And there it was—if only she had the nerve to reach out and take it.
‘I’ve never slept with anyone before.’ She watched his reaction, saw his eyes widen, and thought it was almost fear that darted across his features. ‘Don’t worry, Luca,’ she said before he could respond, ‘I haven’t been waiting for Mr Right to come along and relieve me of my virginity.’
‘Emma!’ He hadn’t bargained on this. Not once, not for a second had he considered this. He wanted relief, distraction, and instead this was responsibility, but Emma just laughed and kissed his cheek. She was in a strange, slightly manic mood he didn’t understand, but it was actually a little bit catching. ‘You know I’m not looking for serious…’
‘I know the rules, Luca.’ Emma’s voice was steady. ‘And I’m prepared to play by them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a weekend away to pack for.’
As his private jet lifted into the early morning sky, all Emma wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep.
The night had been spent packing and planning and then dreading, and finally weeping.
Weeping for a woman she didn’t know at all, for a father she had always resented but was maybe, just maybe starting to understand.
She was resilient, though, she had always had to be, so she hid her swollen eyes behind huge sunglasses and pleaded another headache when Luca commented on them. She had, after a night of weeping, pushed away yesterday’s news and was in a bizarre way actually glad to be getting away for a few days and leaving it all behind her.
They were served a sumptuous breakfast, pastries, waffles, meats and the thick treacly coffee Luca sur vived on, but Emma wasn’t hungry and Luca watched her push her food around her plate and frowned over his newspaper.
There was something different about her. Oh, she was chatty and polite, only there was a vague distraction about her, a restlessness almost, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint.
Her acceptance yesterday had floored him.
He had engineered this weekend—had been hoping the mutual attraction between them would be quickly sated, that she would be the solace that would get him through the difficult time ahead.
He had been dreading the wedding for months now—back to the family home, back to his father and uncles. Emma was to have been his relief.
But not now, and he had only himself to blame.
Breaking hearts he could deal with.
But breaking hers…he was having serious second thoughts about that.
He saw that she wasn’t eating her food and, remembering her beverage of choice when she was flagging, ordered his crew to fetch it for her. Then he sat and watched closely as she took a grateful sip of thick hot chocolate.
‘You have brothers, yes?’ Luca checked, watching a small furrow emerge on her brow.
‘Three,’ she acknowledged briefly.
‘And what happened with your mother?’
‘I really don’t want to talk about it…’
‘But we have to,’ he insisted. He finished with his breakfast and pushed his plate away. It was removed instantly, the conversation continuing when the steward had discreetly disappeared. ‘You speak little of your personal life.’
‘The hours I work hardly allow for much of a personal life!’ she protested.
‘Emma, for this weekend you are supposed to be my girlfriend—I am taking you to meet my parents. Surely you can see that I ought to know some of your background.’
He had a point. In the weeks she had known him, she had been privy to all sorts of information about him.
His diary had noted birthdays, anniversaries, his clothing preferences for the times when he needed an outfit at short notice, even the hairdresser he used for his regular trim. She knew, because it had been her job to hire a new housekeeper for him, how he liked things done, the sort of food he kept at home—had even downloaded some songs for him—so if she were put on the spot right now, she knew enough about Luca to bluff her way through, whereas apart from the fact her father was in a nursing home, Luca knew practically nothing about her.
That was the way she had wanted it.
But, as Luca pointed out, their stories needed to tally. She screwed up her courage, and then suddenly he came up with a compromise.
‘Okay—I’ll tell my mother you don’t like talking about it.’
‘About what?’ she asked, bewildered.
‘Anything I don’t know the answer to,’ he said, pleased— that he’d managed to eke out a smile from her. ‘We have been seeing each other for a couple of months,’ Luca said, ‘since you came and worked for me. We have both decided that working together is too much, so you will be finishing up soon.’
‘To do what?’
Luca shrugged—trying to think what his girlfriends actually did all day.
‘Modelling?’
‘Please!’ Emma snorted with laughter. ‘If I’m to convincingly play the part of your devoted girlfriend, then at least there has to be a semblance of me in there. So…’ She chewed on her lip and tried to imagine a world where this man loved her, tried for the first time to actually picture a world with herself and Luca as a couple, and glimpsed the impossible—being the sole recipient of his affection.
Yet even if it was impossible, it was still fun pretending.
‘I’m applying to study art, you’re organising a studio for me in your apartment, in that big room at the back that you don’t use. It’s supposed to be a surprise, but unbeknown to you I’ve guessed.’
‘Are you good?’ Luca asked. ‘At art?’
‘I’ve just started night school. My dad didn’t like me pursuing…’ Her voice faded for a moment, realising now why he might have hated that side of her so, but she refused to dwell on it, it was just too big to deal with right now. ‘Oh, and by the way…’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘Just in case it comes up in the conversation, today’s my birthday.’
‘Really?’ Luca frowned. ‘You should have said.’
‘I just did.’
‘I am sorry to pull you away from your celebrations.’
‘You didn’t,’ Emma answered tartly. ‘It’s really no big deal.’
‘And how old is Emma today?’
‘She’s twenty-five!’ It made her blush to say it, with the information she’d so recently given him. She saw just the slight rise of one eyebrow, but thankfully he chose not to comment.
‘So what about you?’ she asked.
‘You know about me.’
‘I don’t know much about your family.’
‘My mother is Mia, my father is Rico. He was a policeman,— and you know about Daniela…’
‘And he’s sick…’ Emma probed. ‘Your father?’
‘Very.’
‘And you don’t get on?’
He gave a tight shrug and clearly it was Luca now who didn’t want to talk about it!
‘Anything else I should know?’ she pressed.
‘Nothing.’ Luca shrugged. ‘As I said, my father was the village policeman, I went to boarding school from ten…’ He saw her frown at that. ‘That is usual where I come from, as the school in the village only goes up that age. It was all pretty normal really.’
‘Till their son became a billionaire.’ Emma smiled, but— then she was serious. ‘Why, Luca? Why do you hate them so—?’
‘Not Daniela,’ he interrupted. ‘And not my mother…’ He shook his head. ‘Let’s just do what we have to, smile, enjoy,— familia…’ He sneered the word. ‘Let’s just get through it.’
There was a bedroom at the rear of the plane, but for the relatively short flight to Italy he just tipped back his seat and stretched out and Emma did the same. Hoping her swollen eyes had settled, she took off her glasses and lay back.
‘I love these chairs,’ Emma commented. ‘I wish I had one at home.’
She squirmed in comfort as the attendant placed a soft warmed blanket over her.
‘If I ever have to bribe you I’ll remember that.’ Then he added, ‘Are you okay?’
when it took her a second too long to smile.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Because if you’re worried about what you told me yesterday—’ he was direct as always ‘—well, you don’t have to be—I’m not in anything for the long haul, and…’ he gave a slightly wistful smile ‘…if you’ve waited this long for it to be right, I do understand.’
‘I’m not upset about that,’ Emma said, because right now she wasn’t—Luca had wanted a fling and actually so now did she. She probably wasn’t very good fling material, but she’d deal with it. It really was good to just get away.
‘Then what are you so upset about?’ They were lying flat, facing each other. ‘You look as if you’ve been crying.’
‘Not about you,’ she retorted.
‘Good,’ Luca said, and he intended to keep it that way. ‘Here.’ He dug in his pocket and pulled out a black box and handed it to her as if it were a sweet. ‘You’d better put these on—if we were going out, I would have bought you nice gifts.’
‘Goodness!’ Emma gasped and held up two earrings, the huge teardrop diamonds sparkling. ‘They look so real.’
‘They are real,’ Luca said dryly.
‘I’d better not lose them then.’ She tried to sound as casual as him, but it felt strange to be holding his gift, strange to be lying beside him and very hard not to imagine that this was…
Real.
So she thought about other things instead. Silly things—like she used to when she was a child and couldn’t sleep, not the grown-up things that she thought of now.
The steward clipped belts loosely around them and on leaving them dimmed the lights. Luca closed his eyes, but smiled when she carried on talking.
‘It’s like being in an ambulance.’
‘Have you ever been in an ambulance?’
‘No,’ Emma admitted, but that didn’t deter her. ‘I’m in a coma, but I can hear, though no one knows it, and everyone I’ve ever fancied is going to dash to my bedside and beg me not to die, and say that they love me really.’
‘What are you talking about?’ He turned his head to face her again.
‘Don’t you do that?’ Emma blinked. ‘Make up stories before you go to sleep?’
‘No.’
‘What do you do?’ she asked curiously.
‘I close my eyes…’ he shrugged ‘…and I go to sleep.’
‘Just like that?’
‘So long as there is no one talking.’
He’d wondered what to expect—if she’d be miserable, angry, but instead she was just being Emma.
He was glad that she was there.
He could feel the familiar knot of tension tighten in his stomach as the plane sliced through the sky—the same knot he felt every time he came home, the same sick dread he had felt coming home from boarding school on the holidays.
The same sick dread he had felt every night as he had lain in bed as a child.
Luca breathed out, suddenly needing to swallow, sweat beading on his forehead as he willed sleep to come.
His father was old and weak and dying, there was surely nothing to dread now.
And then he saw it.
Like a dog dashing into the street, his mind swerved to avoid it, but his father’s fist was there, slamming into his mother’s face, the image so violent, so real it was as if his father’s fist had made contact with his own.
He jumped.
That horrible jump where you woke up with heart racing, only Luca knew that he hadn’t been asleep.
‘Luca?’ Emma murmured. She was almost asleep, though, he could tell from her voice, and knew because in her right mind Emma would never reach out and hold his hand.
It felt like weakness to take it.
But it helped, it actually helped.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘WELCOME to our home.’
Landing at Palermo, Emma had enjoyed the helicopter ride that had taken them on the final leg of their journey to his small coastal village—and everywhere Emma looked the view was stunning. Houses perched on top of houses all staring out to the twinkling Mediterranean, and Luca’s family home was the jewel in the crown—the basic home had been lavishly extended, and every room was angled to take in the spectacular sea view.
Luca’s mother’s welcome was warm and effusive, pulling Emma into an embrace and kissing her on both cheeks, then guiding her through to a large terrace that ran the length of the house while chatting non-stop in her rich accent, alternating between English and Italian.
‘Luca!’ The squeals of delight from Daniela had Emma smiling, and he was far more pleased to see his sister than Emma’s own brothers ever were—hugging her warmly, teasing her about the face pack she was wearing and introducing her to Emma, who Daniela eyed with the same suspicious navy eyes as her brother, but she smiled and chatted in very good English, before drifting back to her bedroom to get ready for her big day.
‘Dove Pa?’ Luca asked.
‘Dorme,’ Mia said, and then translated for Emma. ‘He sleeps…Oh!’ She gave a warm smile as her husband entered. Tall and thin, his once raven hair peppered with silver, he would have cut an imposing figure in his time.
‘Luca!’ He embraced his son, kissed him on the cheek as was the Italian way. Luca briefly hugged him back, but Emma could feel the sudden tension in the room. ‘Comesta?’
‘This is Emma.’ Luca’s voice was just a touch short as he introduced her to his father. Despite Rico’s fragility he took her firmly by the hands, kissing her on the cheeks and welcoming her to the family…making a kissing gesture with his fingers when he saw the impressive earrings, which made Mia laugh.
‘Come, Rico…’ She plumped the cushions on what must be his seat and fussed over him as he lowered his tall frame. Emma stood, suddenly awkward as Luca just watched, his face an impassive mask Emma couldn’t interpret.
‘Luca is upset.’ As Emma did the right thing and helped his mother prepare coffee in the kitchen, finally there was an explanation for his strange lack of reaction. ‘It is hard for him to see his father so ill. It is almost a year since Luca was here, it would be difficult for him to see the changes.’
‘Of course.’ Emma set up the tiny coffee cups on saucers and it should have appeased her, except it didn’t. Luca had his own plane—his own travel team for heaven’s sake, and even her selfish brothers managed a visit to their father once a month—there was surely a lot more behind this familia that kept Luca away so coolly.
It was a busy house. The drinks and pastries that had been set up were not just for Luca and Emma’s benefit, but for an endless parade of guests, all wanting to meet Luca’s girlfriend and to wish Daniela well for her big day. And Luca saw the strain showing in Emma’s smiling face as the shadows lengthened, and he was proud of her, proud at how easy she had made it for him to be here, and he wanted to make it easier for her too.
‘I thought I might take Emma out for dinner. I know you are busy…’
There were protests from Mia, of course, but not too many. Rico was tired and wanted to get back to his bed, and Daniela was calling for help from the bedroom. Just a typical family two days before a wedding, and, as pleasant as the afternoon had been, it was rather nice to get out.
They walked through his village, the scent of the sea filling the late summer sky, and he took her to a local restaurant. No matter how many Italian restaurants she had been to before, nothing could compare to the simple fare of fresh pasta swished in basil pesto and lavishly smothered in Parmesan. The wine was rich and deep and fruity, and they sat outside drinking it, bathed in citronella-fragranced candlelight. Though they had eaten out together on many occasions, both in London and abroad, this was nothing like a business dinner, because here no business was discussed.
Her eyes were huge in the candlelight, her laughter infectious, and for the first time at home Luca relaxed, till the conversation turned personal.
‘So you brought Martha here…’ She took a sip of her wine rather than look at him.
‘But it did?’
‘My family assumed we were serious—and then Martha started believing it too.’
‘Is it so impossible?’ Emma blinked. ‘You talk as if you’ve no intention of ever settling down.’
‘I don’t,’ Luca said. ‘I would grow bored, restless…I would rather have my pick.’ He gave her a smile. ‘Italian men get better looking as they get older, so I don’t think I’ll be short of company.’
And it was honest, so why did it hurt her?
The thought of him in years to come, that jet hair dashed with silver, his distinguished features slightly more ravaged—this beautiful man walking the planet alone…yes, she couldn’t deny that it hurt.
‘I’m surprised you haven’t built a hotel here, if you don’t like staying with your family.’ Emma refused to get morose.
‘It is often suggested by developers, but it would ruin it. There are natural springs close by, so it would certainly be a tourist paradise, but…’ Luca shook his head. ‘No.’ He had no desire to be here any more than he had to and no desire to discuss his family further, so he concentrated on their meal instead. ‘There are two desserts,’ Luca translated the menu for her. ‘Tiramisu or tiramisu with cream…’
He liked it that she laughed, liked it that she didn’t decline dessert and instead ordered it with cream, liked eating with a woman who actually enjoyed it!
‘They make it once a week, and each night they soak in a little more liquor, so by Friday it has reached perfection,’ he told her.
‘Then thank God it’s Friday.’ She smiled.
She had tasted many tiramisus—good and bad, tiramisu ice cream, tiramisu from the supermarket, even tiramisu from an expensive Italian restaurant Luca had taken her to with clients, but as the sweet moist dessert met her mouth Emma realised she had never really tasted tiramisu.
‘It’s gorgeous.’ She closed her eyes and relished it for a moment.
And so are you, Luca thought, watching her.
She could feel his eyes on her, and dashed to the ladies to touch up her make-up, wrestled with underwear that was supposed to smooth out bumps and realised that maybe the tiramisu was more potent than it looked as she struggled to replace the top on her lip gloss.
Boss Meets Baby Page 6