“That’s not necessary—”
“I insist.” All the guests smiled approvingly at this obvious generosity, of each side making a concession, the picture of family compromise and unity.
Coming forward, Honora embraced her stepmother-in-law. “I’m so happy,” she whispered. “For both of you.”
“Me too.” The white-haired woman smiled at her through her tears. “All this time I was fighting him, I thought I was protecting my husband’s memory. But I was wrong. Nicolo is actually his son. He is the one I must protect now.”
Honora glanced at Nico to see if he’d heard. He was watching them, his handsome face impassive. He abruptly gave his stepmother a smile.
“May I get you some champagne?”
For the rest of the evening, Honora felt a warm glow of happiness. After the awful last twenty-four hours, she felt like everything would be all right. Their family was healing. The future was bright—for all of them.
The reception had been a greater success than she’d dared to hope, and she was grateful to all his friends who’d come to wish them well. By the time the last guest had finally left at around two in the morning, trailing off into the cool August night beneath a black sky swept with stars, Honora had spoken with every single person who’d attended. From the Milanese automobile heiress—she was actually very sweet—to the pompous duke with dyed black hair—he told such funny jokes—and thought they were all lovely, lovely people. Honora was happy to call them friends.
As the door finally closed on the last guests, collected by their chauffeurs to head back north to Rome, Honora felt like she’d never been so happy. She turned to face her husband, expecting gratitude, or maybe praise, but not needing either. All she wanted was to share their joy, maybe by him taking her in his arms for a kiss.
But once they were alone, Nico’s whole demeanor changed.
“How could you.”
His voice was a low growl, his powerful body in the tuxedo standing silhouetted in front of the wide windows facing the sea, bathing him in a pool of silvery moonlight.
Honora didn’t understand. She came forward in the pale pink beaded dress, the emerald necklace sparkling coldly against her collarbone. “What do you mean? Everything’s better now, isn’t it?”
He turned on her, his face coldly furious. “Better?” He let out a low, sharp laugh. “I suppose. At least now I know I can’t trust you. Ever. Again.”
She felt an icy chill down her spine.
“But the two of you made up,” she whispered. “You forgave her. You said—”
“What was I supposed to say, surrounded by guests? Did you expect me to knock the woman down? You knew I could not make a scene. I could not show weakness, or even anger that might reveal how much that woman hurt me.”
“But you made peace.” Honora felt dizzy. “Egidia accepted you’re her husband’s son. Even though it clearly hurts her, because it proves that her husband was unfaithful, and also it must make her feel heartbroken about her own babies that died. But she still claimed you. In front of everyone.”
He snorted. “Because she knew my lawyers were at her throat, and she’d soon lose the villa anyway. She thought she could manipulate me, with this tender family reunion.” He said the words as a sneer. “And it worked. I had no choice but reciprocity. Now I’ll be paying her a tidy little bundle, whereas before she would have been left with nothing.”
Honora stared at him in horror. “How can you be so cynical?”
“How can you be so gullible? Can’t you see how the world really is?”
“Just your own awful world you’ve created for yourself, where you believe the worst of everyone!”
“And they so rarely disappoint me.” Nico’s eyes were as cold as a wintry midnight sea. “I should have known you would be the same.”
Honora felt a sharp ache in her throat.
“I was trying to help you,” she whispered. “I wanted you to forgive your stepmother, and your father too, so you wouldn’t be so angry all the time.” She abruptly looked away. “I thought if I could heal your heart, then maybe you could love us. The baby and me.”
Love us. The longing in her voice as she quietly spoke those words seemed to echo in the ballroom. Wishing. Begging.
Nico glared at her, then lifted his chin.
“Why shouldn’t I be angry?” His voice was dangerously low. “My wife stabbed me in the back.”
Standing in the ballroom, shadowy and dark but for the silvery moonlight flooding the six tall windows, Honora felt forlorn, suddenly shivering in her fancy beaded dress. She saw confetti at her feet, which had been tossed earlier by their friends, saw some cake that had been smashed by someone’s shoe into the marble floor. The remnants and trash of the party, like the bitter aftertaste of earlier joy, were all around.
The ballroom was starting to spin. She put a hand to her forehead, trying to breathe. “I never meant to... But you seemed glad!”