Nicolo bends, scooping her up like she weighs nothing. Duchess melts into him. I swear she does it to mock me.
He stops in front of me. “Wife.”
I inhale sharply. “Don’t call me that.”
His gaze darkens. “Mara.”
He lowers himself onto the cushion beside me, keeping a respectful inch of space. It might as well be a canyon.
“You look beautiful,” he says quietly.
Valentina wiggles her brows behind him. I glare at her. She smiles like the devil she is and excuses herself to “get more juice,” leaving us alone.
Nicolo leans slightly closer. “Did you get my gift?”
I blink. “What gift?”
His jaw works. “The keys to your new car. So you can stalk me without denting the limited-edition cars.”
Oh. That.
“I did,” I say, grinning.
His gaze softens. “And?”
“And I can’t wait to test it out.”
He nods once, a small smile playing on his lips.
Emiliano appears behind us. “Dinner is served.”
Nicolo stands, Duchess still in his arms, and looks down at me with quiet devastation. “Come on. You haven’t eaten much today.”
He’s always so observant. I don’t know how he still hasn’t noticed.
During the dinner I notice Matteo's gaze drift from his fiancée, Vivian, to her sister, Cicely. And I know deep down thatmy warning to him didn’t work. God help Cicely, because once the Folonaris want something, they won't stop until they have it.
The limo rideback is silent, but not like the last time. This silence is warm. Careful. Hopeful. Duchess curls between us like a living buffer. When we walk through the front doors, I stop him with a hand on his chest.
“Don’t move.”
His brows lift slightly, but he obeys. Good.
I retrieve the small wrapped box I hid under the tree earlier and hand it to him, my fingers trembling despite my practiced calm.
He stares at it. “We agreed. One gift each.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not like you only gave me one gift.”
His mouth twitches—almost a smile, but softer. “Fair.”
He opens the box…and freezes.
Inside is a tiny white onesie. Simple. Soft. And in delicate gold stitching:Hi, Dad.
His breath punches out of him. He looks up, eyes wide, shattered, disbelieving.
“Mara,” he whispers. “Are you?—?”
