Chapter Thirteen
“Ready to pick up your baby?” he asked.
Emma nodded. She’d meant it when she’d told him dreams changed. What if Nicky wasn’t the big Lab she could take on a hike? He needed her more than any other dog she’d get in the United States, which automatically gave him an advantage.
As he knocked on the door, she was more worried about the answer he’d get from Desmorais. God. Maybe he’d need a puppy himself as a therapy device, to recover if he received a no. And then…she’d work with Desmorais on the project and think about his dream every step of the way. That would be too much of Nico in her mind for her to deal with.
Sabine, the same lady who showed them in days ago, welcomed them and took them to the living room.
Emma sat on the edge of the sofa, but he stood, pacing in small circles.
She drummed her fingers on her knee. Hopefully, Desmorais would end the suspense quickly, and Nico could move forward. The previous night he’d shared with her a secret he’d never told anyone else. Her heart broke for the young child having to carry such weight on his shoulders.
“Hello,” Desmorais said, coming down the stairs. Differently than the other day, the old man walked slowly to them, with dark rings under his eyes. A five o’clock shadow covered his chin. He almost seemed…disheveled.
“Hi, bonjour,” she said, standing to give him a hug.
He greeted her robotically, barely returning her embrace, then spun on his shoes and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit nervous. Nico, I really need to talk to you. It’s personal, so maybe Emma can go take a look at the dogs while we chat.”
Nico shortened the gap between them and held her hand. She couldn’t help but notice his palm was a bit cold, as if he, too, picked up on the tension filling the air. “Anything you tell me, she can hear it. I trust Emma.”
Her stomach dropped to the floor. I trust Emma. He squeezed her hand, cementing his statement. This was it. He trusted her and wanted her by his side.
Why does it matter? Her heart nearly galloped out of her chest. Because you’ve fallen in love with him. Her breath caught in her throat, and her knees almost buckled under her. How had she been so stupid? Goodness. Out of all the men in her universe, Nico Giordano had to be the worst fit for her…
“Okay.” Desmorais sat and gestured for them to do the same.
She plopped next to Nico and disentangled her hand from his. She rested her palm on his leg, desperately wanting him to know he could count on her—for better or for worse.
For better or for worse? Her cheeks flushed. I’m losing it. I really am.
“There’s a reason why I never wanted anything to do with the Giordanos,” he started. “I got involved with your mother many years ago, during one of her first vacations in Port Louis.”
“Involved? How?”
“We were intimate. I loved her.”
Emma inhaled all the oxygen in the room. His mom had an affair with Desmorais? She glanced at Nico, whose composed posture didn’t give away a thing. He was probably shocked but still digesting the information.
“Was it before or after her marriage? She married young.”
Desmorais coughed, his cheeks reddening. “Yes. We fell in love, but her father never approved of me. I was quite the lothario back then, older than her, with a short temper. So we broke up, and then she married your father shortly after. He always had his eye on her.”
Was Desmorais the guy she had an affair with, the one Nico told her about? The little hairs on the back of her neck rose. A shiver zapped down her spine, and her gaze darted between the two men. What if Desmorais is Marco’s biological father?
“My father was a better match.”
Desmorais gestured with his hand in agreement. “Yes. Italian, charming, coming from an affluent traditional family, great prospect.”
Uneasiness filled the air. She remained rooted to the spot. It isn’t my place to say anything.
Nico rubbed his forehead. What went through his mind? “So you ended.”
“We tried.” Desmorais picked up one of the crystals on the console table, his fingers playing with the pointy edges.
“I don’t remember you in the picture. My parents, for a while, seemed happy with each other.”
“I believe a part of your mother really wanted to be happy. She loved the idea of being a wife, and having a family, and wanted to cling to those dreams.”
Nico snarled. “But she still saw you?”
“We met only a few times after her marriage. A couple of them by accident.”
Nico rose to his feet, tension oozing from his body. He curled his fingers into a ball. “You knew she had a family. Why didn’t you walk away?”
Desmorais placed the crystal back on the table and peered at Nico. “I’m a man who paid the cost of his freedom. Funny thing is, I didn’t marry her, yet for years couldn’t be with anyone else. I felt more loyal to her than if I’d been married,” he said, sadness lacing his voice.
“I can’t believe this. Is that why you bought the house? Did my father—”
Desmorais stepped toward Nico. “I don’t think he knew about me. I mean, before the marriage yes, but after… She never told me anything.”
Nico shook his head, more to himself than anyone else in the room. “He knew. I heard him once talking to a lawyer about his life insurance and how he wanted to keep confidential the fact that one of his sons wasn’t his.”
Her blood froze. She’d give anything to take the bitterness from Nico’s expression.
Nico squared his shoulders. “Does this mean you’re Marco’s father?”
The muscle in Desmorais’s jaw twitched, and he looked at Nico square in the eye. “No, Nico. I am your father.”
…
Nico’s body trembled. His father. There had to be a mistake. His entire body paused for one long minute then pulsed again. “Can’t be.”
He studied Desmorais’s features, his strong jaw, the greenish eyes…maybe the eyes had the same roundness as his. No. He ran his hand down his face.
“Why do you believe such a thing?”
His lips curled into a small, modest smile. “Your mother told me.”
Nico pushed air through his clenched teeth. “Why?”
“Because she asked me to stay away. She wanted to work things out with your father.”
Emma touched the side of his chest. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she whispered, then nudged him again. “Call if you need me.”
He’d asked her to stay because he trusted her—and he appreciated now how she decided he should handle this part of the conversation by himself and offered to leave.
His temples throbbed, and he rubbed them with his index finger, trying too hard to focus on the present. On the man in front of him, with tears brimming in his eyes. What if he told him the truth? “I can’t believe it without a DNA test,” he said, throwing it out there to see if Desmorais would bite.
“It may be a bit complicated, given that your mom’s dead, but I’m in if you are. Or, I can show you these—”
He headed for the shelf and grabbed a folder. Clearing his throat, Desmorais took a stash of letters bound by a rubber band, and gave them to him. “The one on the top was from your mother to me. Before she had you, she disappeared for months and didn’t answer my letters or phone calls. I let her be, as I always had. But I heard she had a baby, and I wrote her asking if you were mine.”
Nico leaned against a column and silently read the letter on top. He touched the paper, damaged on the edges. When he recognized the bold strokes of his mother’s handwriting, his heart leaped up his throat. She wrote in Italian and not French.
Nico’s fingers trembled, the paper in his hand shaking. Frustration clogged his throat, and when he finally spoke, he groaned. He’d chastised himself all those years because he’d thought he hadn’t told Marco about finding out Marco wasn’t Calogero’s son, when it’d been him all along.
“I understand you’re upset.”
“Upset?” Nico shouted. “The word doesn’t even begin to describe me. Do you know what it was like to be raised by Calogero? He became an alcoholic monster after my mother’s death.”
Tears rolled down Desmorais’s cheeks, and he sucked in a breath, his eyes glittering with regret. “I didn’t know Luciana had died until many years after. Then I thought it was too late.”
“You’re despicable. I’ve been wanting to buy this property. You wouldn’t talk to me,” he said, remembering all the hoops he had to jump through to even secure a lunch with Desmorais. How much he’d had to do when the man could have seen him if he’d chosen to do so. If he had wanted to do so.
Desmorais wiped the tears from his cheek with the back of his hand. “I have a lot to apologize for.”
“Why? Why weren’t you even a little bit curious to see how I’d turned out?” God, he’d been worried about someone else’s kid that day at the beach. A kid he had never met before. Yet his so-called…father never bothered to check in on him. Worse, he’d turned down every opportunity to meet him.
Desmorais grabbed a tissue from a box and wiped his tears. “I thought you’d be better off without me. I didn’t know about how Calogero had mistreated you. After your mom sent me that letter, I decided to put the past behind me. I met someone else. I married. I had a daughter. Eloise.”
A daughter… Nico had a half sister. An overwhelming sensation filled Nico, and he rubbed his eyes, his vision dotted. He had a sister he’d never known about. “Why not? Why didn’t you talk to me as an adult? When you knew I wanted to buy the property? When you probably knew why—all this time?”
Desmorais fell onto the sofa, the creases around his eyes bunching. “I wasn’t ready to see you.”
“Well, now, you’re too late. I’m the one who doesn’t need to see you.” Why waste any more time with the pointless discussion? Besides, Nico had done just fine without a proper father so far. “Emma, where are you? Let’s go,” he shouted in the direction of the kitchen. “We’re done here.”