by CC MacKenzie
Chapter Twenty Seven
Nico couldn't believe it had been a whole month since he'd been here.
The car entered her drive and he automatically drove to the rear of The Dower House. Would she be happy to see him? Probably not, Nico decided, but he needed to swallow his damned pride and tell her how much he loved her. If there was one thing he tried never to do, it was to live with regrets.
He'd found his family and it was thanks to her. His brother was happily married to an American girl, Julie. And he had two kids, Carmen who was five and Giancarlo who was six months. Although his father was terminally ill, he'd rallied. Thanks, Gabriel said, to Nico.
Perhaps Bronte would agree to meet them? If they couldn't be lovers, perhaps she would agree to be friends? The thought squeezed his lungs as he took a shuddering breath.
He switched off the engine and opened the door.
With his hand raised to knock the door, the scream of a woman terrified for her life pierced the still winter night. Bronte!
He tried the handle, the door was locked.
The house alarm screeching a high keening sound stunned him for a split second.
But he heaved a metal plant pot filled with happy pansies through the door window.
All the while, his heart pounded in his ears as he groped for the lock.
Turning the key, he was through the door, racing towards desperate screams that stopped abruptly.
Tearing through the kitchen over broken glass, remains of the smashed fruit bowl and into the hall, all Nico saw was the man who straddled her, one hand squeezing her neck while the other dug hard fingers into a bare breast.
Her clothes torn and bloody, Bronte lay under him like a rag doll.
A howl of terrified rage roared from his throat as he grabbed Anthony by the hair planting a heavy fist in his face.
Nico felt and heard cartilage break and didn't give a damn.
Blood spurting, profanities spewing from his lips, Anthony slipped, sliding through his own fluids in a vain attempt to clamber to his feet making ready to run.
The boy from Rome who'd survived in streets with no law, no justice, leaped through the veneer of civilised respectability to possess the man.
He simply drop-kicked the whimpering coward, then placed his foot, his full weight, on the scum's thigh, grabbed his ankle and pulled.
The kneecap popped like a champagne cork.
The sobbing scream of agony was music to his ears.
Anthony wouldn't be going anywhere.
Nico spun around to Bronte and dropped to his knees.
A whine, like an animal in pain, escaped from his throat.
They found him rocking her limp body in his arms bitter tears pouring down his face.
They wouldn't let him see her.
They'd told him nothing except she was alive.
She'd still been unconscious when they'd arrived at the hospital, so fragile, so pale and so damned vulnerable.
Nico paced to the door of the waiting room and back again. How could anyone, any man dream of hurting her? He simply could not get his head around it.
For over three relentless hours he'd worn a path in the floor of the hospital waiting room while the police had taken his statement.
Anthony Lawrence Brown, to give the piece of shit his full name, had totally flipped, spewing enough bile about Bronte that the police would be charging him with assault and attempted rape. He'd confessed in front of witnesses. The police had had the presence of mind to take him to another hospital.
Nico could care less about the bastard.
The night had been a horror he knew he'd never forget.
Rosie was on her way and, since she'd phoned him, so was Carl Terlezki. And if that wasn't proof of how much the man meant to Bronte, Nico didn't know what was.???????
It wasn't Bronte's fault that she couldn't love him. It wasn't as if he'd given her much of a reason to love him. He had handled their relationship so badly, so stupidly, he could not believe it.
Reflection had given him the luxury of time to realise that he only wanted what was best for her.
He'd thought he had plenty of time to win her back. The truth of his situation was like a fist to the throat. He'd wasted a whole month, held back by fear of failure. To lose her would kill a part of him. Destroy him in ways he daren't contemplate.
The door flew open and Rosie's scared wide eyes scanned the room until they found him. She was closely followed by a too pale looking Carl Terlezki.
"How is she?" She demanded and burst into tears.
"They won't tell me ..." His voice broke as Rosie hugged him very hard and he held on tight.
"Thank God you found her," Carl said in a voice that shook and extended his hand. "I will never be able to repay you."
Nico took his hand, realisation dawning that the man loved Bronte desperately.
A tired looking nurse appeared at the door.
"I'm looking for the family of Bronte Ludlow?"
Carl looked at Rosie and she gave him a gentle push towards the nurse.
Well, that said it all didn't it?
Heart breaking in his chest, defeated, Nico moved to sit as the nurse asked Carl.
"And you are?"
Carl glanced at Rosie who gave him a nod of encouragement.
"Ah, I am her father."
"Great, come with me. She's been very distressed and is still little bit out of it, but the doctor will give you an update."
Stunned, Nico simply stared at the door after they left and then turned to Rosie who was watching him like a hawk.
With care he sank into the chair with the bizarre feeling he was living in a crazy parallel word.
One minute his life was over, the next he had a glimmer of hope.
"Her father?" He stared at Rosie.
She patted his knee. "Yep, it's a long story. Thing is, Alexander hasn't met him yet. They'll only go public with it once he agrees. The family's reputation will take a hit. And the press already have the bit between their teeth."
Nico held his head in his hands as everything Bronte had told him in Rome, something her mother should have told her and how words unspoken caused heartache washed through his mind. "Madre di Dio!"
She rubbed his knee. "I don't know what it is about men, but if anything can be fucked up, you'll do it every time."
He gave a weary groan of agreement in response.
Almost an hour later, Carl entered the waiting room with a decided glint in his eye, his mouth a tight white line.
Nico literally felt the saliva dry in his mouth as he stood to face him.
In his Savile Row cashmere coat and handmade shoes, Bronte's father looked the impressive financier he was. He had a reputation as a man who took no prisoners and Nico felt the full force of an iron will.
He braced himself.
Carl stood in front of him, tall and still a dynamic man even though he was in his sixties.
He placed a deliberately heavy hand on Nico's shoulder.
"Son? Want a piece of advice?"
Nico knew when to fold.
He ran a hand over his jaw and met the man's beady eye.
?"Please."
"Do you love my daughter?"
"Si, yes sir, I do."
?"Then you walk into that room and tell her."
Carl checked the time on his watch and turned to Rosie.
"I need to book into Ludlow Hall, you can keep me company for breakfast while you tell me every single thing you know about my daughter's ex-fianc?."
Rosie beamed up at him and took his arm. "It will be my pleasure."
Nico followed the nurse to a private room.
Lying on the bed, curled up on her side with her back to him, the love of his life wore a cotton hospital gown the colour of fresh mint.
The nurse trundled out an ECG machine and closed the door.
For a long moment, he simply stood there looking at her with words racing through his mind.
Deciding her fat
her was right. Nico picked a black plastic chair and carried it around to the other side of the bed.
Eyes stinging his gaze lingered on the livid fingerprints on her neck and her split lip.
A fragile hand with bruised knuckles and torn and bloody fingernails clutched the remains of a tissue.
His baby had got her licks in and had fought like a warrior, God he adored her.
Her nose and eyes were red and swollen.
"Cara ..."
She opened her eyes and the single flick of fury in them stopped him dead.
Her utter loathing for him crystal clear.
"Shut up!" Her voice was raw as her eyes pooled and her lips trembled. "This is your entire fault and so bloody typical!" She spat the last word and he winced as he sat on the chair pulling it close.
"But, Bronte, I ... Ow!" She punched him hard on the shoulder as tears tipped over.
"I don't want to love you. I don't even want to like you!"
He hauled her into his arms, uncaring if she was naked under the gown except for a pair of tiny panties and totally ignored her yelp of outrage.
She punched him again.
And he took it like a man.
"It's so typical of you," she spoke into his throat as he stroked her hair and begged her to shush. "No I won't bloody shush. I've read about men like you!"
His finger lifted her chin and he studied her face.
"Men like me?"
Giving in to temptation, he kissed her.
She made a valiant attempt to thrust him away, but he held her close.
"Men with super sperm that can penetrate latex. You find them in romance novels. Trust me to find the genuine article."
His chest felt too tight as his lungs deflated and he blinked at her.
"You mean?"
"I'm pregnant." The last word was a long heartfelt wail.
Nico shut his eyes and held her close as she wept into his chest.
And he bit his lip as he recalled one occasion when he'd made love to her without protection.
He pressed his cheek to her hair and simply rocked her back and forth.
And thanked God, Baby Jesus, Buddha and the Universe for bringing this woman into his life.
Once she'd cried herself out, he refused to release her even when she struggled.
"Let me go."
"Never."
He stared into her eyes and felt as if he could drown in their emerald depths and asked the question that would break his heart if she said no.
"Do you want a baby?"
Tears pooled in her eyes as her breath hitched.
"I'm not supposed to be able to get pregnant. I have a medical condition, endometriosis and I was told I might never conceive. But trust you to ride roughshod over Mother Nature."
He bit his lip at the dazed expression on her face.
"Are you happy about the news or not?"
She punched him again.
"Of course I want our baby. You're the one who doesn't want a family, remember?"
"I want a family with you." He kissed her and this time there was nothing soft about it. It was a kiss of a man desperately in love with his woman, his mate.
Those eyes stared into his as if searching his very soul.
"You change your mind like you do your shirts. How do I know you won't change it again tomorrow or the next day or the next week?"
?"You are my reason for living. I love you, Bronte. My heart, all that I am, is yours."
Tears swam in her eyes, but this time they were happy tears he was relieved to see.
"I love you so much, Nico, so much."
She heaved in a huge breath. Enormous green eyes stared into his.
"But Nico, I'm a bastard."
His mouth plundered hers before he raised his head to grin into her face.
"That makes two of us, cara."
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