Reunited with Her Italian Billionaire

by Nina Singh

  Could Marco have taken—

  No. He wouldn’t.

  When she finally found herself next to the little crib, the rush of relief brought tears to her eyes. Enzo was sleeping soundly, his chubby fingers closed around the silk trimming of his favorite blankie. She watched as his eyelids fluttered, then sealed closed again. Brianna couldn’t help reaching for him. At the risk of waking him, she touched his cheek, stroked her fingers through the fine baby curls on his head. He looked so peaceful.

  So vulnerable.

  “He just fell asleep again.”

  She jumped at the quiet voice behind her. It was Marco, on the rocking chair in the corner of the room. He stood and motioned for her to follow him out into the hallway.

  “He woke up at six,” Marco said when they were outside. “I read to him for a while then rocked him back to sleep.”

  “I didn’t hear him,” Brianna said.

  “I’m a lighter sleeper. Always have been. Besides, I know you were pretty tired.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  “There’s no need to thank me for putting my own son back to sleep.”

  Brianna had to refrain from grunting. How many nights had Marco tucked Enzo in when he was an infant? “I just meant it allowed me to sleep in, that’s all. Have you always been this hard to thank?”

  He gave her that insolent stare again. The look that made Brianna feel as if he were actually touching her. “Too bad we’re splitting up. I could come up with all sorts of ways you could thank me.”

  His words sent heat shooting through her core. At least she was better prepared this time. Unlike yesterday’s thin T-shirt, last night she’d worn bulky flannel pajamas to bed. But somehow, she still felt naked to his gaze.

  Marco was already dressed in casual khaki pants and a black silk shirt that brought out the hue of his eyes. He honestly had to be the most handsome man she’d ever met. All the more reason she wasn’t about to touch his last comment with a ten-foot pole.

  “Are you going somewhere?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “I was waiting for you to wake up. I’m going to spend the morning at Dirici’s. I’ll go through some paperwork then talk to the managers as they come in.”

  She nodded. Same old Marco. His second morning here and already he couldn’t wait to rush into the Dirici offices. “I see. If you don’t mind my saying, that all sounds very routine. What about the ‘pressing’ business matter that had you altering your travel plans yesterday?”

  He frowned. “I’m tending to it.”

  “Well, I hope it’s taken care of very soon.”

  A shadow passed over his face. She couldn’t make out what it meant.

  “Will you be here all day?” he asked.

  She sighed. She certainly had nothing else to do. There was no longer a job to prep recipes for. And she’d already contacted all the possible leads she knew of about a new position. A cook’s position at a decent restaurant wasn’t exactly a job you scanned the want ads for. An opening such as that would be more a word-of-mouth opportunity.

  “I might take Enzo down to the park for a couple of hours. I don’t want to be away from the house too long though, in case any of the job possibilities pan out.”

  Marco’s lips tightened. “You wouldn’t want to miss that,” he said dryly.

  “Is there a reason for sarcasm this early?”

  “I have to go,” he said, ignoring her question and leaving the room. “I left all my numbers on the table for you. My New York assistant’s name and number is there too.”

  Moments later Brianna heard the front door shut. Her mornings were usually hectic and stressful, with getting Enzo ready and preparing for her workday. This morning Enzo was sleeping soundly and she had nothing to do but wait for him. It was almost as if Marco’s arrival had added an element of calm to her life.

  Right. That was ridiculous. Calm and Marco Dirici were not words to be used in the same sentence. Ever.

  The events of the last evening fluttered through her mind as she went downstairs to pour herself a cup of coffee. Her anger flared in response. The nerve of that man. She had been so surprised at the offer he’d been willing to extend to Curtis. Marco wasn’t terribly flexible by nature. For a brief instant she had deluded herself that he may have a heart.

  But then he’d turned on her. Which made no sense at all. She’d simply been trying to thank him. Marco had to care a little about her feelings to have made the offer he did.

  Or so she’d thought. Until he had turned surly and accusatory again.

  She gulped down several swigs, not even bothering to season it with her usual packet of raw sugar.

  What did it matter anyhow? It wasn’t as if she had to bother trying to figure out Marco or his mood swings any longer. She’d spent enough time over the last three years trying to do that. Every time he went away on an extended business trip with barely a goodbye, she had tried to determine what she might have done to upset him. Or the times he returned and retired to his own suite with barely a nod in her direction.

  She slammed her mug down on the table. The few times he had spoken to her it had been to issue an ultimatum or question her about this or that. Where had she been? Who had she seen?

  My attempt to legitimize my son.

  His words shouted through her mind. That was how he’d referred to their marriage. And even though she’d known that was all their union had been about, the way he’d said it so casually had sliced through her heart.

  The shrill ring of the kitchen phone broke into her thoughts. She hadn’t even had half a cup yet, wasn’t really awake enough to talk to anyone. But she had to answer it before it woke Enzo.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Brianna Dirici, please.” Brianna gripped the phone tighter. She recognized the deep accent immediately. And it was as welcome as ice cream on a hot day.

  “This is she.”

  “Ms. Dirici. This is Chef Ziyad of the Ruby Room on the Upper East Side. I’m calling regarding your expressed interest in a cook’s position.”

  Of all the places she’d applied to, this one was her top choice. The Ruby Room attracted the kind of clientele every chef longed to cook for. Dare she hope?

  “Yes?”

  “I imagine you are still in the market for a position?”

  Was she ever. “That’s correct.”

  “Ms. Dirici, we might have an opportunity for you.”

  Yes! “Please, call me Brianna.”

  “Very well then. Brianna. Your reputation indicates a specialty with ethnic mix cuisine.”

  “It’s what I’ve spent the bulk of my career working on, Chef Ziyad. Spanish tapas for the most part.”

  “And I understand you’re quite skilled with puff pastry.”

  “Mainly Mediterranean appetizers.”

  “Well, we attract quite a number of international diners. And I’m looking to expand our mezze menu. Would you be able to come in and discuss all this?”

  Brianna cleared her throat. It wasn’t wise to sound too desperate. Never mind that she was actually jumping up and down in her kitchen. “Whenever you’d like, Chef Ziyad.”

  “Excellent. I’ll give you my assistant’s information. Please call him and set up a time.” Brianna took down the information and hung up. A huge grin settled on her face. She’d done it! And it had taken less than a day.

  “So there, Josef Ansigne,” she said aloud. “Who needs you?”

  Her gaze fell to the piece of paper Marco had left with his numbers on it. She walked over and picked it up. He’d indicated that his cell phone would be the best number to call first. She ran her finger over his writing, outlining his sharp, bold strokes.

  If theirs was a real marriage, her husband would be the first person she’d call to celebrate the good news. She couldn’t help but imagine how
good it would feel to have Marco say he was happy for her. That he was proud of her.

  She put the slip of paper back down.

  It wasn’t a real marriage. And Marco wanted nothing more from her than for her to live in Italy and care for their son while he himself went about his own life. Far from celebrating such news, Marco would be upset about the development.

  She should have her head examined for having such fantasies. The time for hoping for anything meaningful with Marco was over. All she had to do where he was concerned was get through the next few days until he finished whatever he had to do. Then he could go back to Italy. Then they could get their divorce.

  Somehow the utter giddiness of just a few short seconds ago had fallen away completely. She glanced at the clock above the oven. Nine o’clock. Enzo had slept in long enough. If she didn’t go wake him now, his whole schedule for the day would be off. By evening she’d have a cranky, sore little tyrant on her hands.

  She started up the stairs to go get him. Any further celebrating would have to wait.

  * * *

  Marco continued to stare at the column of numbers in front of him. The same column of numbers on the same screen he’d been staring at for the last fifteen minutes. Finally, in disgust he pushed his chair away from the desk and swiveled around to stare out his floor-to-ceiling office window at the traffic outside. Forty-Fifth Street was fully alive. Pedestrians were out in droves cutting through rows of stationary cars.

  For someone who prided himself on his concentration skills, Marco certainly didn’t feel focused today. He’d wasted the better part of an hour accomplishing next to nothing.

  He rested his head back and stared at the sky. The sun had abandoned it hours ago. Thick rolling clouds littered the horizon. A faint haze of drizzle curtained the atmosphere.

  All in all, the day had changed to match his mood completely.

  What in the world was he doing here? Nothing in the paperwork or the operations needed immediate attention. If anything, his managers were going to great lengths to pretend he wasn’t in the way. His unexpected visit had cut into various meetings and several executives’ schedules. He was merely hampering business.

  That made him angry. That reminded him of the reason he was in New York in the first place. Brianna.

  The woman was a thorn in his side. The plan had been so simple. Go to New York. Check on Enzo. Come to a fair agreement regarding his son and all the other loose ends that unraveled at the end of a marriage. It all brought him back to the same question. Why was he still in New York?

  Because he was a jealous, mindless fool. Over a woman who was never really his. If he witnessed one of his friends in the same situation, he knew exactly what he’d do.

  The phone rang and he snatched it to his ear. “Marco Dirici.”

  “I know who you are. At least I think I do.”

  His grandmother. A smile tugged at his mouth. “Hello, Nonna.”

  “I’m your nonna in name only, I see so little of you.”

  “You usually can’t wait to get rid of me.”

  “You know that is absolutely not true.”

  “There are times I wonder.”

  She snorted. “How is our little bambino, eh? I’ve so missed him.”

  At the mention of his son, warmth spread through Marco’s chest. “He’s wonderful, Nonna. You should see how he’s grown in the months since we’ve seen him.”

  What followed was a virtual quiz. Nonna asked him about everything from Enzo’s diet to his toilet habits. Then she hesitated. When she spoke again, Marco immediately sensed unease in her voice. “How are things there, Marco?” she asked.

  He sighed. “You mean with Brianna.”

  “The house just isn’t the same without her.”

  He picked up a pen, tapped it against the desk, then dropped it. “Our separation was for the best.”

  “You can be so sure?”

  “Nonna, I don’t have time for this.”

  “You don’t have time for your grandmother? Of course not, Mr. Hot Shot Businessman. Why would you want to speak to a silly, feeble old woman?”

  That comment was downright laughable. His grandmother was about as feeble as an army general. “Nonna, that won’t work. You’re not going to guilt me into talking to you about this.”

  “Fine.” Nonna’s voice was brusque. “But I won’t let you hang up without giving you some hard-learned advice.”

  Marco sighed. Nonna had made it clear before he left that his only goal on this trip should be to bring his wife and son back. She had no idea how irreparable things had gotten between him and Brianna. This was so not the time to try and explain it to her. “Unwanted advice would be more accurate.”

  “I don’t know what went wrong between you and that lovely bride of yours. But you should do everything in your power to rectify it.” She paused, as if considering whether to add her next comment. Marco wished she hadn’t. “I saw the way you looked at each other, son. Surely there’s still affection between you two.”

  Marco did not want to get into this. And certainly not with the woman who’d raised him. He’d rather walk through hot coals. What Nonna had interpreted as affection was nothing more than a fierce physical attraction that had struck him nearly blind with wanting when he’d first met Brianna. An attraction that had resulted in a child the very first time they’d been together.

  He was trying to come up with yet another tactful way to say “none of your business” when Nonna continued. “That child, my great-grandson, I only have his best interests at heart. I care more for that boy than—”

  “Nonna.” He cut her off, and this time the warning was clear in his voice.

  She wouldn’t be intimidated. No surprise there. “You listen to me, young man.” Marco had no doubt she was shaking her finger at the phone. “That child needs to feel secure, he needs to sense that he’s completely protected. It’s so important for the stage he’s in.”

  Marco closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s why I’m here, Nonna. To make sure he knows I’ll always be there for him.” And to make sure that Brianna knew that as well.

  “I mean now, Marco. Presently, when all these decisions are being made.”

  Enough was enough. “Nonna, I love you, but you really don’t need to concern yourself with this.” As in, it’s really none of your business. A concept older Italian grandmothers didn’t seem to understand.

  “Of course I do, I love that boy. You and Brianna are pulling his world apart. Do everything you can to give him any sense of comfort possible. Or the consequences...”

  Marco straightened in his chair. As much as he was trying to resist, he somehow couldn’t help taking the bait. “What do you suggest?”

  “Ay, ay, ay,” Nonna said, as if he was missing something very obvious. “Bring them home. You have given up on your wife much too easily. Why will you not fight? Until the two of you figure it all out?”

  “Nonna, I’m not going to beg a woman to stay when she doesn’t want to. We both know the humiliation in that.”

  Silence. Then he heard a deep sigh on the other end of the line. “Listen,” she began. “Brianna is nothing like the woman you try to compare her to.”

  Marco’s fingers tightened around the receiver. He had to bite his tongue against the reply he wanted to blurt out. She was still his grandmother. “Brianna’s made her decision. I will honor it.”

  He heard a disagreeing grunt from the other end of the line. The woman was persistent. “You’re wrong about that. You need to tell her, Marco. But first you need to see it.”

  By the time he hung up, Marco felt as if he’d sailed an hour through a turbulent storm. His grandmother’s words replayed in his head. Particularly her warnings about Enzo and his need for stability at this stage.

  But Marco was truly at a loss. How much more could
he do? The whole reason for this trip was to make sure he remained a steady and solid part of the boy’s life. As far as his wife was concerned, that was a whole different story. Nonna was the one who was wrong. It was way too late to try and work things out with Brianna.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A BRISK AUTUMN breeze rustled the trees and nipped at Marco’s face as he made his way toward the gazebo in the middle of Memorial Park. According to the note she’d stuck on the door, Brianna had taken Enzo here to play.

  It was late afternoon and Marco found himself enjoying the fresh air. The brief walk from Brianna’s house had started to work out the kinks in his joints garnered from an unproductive, frustrating morning at the office.

  Surprising as it was, he was looking forward to spending time in the kiddie park with his son and his...well, Brianna. He had to stop thinking of her in terms of being his wife.

  Marco’s stride faltered. She was only that in the most literal sense of the word. And wouldn’t be for much longer. Just cold, hard fact. They both needed to move on.

  He heard them before he spotted them. Brianna’s punctuating laughter mixed in with a small boy’s giggles. They were under a large oak near the gazebo. Brianna had her arms spread wide, twirling around in circles. Enzo ran madly around her. He stopped, bent to grab an armful of dry leaves, then threw them at his mother. Brianna laughed harder.

  Almost everyone else in the park stared at the spectacle. A couple of women were smiling. Several other ladies looked to be snickering to each other behind cupped hands. A few merely stared as if they thought her mad.

  Marco knew Brianna wouldn’t care about any of that.

  She looked like a gypsy. A crimson-red band wrapped around her head did a very poor job of containing her long tangle of curls. A fitted black sweater hugged her hips and stopped midthigh. Beneath it, her long, shapely legs were clad in black leggings. On her feet were trendy chunky-heeled shoes, the ones that arched the foot in that sexy way that made a man want to tear them off and run his hands up her legs.