her as if she still had one foot in the grave. “I was on chemotherapy for a long time. By the time I was in remission, Mark had long since dumped me for a cheerleader.”
Cesare muttered something in Italian that sounded very unkind. She gave a grateful smile.
“He did me a huge favor. I’d had no symptoms. If I hadn’t gone to the doctor then, I never would have known I was sick until it was too late. So in a funny way—that broken heart was the price that saved my life.” She ate a bite of French fry, then made a face when she realized the bite was almost entirely ketchup. She set it down on her plate. “Though for a long time I wished I had died.”
“Why?”
“My illness took everything. My childhood. My dreams of having a family someday. The medical bills even took our house.” Her throat ached, but she forced herself to tell the worst. “And it killed my father.”
Reaching across the table, he grabbed her hand. “Emma...”
She took a deep breath. “It was my fault. My father wasn’t the kind of man who could declare bankruptcy and walk away from debt. So to pay all the bills, he took a night job. Between his jobs and taking care of me, he started to neglect my stepmother. They started fighting all the time. But the day my doctor announced I was in remission, I convinced my father to take me home early. It was Valentine’s Day. I talked him into stopping at the florist to buy flowers. As a surprise.” She paused. “Marion was surprised, all right. We found her at home, in bed, with the foreman from their factory.”
Cesare sucked in his breath. “And?”
“My father had a heart attack,” she whispered. She ran her hand over her eyes. “He was already so run-down from taking care of me. From working two jobs. Marion blamed me for everything.” Her voice caught as she covered her face with her hands. “She was right.”
His voice was gentle as he pulled back her hands. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“You’re wrong.” Emma looked at him across the table, and tears ran unchecked down her face. “If I hadn’t fought so hard to live, I’d never have been such a burden. My father wouldn’t have had to work two jobs, my stepmother wouldn’t have felt lonely and neglected, and they’d still be together. It’s my fault. I ruined their lives.”
“Your stepmother said that?”
She nodded miserably. “After the funeral, she kicked me out of the house. I was eighteen. She had no legal obligation to take care of me. A friend let me stay until I graduated high school, then I left Texas for New York. I wanted to make something of myself, to prove Marion wrong.” She blinked fast. “But nothing I ever did, not all the money I sent her, ever made her forgive what I did.”
Rising to his feet, Cesare came around the table. Gently pulling Emma from the chair, he wrapped her in his arms. “So that’s why you looked so stricken,” he murmured. “The night we first... The night you came back from her funeral.”
“Yes. Plus...” She swallowed. It was time to tell him the worst. To tell him everything. She thought of all her lonely years, loving him, devoting herself only to him. She looked up, barely seeing his face through her tears. “When I told you I loved you last year, you tried to convince me it was just lust. But there’s a reason I knew all along that it wasn’t.” She took a deep breath and said, “I’ve loved you for years, Cesare.”
His hands, which had been caressing her back, abruptly stopped. He looked down at her. “Years?”
“You never knew?”
Wide-eyed, he shook his head.
“I loved you from almost the first day we met,” she said quietly. She gave a choked laugh. “I think it was the moment you said you were glad to have me, because I looked smart, and the previous housekeeper on the penthouse floor had just been fired for being idiot enough to fall for you.”
He looked bewildered. “That made you love me?”
She gave a low laugh. “I guess you were wrong when you said I looked smart.”
“I thought you had no feelings. I never knew...”
“I hid it even better than I thought.” Her lips quirked. “I knew you would fire me if you ever guessed.”
“But why? Why would you love me in silence for years? I ran roughshod over you. Bossed you around. Expected you to be at my beck and call.”
“But I saw the rest, too,” she said over the lump in her throat. “The vulnerability that drove you to succeed, as if the devil himself were chasing you. The way you were kind to children when you thought no one was looking. Giving money to charity, helping struggling families stay in their homes—anonymously. So no one would know.”
He abruptly released her, pacing back a step in his tuxedo. His handsome face looked pale.
“But now.” He took a deep breath, then licked his cruel, sensual lips. “But now, surely you don’t...love me.”
She saw the fear in his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I got over loving you the day I left London. I knew we’d never have a future. I had to leave my broken heart behind me, to start a new life with my child.”
For a moment he didn’t reply. Then he pressed his lips together. “Our child.”
“Yes.” She sighed. She looked straight into his eyes, her heart aching as she said, “But not for long.”
“What do you mean?”
“You won’t last.”
He stepped toward her. “You really think I would abandon him? After everything I’ve said?”
She matched him toe to toe. “I won’t be a burden, or let Sam feel like one, either, wondering what’s wrong with him that his own father can’t be bothered to spend time with him.” She lifted her chin, but as their eyes locked, she faltered. “You’re not a bad person, Cesare. But trying to raise him separately, together, it’s just not going to work.”
“So you can find some other man to raise my son.”
Her eyes shone with tears as she whispered, “You can’t promise forever. You know you can’t. So if you have any mercy in your heart—if you truly do care for Sam—please, let us go.”
His expression changed. He took a long, dragging breath.
“Everything you’re saying,” he said slowly, “is bull.”
Her lips parted in a gasp.
Cesare glared at her. “You didn’t keep the baby a secret because you were trying to protect me from this choice. You didn’t do it to protect Sam, either. You did it for one person and one person only. Yourself.”
“How can you say that?” she demanded.
“Are you honestly telling me that it’s better for Sam to believe his own father abandoned him? Yes, I’m selfish. Yes, I work too much. Yes, it’s possible I might buy him a pony. Maybe I wouldn’t be a perfect father.
