Page 51 of The Billionaire's Destiny

I walked around for a while and then put on a movie. After a few hours, a hostess came and removed the food.

It was ten p.m. when I finally received a call. “Hello?”

“Hi, Adelina.” Rocco.

“Hi. Where are you?”

“I’m still in a meeting, and it looks like it’s going to be a late night and maybe an extra day in Milan. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m sure it’s important.”

“It is.”

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” I raised my voice, lifted my shoulders, and dug a toe into the high-piled carpet. I felt a surge of frustration. Why was he so secretive?

“No, I’m sorry, I can’t.”

I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. Finally, I asked, “Can you tell me why not?”

He sighed down the line. “No. It’s not a good time to discuss it. And honestly, I need time to process things myself.”

I swallowed. “Oh, I see.” We used to discuss things together, sharing our thoughts and fears. Was it because he didn’t trust me, or was there something more?

“I must go, but since we’re staying, we can have a day out, see the Duomo and Leonardo’s work. Dinner and dancing?”

“Really?” I said excitedly. SeeingThe Last Supperhad always been on my bucket list.

“Yes. I’ll block off the time. How about that?”

“But you’re busy—”

“Busy is our life. But if you want to do these things, I’ll have to coordinate it with security and let Isla know.” His voice was strained, and I didn’t want to add more stress for him. Then again, he suggested it, and it was a chance to make things better between us. “Yes. I’d love to go. Please arrange it, or I can call Isla.”

“She’s here. I’ll tell her.”

“Oh, yeah,” I mumbled.I bet Isla knows everything.Then again, it was her job as his personal manager.But what aboutme as his wife? When will I get to know things about my husband’s life?It’s hard to truly get to know him when his personal manager is the only needs-to-know person. “I have to go. You should rest, all right?”

“Okay. I miss you.”

“Me, too. Goodnight, Adelina.”

We hung up, and I stared at the phone.Me, too?Rocco had never said that before.

I buried my head in my hands.

What can I do to make it right?

The next morning, a bouquet of red roses was on the dining table, and even before I read the attached note, I knew it was from my grandparents.

Warmth filled my chest as I pictured my grandparents debating over the bouquet. Grandmother had, no doubt, insisted on perfection, while Grandfather would grumble about the absence of baby news. Could that change soon?Waiting to find out was stressful, but I knew taking a test without Rocco would wound him, so I would wait.

He’d left for the photoshoot before I woke up but hadn’t canceled our plans. What was so urgent last night? Would he tell me or keep it private?

I reached for my phone to text my thanks, but inspiration struck. In one of the garment bags hung a navy crepe midi pencil dress, almost a twin to one of Grandmother’s favorite day dresses. I slipped it on, added heels, and swept my hair into her signature loose chignon. Ready for my little tribute, I found the perfect spot on the terrace overlooking Milan and approached Zane, who was waiting in the living room for Rocco. He lookedup, attentive. “Hello, Adelina. Do you need some help with something?”

I smiled. “Yes, thank you, I do. Can you please help me take a photo for my grandparents?”

“I’d be happy to.” He stood and followed me out onto the terrace. I channeled Grandmother and the way she’d stand outside the entrance of our Westchester home and posed with a straight spine, head high, smiling. The first image Zane took captured it perfectly, and I texted it to Grandmother along with a message.