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“I was a little impatient with her. OK. More than a little.” Another sigh. “Very well. I will send her flowers.”
“Flowers are nice,” Emily said gently. “A letter thanking her for doing her best would be nicer.”
“That’s just the point. She did not do her best.”
“If you’d given her a chance, she might have.”
“You don’t understand. There is no room for softness in the corporate world. You want to reach the top, you climb the ladder. And once you are there, you’ve got to keep moving. You must keep your eyes trained up and never look d—” He paused. “Cristo,” he said softly. “I sound like a fool.”
“You sound like a man who got to the top and maybe, just maybe, forgot how hard it was to get there.”
Marco shook his head.
“You are too clever to be my assistant, Emilia mia. Before I know it you will be the one giving orders. All my competitors will want to hire you.”
She grinned. “There’s an idea.”
“But I won’t let that happen. I won’t let you out of my sight. I don’t want you more than two minutes away from me.”
“Good. Because I don’t want to be more than—”
He leaned in and kissed her. The kiss was long and tender and by the time it ended, Emily was in Marco’s lap, her arms around his neck.
“You are a much nicer man than you think you are,” she said quietly.
“There are hundreds of people who would disagree with that assessment.”
She laughed. “Then they don’t know you as well as I do.”
His smile faded. “No. They do not. I have revealed more of myself to you than I have to anyone else. Ever.” He paused. “I was married once, a very long time ago.”
“What happened?”
“We were wrong for each other. I was wrong for her, anyway.”
“Do you still—”
“No! I tell you this only because I want you to know the real me, cara. And I have never wanted that before, not with anyone.”
His admission sliced into her heart. He was giving her truths about himself, and she had given him lies and fabrications.
If there was ever a time to return his gift of honesty with the gift of her own, now was that time.
But what would he think if she did?
“Hey.” He touched his forehead to hers. “What’s that sad look for? I was not some saintly little kid, sweetheart, if that’s what you are thinking.”
“No. I wasn’t thinking that.” She hesitated. “I was thinking how—how important it is for people to know the truth about each other.”
“I agree. And now you know the truth about me,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “I am not just a disgustingly rich, amazingly wonderful lover. I am a brilliant self-made man.”
It was impossible not to laugh—but there was still her truth to deal with.
“Yes, you are.” She dragged in a breath. “Seriously, though—”
He smiled. “You think I am not being serious when I tell you that I am brilliant?”
“You’re wonderful. And I think you for being so—so honest and open with me. But—”
