Boss Meets Baby(29)

‘How are you?’ he finally asked outright.

‘Good,’ Emma said through a mouthful of pizelle.

‘Any regrets?’ he asked.

‘None,’ she shook her head. ‘You?’

‘None—so long as you’re okay?’ he pressed.

‘The first time’s supposed to be awful,’ she murmured a little wickedly.

‘Says who?’ he asked, outraged.

‘I read it in a magazine.’

Luca rolled his eyes.

‘If that was awful…’ Emma giggled ‘…I can’t wait for bad!’

‘Throw away the magazines, baby…’ He took her coffee cup and her pizelle away and straddled her on the bed. ‘I’ll teach you everything I know.’

It was such a different Luca, as if she’d been looking at him through the wrong end of a telescope. His energy was lighter, funnier, sexier even, if that were possible. They shared breakfast and then each other, and then they left the chaotic household and had a picnic on the beach.

This time she didn’t slip away when it was time to ring her father, she just sat on the blanket and laughed and listened to him reminiscing, and it was so much easier with Luca lying there beside her.

‘I’ll sort out the back fees for the home,’ Luca said as she clicked off the phone. She turned to him, appalled.

‘How did you know?’

‘I read the letter the nursing home gave you,’ he admitted shamelessly.

‘That’s reprehensible!’ She was furious, embarrassed… And then he kissed her.

‘Sorted,’ Luca said, and he caught her eyes, ‘You’ve helped me—now I can help you. I absolutely insist on it.’

And it was probably no big deal to him, except for Emma it was.

She felt the lightness as six months of worry slipped away, felt the elation as they ran down to the beach and enjoyed the late afternoon, felt the joy of being a couple, having someone to lean on, helping each other out.

And then Emma did a stupid thing.

As he kissed her in the salty sea, as she felt the waves rush round them and the chase of his tongue in her mouth, she started to wonder.

Started to hope.

Their day at the beach had brought a glow to her skin and on the morning of the wedding Emma massaged in body oil, glad of the peace in their bedroom and the chance, for once, to take her time getting ready, without Luca snapping his fingers and telling her she looked fine as she was.

Most of the house had been commandeered by the bride and her entourage. The whir of the hairdryer had been continual from eight a.m. and there was a constant stream of flowers, including the traditional arrival of flowers for the bride from the groom, which Emma was summoned down in her dressing gown to witness. As Rico was conserving his depleted energy for the wedding, Luca had stepped into father-of-the-bride duty and Emma had a little giggle to herself to see the usually unruffled Luca, who could handle the most difficult client or tense boardroom meeting with ease, just a touch frazzled as he dealt not just with his sister’s theatrics but vases and flowers and the hairdresser, who was trying to locate a free power point for heated rollers.

Yes, their bedroom was a nice place to be!

Because she could, Emma spent time on her hair, attempting what a hairdresser had once, when she’d been to her brother Rory’s wedding—taking several curls at a time and wrapping them around her wand till it fell in one thick heavy ringlet. Over and over she did this and for once her hair behaved, for once Emma was pleased with the results.

The hot September weather meant foundation wouldn’t see the service out, so she put just a slip of silver eye shadow on her lids, relying mainly on lashings of mascara, a quick sweep of pink on her cheeks and a shimmer of tinted lip gloss. In her dash to shop and get ready for the trip, Emma had relied heavily on the stylist’s suggestion of a suitable dress, although Emma hadn’t been at all sure that it was right for a wedding when she’d tried it on in the boutique.

The silver-grey dress had looked very plain, if a touch short, in the shop, but the assistant had assured her it would look marvellous with the right shoes and makeup.

It did.

It slipped over her head, the material shimmering more in the natural light and the superb cut of the delicate fabric turned her most loathed bits into voluptuous curves.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Emma was slightly taken aback by what she saw. It was as if she’d grown up in these few days—gone from young lady to woman, and Emma knew it had little to do with her birthday and a lot more to do with the man who was now walking into the bedroom.

‘I must get changed…’ His voice trailed off as she turned to face him—and he suddenly felt that walking into his room to find her there was like coming across a haven of tranquility in a madhouse.