his whole life. Now the hours of the obligatory wedding reception seemed unendurable.

  The only good thing was that at least they didn’t have to worry about an all-night spree of dancing and drinking, which the wedding planner had suggested but which he’d flatly refused, both because he’d promised Honora he wouldn’t drink for the rest of her pregnancy, and because he thought he would explode if he had to wait to be alone with his bride until people toddled off drunk at two in the morning.

  And they didn’t have to worry about wedding presents, either. Honora had suggested that in lieu of gifts, guests could donate to their favorite charity. He’d been relieved. Nico hated receiving gifts—having to pretend to be grateful and indebted and say thank you and on and on, usually for some trinket he didn’t value and had no use for. Charity was a fantastic idea.

  Nico ground his teeth, trying his best to make it a smile as he looked around him at all the round tables filled with people who loved his wife. Why were they still here? It had been hours. The luncheon had been eaten, the cake served, the toasts given.

  Too bad he didn’t have the old man’s hunting rifle. That would have encouraged their guests to leave right quick. His lips curved at the pleasant thought.

  Then he sighed. As sensible a course as that seemed in his current state, he didn’t think his wife would approve. Honora seemed to place a lot of importance on family, friends and community. Far too much.

  But he wanted her to be happy. His arm tightened a
round her shoulders as she sat beside him at the head table. And soon, she’d make him very happy, too.

  Honora looked up at him and smiled. “Don’t you think?”

  “He’ll never admit it,” Theo said.

  He focused on them abruptly. “What?”

  His new bride gave a dreamy smile. “I said I’ve never been so happy. I think we were meant to be. Soulmates. It was fate.”

  Nico blinked, then felt a sudden shock of panic that he couldn’t explain. Just a moment before, he’d been thinking how contented he felt to be wed to her, how proud. But now he saw something in Honora’s shining eyes, some overwhelming emotion that scared him. And he imagined he saw a question in her lovely face, wordlessly asking if he felt the same.

  He didn’t. His heart was a stone, had been since childhood. The only emotions he could still feel were anger and satisfaction and...anger. He felt satisfaction at the thought of possessing her, and winning his point, and bedding her, and starting a family with her.

  But somehow he didn’t think she would be flattered if he told her what was in his shallow heart.

  Cover, block, hide.

  Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it. “I think,” he said huskily, “it is time for our guests to leave.”

  “Nico!” Honora blushed, but he saw how she hid a smile and felt the tremble of her hand in his own. That was enough. He rose to his feet.

  “Thank you all so much for coming to our wedding,” he said loudly, over the roar of the waves against the sand dunes. “But my wife...” My wife! What delicious words! “...is very tired, and so I’d like to invite you all to leave.”

  “Oh...” Honora moaned softly, covering her pink face with her hands. For a moment, the guests were silent. Then he received help from an unexpected source.

  “Quite right,” Patrick Burke said loudly, rising to his feet from the nearest table. The old man looked around at all the guests, almost entirely his and Honora’s friends. “If we leave now, we can beat the traffic back to the city!”

  Beat the traffic. Those were magic words. Everyone looked at each other with alarm and, as if of one accord, rose to their feet.

  “May I take you back in my Bugatti, Miss Swenson?” Theo asked the maid of honor, Emmie.

  “Not a chance,” she responded crisply, then turned to hug Honora one last time. “Congratulations and good luck. You deserve everything good.” She bit her lip. “And I’m sorry for...for what I said before.”

  “Nothing that wasn’t true,” Honora said, smiling, then handed her the bouquet of pink roses. “You’re a good friend. The best. Thanks for being here for me.”

  “What was that all about?” Nico asked, as the guests crossed the grassy bluff back toward the sprawling mansion, back toward valet parking.

  Honora watched them go, including her grandfather, who was holding Phyllis’s hand tightly as they departed, and Emmie stumbling over the dunes with her family, and Theo, now flirting with Lana Lee.

  Now there was an interesting idea for a couple, Nico thought. Though they were so similar in their selfishness that they might kill each other.

  “I feel bad...” Honora whispered, watching her maid of honor.

  “About what?”

  She turned back with a small smile. “Nothing.”

  “Good,” he said, because the last thing he wanted to do was talk. Standing together on the grassy bluff, beside the flower-strewn wedding arch overlooking the vast blue-gray Atlantic, Nico pulled her into his arms.

  “Kiss me, Mrs. Ferraro,” he whispered.

  Reaching up, she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

  At her touch, something in his heart unfolded. His body relaxed and grew tight all at once. His hands moved in her dark hair, and pink rose petals whirled around them in the soft ocean breeze as she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.

  With an intake of breath, he lifted her up into his arms to carry her back to the house. Even at seven months pregnant, her weight felt negligible, as she pressed herself against him, so soft and warm. In this moment, he would have killed anyone who tried to take her away from him. Their eyes locked with wordless hunger as he carried her inside the sprawling beachside mansion.

  Inside, the back foyer was empty, deserted. The staff was gone. She looked around.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “I told Sebastian we wanted to be alone after the reception...to pack for the honeymoon. Bauer is waiting at the car.” The Rolls-Royce had been festooned with flowers to take them to the airport. “We’re due to leave in an hour.”

  “I’m so excited. I’ve never been to Italy.” She gave a crooked smile. “The farthest I’ve ever traveled is New Jersey.”

  Nico wished she hadn’t chosen the Amalfi Coast for their honeymoon. She’d said she wanted to see the country where he’d been born, but it only reminded him of unfinished business there.

  Or maybe that was a good thing. Maybe this was fate, telling him to finally take what was rightfully his, the one thing his father had managed to keep from him: the palace where Nico’s mother had once worked as a maid. His father’s ancestral home, passed from generation to generation.

  He’d tried to play nice. He’d offered to buy it from the widow for more than it was worth. His evil stepmother had turned him down flat.

  Maybe it was time to play hardball.

  “Nico?” She was looking at him with concern. “You were a million miles away.”

  Still holding her in his arms, he looked down with a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing.”

  Honora looked around the enormous room with its tall windows overlooking the Atlantic. “All this space. Just for the two of us.”

  “Yes.” He looked down at her in his arms. “I bought it hoping I’d someday have a family here. You’ve made that dream come true.”

  He felt her melt a little in his arms. Honora didn’t know that when he’d bought this house he’d imagined he’d have Lana Lee at his side, and he’d rub his success in the face of the man who’d callously let his mother die. The aristocratic father and stepmother who’d thought Nico wasn’t good enough to be their son.

  No. He didn’t want to remember. That was all in the past. Stopping in the grand main room, he looked down at his wife, heavily pregnant, cradled in his arms. Honora was the future.

  Standing in front of the tall, open windows, he felt the soft summer sea breeze coming up from the beach, swirling the long translucent curtains that were pushed back to the edges of the windows.

  Kissing her, he gently set her down on her feet. She returned his embrace passionately. His hands roamed over her creamy wedding dress, cupping her breasts, her hips, her backside.

  She drew back. “We can’t,” she breathed against his lips. “People will be waiting for us.”

  “We own the plane. Let the pilots wait.”

  “We could get caught, here in the living room...”

  “The servants are gone. The house is all mine. Which means—” he kissed down her throat “—it’s all yours...”

  He heard the softness of her gasp as she leaned back to brace herself against a wall. She tilted back her head, her dark hair tumbling down her back in another flurry of pink petals.

  He yanked off his tuxedo jacket, ripping off half the buttons of his white shirt in his desperation to remove it. She stroked the taut muscles of his bare chest, which was laced with dark hair. The feel of her hands on his skin made him ache with need.

  She was pregnant with his child, and yet he felt as if he were touching her for the first time. As if this were his first time making love to anyone...

  Reaching around her, he unzipped her wedding dress, and it fell to a heap at her feet. She stood before him like a goddess, her pregnant curves barely contained by a white demi-bra and tiny white panties. He swallowed.

  “Y
ou’re so beautiful,” he whispered, touching her, stroking her. “I can’t believe you’re mine...”

  He felt her shiver beneath his fingertips as he ran his hands over her arms, her shoulders, cupping her face as he kissed her hungrily, deeply. Her pregnant belly pressed against him. He wanted to ravish her, but he felt strangely uncertain.

  He breathed against her skin, “I don’t want to hurt you...”

  She gave a shy smile that was the most seductive thing he’d ever seen. “You won’t. Let me show you...”

  She pushed him back against the sectional sofa in soft cream leather, at the center of the room. Climbing on top of him, she lowered her head to kiss him.

  He felt the veil of her dark hair fall softly against his skin. Her hips swayed over his, causing his desire to spike higher still. With her on top, she was the one in control. He felt as if he were completely in her power.

  It was a new sensation for him, and almost unbearably erotic.

  Her full breasts overflowed the tiny silk bra. Reaching around her, he unhooked the fabric, allowing her swollen breasts to spring free. He gasped, then leaned up to suckle her, cupping both mounds with his hands. His hard shaft strained against his trousers as she straddled his hips.

  She sucked in her breath, closing her eyes. For a moment she held still. Then her hips started to sway instinctively. The pleasure was too much. Ripping his mouth away from her swollen pink nipple, he gripped her wrists.

  “No—stop,” he gasped. “It’s too much... I can’t control...”

  Her eyes flew open. She looked at him, her lovely face surprised. Then she smiled a small, feminine smile. In this moment she seemed far more experienced than he; she at least remembered the night they’d conceived their child. While he felt like a damned virgin, helpless, lost in his desire for her, this intoxicating woman who was now his wife.

  Rising to her feet, she reached down and slowly unzipped his trousers, careful not to touch the part of him that most strained for her. She pulled the fabric, along with his silk boxer shorts, slowly down his legs.

  Then, standing in front of him, she took off her white lace panties.