“You are enough for me, Aimee. Do you understand?”
Was she enough? She had to believe it. Nicolo had sacrificed ownership of her grandfather’s financial empire for her.
“Do you understand?” he said, rolling her onto her back.
“Yes,” she said, “yes…”
He kissed her. Kissed her again…And forgot everything but making love to his wife.
A prince and his princess could surely be a few minutes late for an appointment.
The obstetrician—not an OB-G-Anything but uno medico l’ostetrico—was middle-aged, pleasant and, to Aimee’s relief, spoke excellent English.
His calm demeanor was just what Nicolo needed.
Somehow, finding himself waiting in the doctor’s private office while Aimee was examined had turned him from a man whose wife was having a baby into one whose wife was about to do something no female on the planet had ever done before.
He sprang to his feet when she and the doctor reappeared.
“Cara. Are you all right?”
“Yes. Of course. I’m—”
“Doctor? Is my wife well?”
“She is fine, Principe.”
“The baby, too?”
“The baby, too.”
“You are sure?”
The doctor smiled. “I am sure.”
“And what must we do to keep things that way?”
“The usual, Principe. A healthful diet. Exercise. No caffeine, no cigarettes.”
“That’s it?”
The doctor spread his arms wide. “Si. That is it.”
Nicolo cleared his throat, the memories of the night and the morning suddenly vivid.
“And, ah, and what of, ah, what of restrictions on, ah, on her activities?”
Aimee blushed. The doctor hid a grin. “If you refer to sex—”
“Si.”
“Sex is a perfectly healthy activity.”
Nicolo clasped Aimee’s hand. “What else should we know?”
“In a few weeks, we will do some tests—we do them for all pregnant women,” the doctor added quickly, when Nicolo paled. “It is, how does one say it? Pro forma. Ultrasound. Blood work. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“You are sure?”
“I am quite sure.”
Moments later, on the sidewalk, Aimee stopped and turned to Nicolo.
“I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of the doctor,” she said quietly, “but—but if you wish, they could do an additional test. For DNA. To prove to you that this baby is—”
Nicolo drew her close and silenced her with a kiss. “There is nothing you need prove to me, cara,” he murmured. “We have agreed to tell each other only the truth, si?”
“Si. Yes. But if—”
“No lies,” he said softly. “Not between us. Not ever.”
He bought her more clothes than she could wear in a lifetime and when she whispered that it was a waste of money because, soon, she wouldn’t fit into any of them, he held a quiet conversation with one of the shop assistants, who looked at Aimee and smiled.
“We will take all this,” Nicolo said, gesturing to the stacks of trousers and sweaters, dresses and gowns Aimee had tried on.
Then he whisked her back into his car, to an elegant boutique that specialized in fashions for expectant mothers.
“I’ll never wear all these things,” Aimee said as the new pile of garments grew larger.
“I want you to have them,” Nicolo said.
A pronouncement, not a suggestion. That was how her husband faced the world, with authority and determination.
How he had now faced her grandfather because he wanted her, not Stafford-Coleridge-Black.
It seemed impossible. Nicolo’s trips to the States. His meetings with James. He’d wanted the bank that same way, with authority and determination.
Not enough to marry her, of course…
But he had married her, because it was, he’d said, the right thing to do, once he knew she carried his heir.
In other words, he’d met James’s conditions of sale.
Why insist on turning his back on the deal now?
For her. Only for her, Aimee thought, and something wonderful and just a little bit terrifying stirred in her heart.
At Bulgari, they looked at platinum wedding bands. For men as well as women because, Nicolo said, a husband should wear a ring as well as a wife.
Such a simple statement but it filled Aimee with joy.
Was it really only yesterday she’d stood before a judge, her heart cold as she took vows that bound her to this man?
Her heart was anything but cold now.
“Aimee?”
She looked up. Nicolo was watching her, a little smile on his face.
“What are you thinking, cara?” he said softly.
That I was wrong about you, my husband. That you are a kind, generous, wonderful man….
Not even she was foolish enough to bare her soul so quickly.
“I was thinking that—that it’s going to be hard to choose rings when they’re all so beautiful.”
“Then let me simplify things and—”
“Nicolo,” she said quickly, “are you sure you don’t want the bank?”
He looked at her as if she’d gone crazy. “Didn’t you ask me that a little while ago?”
“But—”
“But what? I gave you my answer. There are other banks.” His smile tilted. “Besides, this particular bank should only have gone to you.”
“It couldn’t. My grandfather—”
Nicolo silenced her with a kiss.
“Now,” he said softly, leaning his forehead against hers, “as to selecting rings…It’s a warm day. You have been on your feet too long.”
“I haven’t. I sat in the car, sat at those shops, sat here—”
“There’s a little café just down the street. Giorgio will drive you there.”
“Giorgio will not drive me just down the street!”
“Fine. Then you will walk there, take an umbrella table, order espresso for me and a lemonade for you.”
Aimee shook her head. “I think I’ve just been had!”
Nicolo gave her the kind of grin that made her blush.
“As soon as we get home, cara,” he whispered, “I promise. For now, wait for me at the café.” He paused. “Please.”
How could she resist after that? Aimee rose on her toes and pressed a light kiss to her husband’s mouth.
The café was crowded but she found a table shaded by a bright yellow Cinzano umbrella, dutifully ordered Nicolo’s espresso and her cool drink, and waited.
Moments later, she saw him coming toward her. She began to smile—but the smile turned to astonishment.
“Nicolo! What are you doing?”
A silly question. He had dropped to his knees before her. That not only got her attention, but it got everyone else’s.
He took a small box from his pocket, opened it and revealed a ring that shone with all the fire an exquisitely set ten carat diamond could provide.
“Aimee,” he said softly, “I know I should have asked you this question yesterday but the old saying says it is never too late to do the right thing.” He took her hand and slipped the ring on her finger. “Will you be my wife?”
Tears filled Aimee’s eyes. “Yes,” she said, laughing and crying at the same time. “Oh, yes, Nico, yes, yes, yes—”
The café filled with cheers as she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.
And, just that quickly, she knew the shocking truth.
She was deeply, passionately in love with her husband.
He had bought wedding bands, too, of course.
A wide one set with diamonds for her, a more austere version of the same ring for himself.
Still, even several weeks later, Aimee would catch sight of the solitaire and the wedding band glittering on her left hand and wonder how all this could have happened.
Didn’t it take time to fall in
love? Didn’t you have to get to know a person? His likes, his dislikes. His favorite foods, his favorite movies, all that and more.
She and Nicolo were still learning those things but none of them seemed terribly important.
One look into her husband’s eyes in that café and she’d tumbled straight off the edge of the earth.
Or maybe it had happened when they met. Maybe what she’d experienced in Nicolo’s arms that first night had been more than mind-blowing sex.
Maybe it had been love, even then.
What did it matter? She loved her husband. He was everything she’d wanted without ever knowing she’d wanted it.
There’d been a man, once, when she was in college. He’d talked of a future together. Of how he’d be there for her, supportive of her pursuing a career despite being married.
It had all sounded wonderful until it was time to apply to grad school and she told him about her grandfather, about how he thought her attending graduate school was foolish. About how hard she was going to have to work to change his mind about letting a woman inherit SCB.
You mean, you might not inherit the company? he’d said.
That night, he’d dropped her at the apartment she shared with three other women.
I’ll call you, he’d told her.
He never did.
He’d been her one lover, until the night she met Nicolo.
Nicolo, who wanted her. Not what she could bring him. Nicolo, who she loved with all her heart.
She wanted to tell him. Wanted to take his face between her hands, look into his eyes and say, Nico, my husband, I adore you….
But she couldn’t. She was a liberated woman with two degrees, a woman who could hold her own in the toughest business crowd but when it came to love, she couldn’t say the words without hearing them first.
Someday soon, Nicolo would say them.
He would tell her he loved her because, surely, he did. His actions, his lovemaking, his sacrifice of her grandfather’s bank…
Why would a man do those things, if not for love?
It was only a matter of time before he said the words.
Except—except, as time slipped past, doubt crept in. Nicolo was the same. Kind, tender, generous. Passionate. So passionate, even as her belly grew more rounded, that there were times she wept with joy as she came in his arms.
But a little voice had started whispering things she didn’t want to hear.
Are you sure, Aimee? it would say slyly. Will he really tell you he loves you? Are you sure he’s not just manipulating you the way your grandfather did all those years he let you think you’d take over at the bank?
James’s lie kept you docile.
Maybe this is Nicolo’s lie. To tame you. To keep you warming his bed.
The thoughts were ugly. And untrue. Absolutely untrue. Aimee blocked them out…but sometimes, in the darkest part of the night, the voice still whispered to her and when it did, her heart turned cold.
Her birthday was fast approaching.
Nicolo reminded her of it.
“How did you know?” she said, and he gave her a smug grin and said he’d known it from the day they married. “It’s on your passport, remember? Tucked away in my safe.”
It was, he said, an important birthday.
“Twenty-five,” she said, and gave a dramatic sigh. “A quarter of a century.”
Nicolo laughed and caught her up in his arms. “I’m serious, cara. It is important.” His eyes darkened. “I want you to have a very special day. We’ll drive north, to Tuscany. I have a house there. It’s much smaller than the palazzo, very quiet, very private…” He smiled. “I’ll take you to my favorite little trattoria so you can practice your Italian by ordering all the local dishes.”
She smiled back at him. “It sounds wonderful. I can’t wait.”
“And I can’t wait to see your face when I give you your birthday present. I think—I know—it will make you very happy.”
He put her on her feet. Aimee lay her hand over her belly.
“You’ve already given me the best gift in the world,” she said softly.
Nicolo put his hand over hers just as the baby gave its first kick. She knew she’d never forget the incredulous look that came over his face.
“Was that my son?”
“Or your daughter.”
He kissed her. And after that, she stopped listening to that sly little voice because, without question, what it said was a lie.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AIMEE’S BIRTHDAY fell on a Saturday.
Which was, Nicolo said, perfect for their visit at the house in Tuscany.
“There’s an infinity pool and a hot tub, and a terrace that looks out over the valley. No servants, just a housekeeper who comes in only a couple of times a week.” He took Aimee in his arms and kissed her. “We’ll have all the privacy we could want, cara, so I can teach you some new words in my language and, better yet, show you exactly what they mean. How does that sound?”
It sounded wonderful. Almost too wonderful to be true, but then, the last several weeks had all been like that.
The only thing that could be more perfect would be if Nicolo said he loved her. Aimee hoped that might be the special gift he had for her. A sweet declaration of his love.
Then, life would be perfect.
They planned to leave early Friday morning but Nicolo had to go to his office first to sort out a minor emergency.
Aimee walked him out the front door.
“I’ll be back in an hour, no more,” he said, as he kissed her goodbye.
“Not a minute more,” she answered, kissing him back.
He smiled, but then his expression grew serious. “Are you happy here, with me, cara?”
She answered by pressing her mouth to his again.
“Sometimes,” he said, his arms tightening around her, “sometimes I think it was fate that sent you on a collision course with me in front of that hotel, and sent us to the same club that evening.” He took her face in his hands. “And, lately, I think, too, that we should repay fate’s kindness to us by making peace with your grandfather.”
Aimee sighed. “I know. I’ve thought about it. He’s old. And frail. And I suppose, in his own way, he did what he thought was right.”
Nicolo brushed his mouth gently over hers.
“I am glad you feel that way, cara, because—because that plays into my birthday gift for you.”
“Making peace with James? I don’t understand.”
“You will,” he said, and kissed her again. “I will explain this weekend, I promise.”
“Nicolo! That’s not fair. At least give me a hint.”
“A hint. Hmm.” He grinned. “All right.” He put his hand on her rounded belly. “Part of your gift is as much a gift for our baby as for you.”
“Some hint! I’m more confused than before!”
Nicolo rolled his eyes. “One more hint, woman, and then my lips are sealed. Let’s see…” He took her hand, turned it over and touched his finger to a line across her palm. “I see a journey in your future,” he said, his tone as solemn as any fortune-teller’s. Then he looked up and grinned. “No more questions, Principessa. Nicolo the Magnifico has finished telling the future for now.”
Aimee laughed. “You’re a hard man, Nicolo the Magnificent.”
“And you are soft, cara,” he said huskily, “as soft as silk in my arms.”
A long, deep kiss. Then he trotted down the steps, got into his Ferrari and roared away.
She looked after the car until it vanished through the gates. Then she went back into the palazzo, out onto the terrace overlooking the rear gardens, smiling as she gazed over the riotous colors of the flowers.
A hint? Nicolo had given it all away. Her “special birthday gift” was a trip to New York and a reconciliation with James.
It was a generous gesture for her husband to make.
Nicolo was a proud man. Her grandfather’s attempt to manipulate him had
backfired because of that pride. Now, he’d overlook it and make peace for her sake, and for the sake of their child.
“You’re a good man, Nico,” she whispered softly. “A wonderful man—”
“Signora?”
Aimee turned around. “Yes, Anna?”
“I have finished packing your suitcase.”
“Thank you.” Ridiculous, really. She was perfectly capable of packing her own things but Nicolo insisted Anna do it. The further she went in her pregnancy, the more convinced he was that she needed to be treated with extra care.
“I put in all the things you asked for. The cotton tops, the linen trousers. But I wonder…Will you and the Principe be dining out? Shall I pack some long gowns? An evening purse? Shoes?”
It was an excellent question and only Nicolo knew the answer.
“I don’t know,” Aimee said with a little laugh. “Thank you for thinking of it. I’ll phone my husband and ask.”
The nearest telephone was in Nicolo’s study. She’d been in the room often, sitting curled in a corner of the sofa, reading, while he did e-mail. Now, for the first time, she went behind her husband’s oversize antique desk, sat in his chair, reached for the phone and dialed his office.
Nicolo picked up after a few rings.
“Cara? Are you all right?”
“I’m perfectly fine.”
“Good. Good. For a moment, I thought—”
“Nico,” she said gently, “really, I’m okay. I just wanted to ask if—”
“I’m on the phone with Paris. May I put you on hold for a few minutes?”
She assured him that he could and settled back to wait.
Soft music played over the telephone line and Aimee hummed along, dah-dah-dahing just a little off-key. Still humming, she plucked a pencil from the desk, pulled a scrap of paper toward her, began to draw stick-figure babies and mommies and daddies….
And stopped.
What was that?
A fax. A fax on her grandfather’s letterhead, dated two days after she had married Nicolo.
My dear Prince Barbieri. Once again, let me repeat what I told you when you telephoned. I am delighted by the news of your marriage to my granddaughter…
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