Rival Attractions & Innocent Secretary(51)

       
           



       

When he was nice, there was no one nicer, Emma realised.

No one.

Evelyn was perhaps the one woman he could sustain a relationship with  because there was no sex involved, no attraction, just mutual liking and  respect.

Emma would kill to have the latter two from him.

Later, sitting at her desk, staring out at the grey autumnal sky that  declared summer over, when Luca strode past her desk and to his office  and slammed the door behind him, she felt like one of the trees waving  in the streets below. Slight, every breeze exposing the bare truth  beneath, and she couldn't do it to herself any longer.

Couldn't cling on when there was nothing left-couldn't stave off winter.

She didn't hate him after all, she only hated his behaviour.

Hated it that he didn't love her.

And she must remember this, Emma realised, when she told him about the baby.

If she told him.

She let out a slow breath at the immoral choice she was considering  taking-denying him the knowledge of the child that she was carrying.

That she would carry until she gave birth to it.

Oh, she would love to be one of those stoic women, one who had never  considered the alternatives to giving birth-except she had. Had scoured  her magazines for information, had searched on the internet, had made a  couple of phone calls-and yet it was Evelyn who had unwittingly halted  that thought process. Evelyn's very real grief at what had just been  lost that had reminded Emma of the miracle that had occurred.

That despite precautions, despite a man who wanted nothing more than a  short-lived affair, despite a woman who'd had other plans, a life had  been created. A life that she would cherish for ever.

It was taking some getting used to, that was all.

She had never felt closer to understanding her mother. She finally  understood now how her mother could have felt trapped inside her role of  wife and mother. Hopefully, for Emma, that feeling would one day soon  be diminished by the overwhelming love she would feel for her child.

Would Luca feel the same?

Tears stung her eyes as she tried to predict his likely reaction-no  doubt he would assume she was just after a monthly support cheque or,  even worse, a wedding ring.

Well, a loveless marriage wasn't on her agenda-she was the product of  one after all and would never expose her own child to it. So now she  just had to tell him, only exactly which piece of information Emma  didn't know yet-that she was leaving for good or that they had created a  child together.

And so busy was Emma, wrestling with her decision, that when the call  came, although it was not entirely unexpected, it was like a bolt from  the blue.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


'SIGNORA D'AMATO. COMESTA?' Emma responded to the familiar voice in very  new Italian but the greeting faded as her mind registered Luca's  mother's voice, and heard the effort and emotion behind the thickly  accented English when she asked if Luca was in the office.

'I'll put you through.'

'No!' Mia's voice was urgent. 'Emma, please-the news is not good.' A  strangled sob from Mia had Emma closing her eyes at the raw sound of  pain. 'Rico has gone.' Emma held the phone and her eyes remained closed  as Mia wept for a moment before speaking again. 'I do not know Luca's  reaction, they were not close, but can you tell him … gently for me?' Emma  could feel the beads of sweat on her forehead, as it wasn't her job to  do something so personal. Except it wasn't about her job role-Mia  thought they were in love.

But only one of them was.

'I will see you both soon for the funeral.' Mia's assumption had Emma's  heart pounding, and more so when she continued talking, giving Emma  details that only a fiancée should know. She concluded. 'Emma, this will  be hard for Luca-I am so glad that he has you.'

The walk to his office was impossibly long, yet all too soon she was  there. As were her instructions, she knocked and waited for his bored  voice to summon her inside.

Had he looked up, maybe he would have seen her pale face and realised  something was seriously wrong, but he was deep in the middle of a phone  call, his long legs on the desk and crossed at the ankles, and he waved  her to sit down, which Emma did, sitting quietly, going over and over in  her head how she should break it to him.

'Yes?' As he replaced the receiver he also pulled his legs from the desk  and adopted a more formal position, his curt word reminding her that  Luca liked to be brought straight to the point-only she truly didn't  know how to just come out and say it.

'I have something to tell you.'

'So tell me.'                       
       
           



       

'It's difficult.' Emma swallowed, then opened her mouth to speak, but Luca overrode her.

'Then let me make it easy for you-you've come to hand in your notice.'  He opened a drawer and handed her a thick cream envelope, his relief  evident. 'I have written a reference, as we agreed-'

'Luca-'

'There will be a bonus in your pay.' Again he spoke over her. In fact,  for Luca the words were tumbling out. He had known this moment was  coming, had engineered it, wanted it, needed it to happen, only when the  moment had arrived, it was unusually hard, painful even, and he noticed  just the smallest shake to his usually steady hand as he held out the  envelope. 'It is for the best,' Luca said, more for his benefit than  hers.

'Luca, will you please just listen?' she begged, wringing her hands in  her lap. 'I just took a call from your mother.' And he could hear her  voice, see her mouth move, only he couldn't quite process the words, his  hand still holding out the envelope as somewhere he computed that his  father was dead, that finally it was over …  He had wished for this  moment, Luca reminded himself as something catapulted him from his seat,  had him striding to the window and turning his back to Emma. He had  wanted this, wished for so long that it would be over, but he had never  imagined mourning, grieving. He had never considered that it actually  might hurt him.

He was dead, he was gone, it was over. Finally it was over, finally he  should be able to breathe, only he couldn't. He actually couldn't drag  in the air or push it out, even thought he might fold over in two,  because it was all there in front of him-every memory, good and bad,  playing out before his closed eyes, and futile questions playing over  and over like a mantra in his pounding head.

Why?

Why had his father been like that?

Why couldn't he have just been happy?

Why?

He was almost doubled over with the agony of it all-shocked at the depth  of his grief over a man who had caused nothing but pain.

'When?' he asked instead.

'Just now,' Emma said gently. 'Your mother has a friend with her; she's  staying in a hotel tonight and then coming home in the morning.'

He was obviously devastated, and she felt like an intruder almost,  witnessing this most private moment, knowing Luca would never have  chosen for her to see him like this. There were no tears, no outward,  dramatic displays of emotion-they would have been easier to deal with  somehow. No, it was his pain, this deep, wretched pain that sagged those  strong shoulders as he had strode to the window then stumbled, bemused  almost. She had sat there, torn-instinct wanting her to run to him, yet  logic telling her to stay exactly where she was.

'And Pa?' She heard him attempt to inject strength to his voice. 'Did she say anything?'

'She asked if you could sort that out …  arrange things.'

Only that wasn't what he'd meant. Everything was already sorted, things  had been put in place weeks ago-all he had to do was pick up the phone,  or ask Evelyn to. No, that hadn't been what he'd meant and he had never  thought he would care enough to ask it.

'Did he suffer?'

'No.'

At one time he had wanted him to suffer-had wanted the agony he had  inflicted to catch up with his father in death-but wishes were but  flights of the imagination, Luca realised, reality entirely different.

'Your mother said it was very quick and peaceful at the end.'

That did give comfort, why he didn't know. And then he felt it, her hand  on his shoulder, and he wanted to brush it off, ashamed at being seen  like this, embarrassed that she should witness such private pain. Yet  her touch helped, the bliss of human contact was like a rope to cling to  in the dark, ferocious waters of grief. Luca turned and for the first  time in his life and only for a moment so fleeting it was barely there  he leant on another, felt her warmth, her kindness, felt her tears on  his cheeks and accepted the bewildering fact that for a moment she  shared his pain, divided it, lessened it even, just by being there.

And then he let her go.

Had to let her go.

'Organise the plane-I need to be there for my mother. When did you say she gets back?'

'Tomorrow, late morning.'

Which gave him space. He thought of the billion and one things he had to  do-of the people relying on him, of things he had to do.