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But more than any of that, she felt for Christos. He was so clearly still in the tight grip of grief, and she knew how that felt. She also knew how hard it was to walk that road alone, as she had. And while she told herself she didn’t owe anything to Christos or any other Amanti, she felt as if she did.

This baby was their only possible direct descendant. That was a hard fact to completely dismiss, as she’d had the instinct to at the beginning.

“And you think one internet stalking session is enough to go to Italy? Rose, he could kidnap you—”

“I really don’t think he would,” Rose replied with slightly more conviction that she truly felt.

“People that powerful can do whatever they want,” Jodie insisted. “He could take you to Italy and then lock you in a dungeon—”

“You saw that one on Netflix too?” Rose teased, and her friend gave an embarrassed laugh.

“All right, yes, but it still happens. It could.”

“I know, but…” She blew out a breath. She’d never be able to explain it to Jodie, or anyone. She didn’t even understand herself why she was starting to feel she was willing to do this. Something about Christos, about the way he talked about his home and his family, tugged at her. She’d never had that, but she’d always wanted it. And maybe it couldn’t really be hers, but it could be her baby’s. A home, a family, a whole fricking family tree. Everything she’d wanted for herself and never had.

“It’s only three months,” she told Jodie, “and the reality is… I don’t have much going on here. You know I lost my job—”

“I know,” Jodie interjected quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, it happens.” Rose sighed dispiritedly as she stared up at the ceiling, the glinting of the chandelier lights sparkling like stars. “But it all feels kind of… serendipitous, you know? Like the last thread that bound me to my life here has been cut.” A sudden, unwelcome possibility occurred to her. What if Christos had arranged for her to lose her job to make the prospect of a visit to Italy more compelling? A man like him…if he could get her information from Manhattan Cryobank, he could surely take her job.

“Rose?” Jodie asked. “Are you still there?”

“Yes.” Rose sat up in the tub with a splash. “I am.”

“So you’re really doing this—”

“I—” Before Rose could reply—and she wasn’t even sure what she’d say—there was a knock on the door, a determined rapping that she just knew was Christos. “I’m sorry. I need to go,” she said abruptly. She ended the call and stepped, dripping, out of the tub before grabbing the huge, velvety-soft bathrobe of thick terrycloth and swathing herself in it.

A knock sounded at the door again, an even more impatient rapping. Rose sighed as she quickly ran her hands through the tangled mass of her hair.

“I’m coming,” she called, and then strode to the door of the suite and flung it open.

Sure enough, Christos stood there, dressed in a different button-down shirt, this one in deep green, open at the throat, and a pair of black trousers that emphasized his lean hips and powerful thighs. Rose yanked her gaze upwards, one hand clutching at her bathrobe, which she feared was gaping alarmingly.

“You discovered the tub,” Christos told her with a slow smile that lightened his eyes and made Rose’s stomach dip.

“I did,” she confirmed stiffly. Dressed only in a bathrobe, still damp and dripping, she felt decidedly uneasy and even vulnerable. “Did you want something?”

“I was simply checking you had everything you require.” He paused, his gaze moving slowly over in a way that made heat bloom in all sorts of inconvenient places. Rose pulled the folds of the bathrobe even more tightly closed. Christos’s gaze returned implacably to her face, his eyes gleaming gold. “And I also wished to inquire if you would like to have dinner with me,” he added. “I could tell you more about our estate in Italy, as well as our family, and I thought you might have more questions. I assume you’ve done some online searching?”

“Yes,” Rose admitted, feeling embarrassed, like she’d done something sneaky instead of sensible. She was still also incredibly conscious of how very nearly naked she was. “Although there wasn’t much about you personally,” she told him. “Just your family.”

And even then it hadn’t been much more than paparazzi photos of charity balls and glossy gossip magazine spreads. She’d learned his mother was petite, elegant, and, according to one magazine, “a force of nature.” His father had been generous, charming, and had died several years ago. Giada, a cousin on his mother’s side—not an Amanti—worked in fashion in Milan and looked to have a very full social calendar. It had seemed straight out of the society pages, all style and no substance. She hadn’t felt as if she’d gained much knowledge, and especially not about Christos himself.

He nodded, unsurprised by her admission. “I try to live a quiet and private life,” he told her. “I suspect there’s far more online about Luca.”

She hadn’t, Rose realized, searched for Luca’s name. She hadn’t even thought of it, which seemed strange now, considering she’d looked into the gorgeous estate near Lake Maggiore, the billion-dollar investment company Christos ran on his own, and the family whose ancestry could be traced back nearly a thousand years. And while she’d seen a few photos of Luca at various events, looking like the kind of guy who was always up for a party, she hadn’t been as interested in him, the father of her child, as she had been in Christos. It was a bizarre and unsettling omission.

“I suppose there is,” she said slowly, unwilling to admit she hadn’t even looked.

“So?” Christos prompted. “Dinner, perhaps in half an hour? You can come to my suite. We’ll eat on the terrace.”

She hesitated, thinking of Jodie’s disbelief and suspicion, how utterly crazy this all seemed…but then she remembered how solicitous Christos had been since she’d met him. He’d been implacable, yes, but he’d ensured she always felt safe. Whether she should have felt safe or not was another matter. For all sorts of reasons.

“Yes,” she said finally. “In half an hour. Thank you.”

* * *