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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
