He was ready.
For that next step. For—a slight wave of panic roiled in his belly. For those things he’d never imagined even considering.
Marriage. Kids. A dog, a cat, a house in the country.
Crazy.
But that what love was all about. Being crazy. Crazy in love.
Marco put the letter down.
He wanted to marry Emily. The question was, would she marry him?
She loved him, but in today’s world, love didn’t necessarily lead to marriage. Well, it had to, in his world. Maybe it was old-fashioned but in some ways
he
was old-fashioned.
What he needed was another plan.
Big steps required big plans. Part A and Part B, the first to take care of the nonsense about not letting people know about them, and the second…
The second involved a stop at Tiffany’s.
Dio!
He took a deep breath. Exhaled. Took another. Exhaled again. Then he reached for the intercom and called Emily.
“I’m going to stay a little late tonight. Tidy up some loose ends.”
“That’s fine. Just tell me what files we’ll need and—”
“No, you go on. I’ll tell Charles to meet you at the usual place. I’ll grab a taxi later.”
Silence. He almost smiled. He had confused her. That had been his intention. He’d just done away with what had become their new going-to-and-returning-from work arrangement, now that they were living together. Each morning, they rode together in the Mercedes, but Charles dropped her off a couple of blocks from the office. They picked her up at the same place each evening.
At least she wasn’t experiencing the joys of the subway system anymore.
Now, tonight, Marco was telling her that he was sending her home alone.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “Because I don’t mind staying.”
“Positive. Is that OK?”
“OK,” she said, and, rat that he was, it pleased the hell out of him that she sounded not just confused but unhappy at the prospect of not being with him.
Promptly at 6 p.m. she knocked politely at his door, then opened it. He looked up from the papers he was pretending to read.
“I’m leaving now.”
He nodded, waved his hand. The distracted CEO at his best.
“Fine.”
She didn’t move. He knew she had to be waiting for him to get up, come over and kiss her. Instead, he kept his eyes on the papers. After a few seconds, the door closed.
Marco looked up. Plan A was underway.
He counted to ten. Then he shot from his chair, grabbed his suit jacket, stepped into the hall and checked to make sure Emily was not in sight. His heart was pounding. What if she wasn’t ready for Plan A? Even worse, what if she didn’t like Plan B?
Stop thinking, he told himself. Just run.
The receptionist looked up as he skidded past her desk.
“Mr. Santini? Is there something I can—”
Marco pulled open the heavy glass doors.
Dio,
his timing was off! The elevator was directly ahead and the doors were staring to shut.
He flew. Stabbed the call button. Jammed his hand between the doors.
They opened.
Emily looked at him and blinked.
“Marco?”
“Emily,” he said, and he stepped into the car and took her in his arms.
“Marco! What are you—”
“Kissing you goodbye,” he said. “And kissing you hello. And do not tell me about mixing business with pleasure,
cara
, unless you have forgotten that I make the rules here.”
She raised her face to his. For one awful instant, he couldn’t read her eyes. Then she laughed and he laughed and he gathered her close and kissed her.
He heard the receptionist, who had a clear view of things from her desk, gasp. He heard the doors swish shut. He heard them open again on the lobby level, which would be crowded with his employees at this time of day.
It was just the audience he wanted, and he took all the time that kissing Emily deserved.
“You are mine,” he said when, at last, he raised his head.
The look on her face turned his knees weak.
“Of course I am,” she whispered, and he lifted her off her feet and swung her in a circle while she threw her head back and laughed.
******
He considered taking her with him to Tiffany’s. Letting a woman pick out her own engagement ring was probably the modern way to do things, but there was nothing modern about falling in love.
So he told Charles to drive them home and he told her a small lie.
“I have to make a stop,” he said, as she sat curled against him in the back of the Mercedes. “I promised a guy I’d meet him for a quick drink and the only way I’m going to get through it is to think of you on the terrace, wearing something that’s going to make my blood pressure soar.”
“It’s too cool for the terrace,” she said, running her index finger over his bottom lip. “I won’t have any choice but to wait for you in bed.”
The privacy screen was up. That meant he could slip his hand under the very businesslike skirt of her very businesslike suit. Beneath it, she wore very unbusinesslike thigh-high hose and an even more unbusinesslike silk thong.
The Mercedes pulled to the curb. She caught her breath as he skimmed his fingers under the thong.
“Don’t be gone too long,” she whispered.
“I won’t, I promise.”
“Because—”
“Because you’ll miss me?”
She smiled. “I will. But—” Her smile tilted. “But we have to talk. About—about me. And my family. I haven’t told them about us. About you. I haven’t told you about them. And there’s so much to tell you—”
“Your great-great-grandfather was a horse thief.”
His tone was solemn but his eyes were filled with laughter. How could she not laugh, too?
“No?”
“No. But there are things—”
“Sweetheart.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “What do I care if the Texas Madisons are not perfect?”
Emily flinched. “See? Even calling them that—”
“Not good?” He grinned. “Don’t worry. I promise to mind my manners. I will speak properly to… I don’t even know their names.”
“My brothers are Jacob, Caleb and Travis. My sisters are Lissa and Jaimie. And—” she swallowed. “And my father—”
“I will salute your father,” he said, trying to chase the serious expression from her face. “Shake hands with your brothers. Kiss your sisters.” There was no answering smile. Was she worried about how he would deal with her family? Had she forgotten that he had not always lived in penthouses and ridden around in Ferraris and limousines? “Emily. Stop worrying. Everything will be fine.”
“They won’t be what you expect.”
“They will be if they’re like you.”
Emily swallowed hard.
Why had she put off this moment? It wasn’t as if she’d really lied. Lying by omission wasn’t a lie…
Was it?
Besides, the truth wasn’t so awful. So what if her brothers were rich, not just average working guys? If her father was a four-star general? If she’d been raised in luxury in what was, in effect, a private kingdom?
So what if he believed she was the one person in his life who’d always told him the truth?
Her heart lodged in her throat.
“Marco,” she said quickly. “Cancel your meeting. Can you do that? Come upstairs with me instead and—”
His cell phone beeped. A text message. He pulled it from his pocket and read it.
Hell.
Tonight, of all nights, when he wanted to be alone with his Emilia…
“What’s the matter?”
He looked up. “Nothing. Just a text from an old pal. He’s in New York with his wife. An unexpected layover. Mechanical troubles with their plane. He thought it would be nice if we got together for dinner.”
Emily nodded. “Of course,” she said softly. “You go ahead. Take the meeting you had planned and then meet up with your friend. I’ll—I’ll catch up on some reading.”
“I have a better idea. I’ll run my, ah, my errand. And I’ll phone my friend and tell him and his wife to come to my place—to our place,
cara.
I want you to meet them. We’ll have drinks and then we can go out for dinner or order in. How does that sound?”
It sounded like yet another night when the truth would have to wait. Still, it had waited this long…
“Sweetheart? You’ll like them, I promise.”
“I’m sure I will.” She forced a quick smile. “It sounds like fun.”
“
Si.
It will be.” He cupped her cheek as Charles pulled the Mercedes to the curb in front of the condo. “I won’t be long.”
The doorman opened the rear door. Emily stepped on to the sidewalk. Marco leaned up. She leaned down. They shared a soft kiss.
He waited until she’d gone through the door and into the lobby. Then he put down the privacy screen.
“Charles? We are going to Tiffany’s.”
Charles looked in the mirror and smiled.
“Congratulations, sir.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“It’s been that obvious for a while,” Charles said.
Yes, Marco thought as the limo pulled away from the curb, it definitely had.
Why had it taken him so long to see it?
Traffic was heavy. He had lots of time to plan what would happen tonight once he and Emily were alone. He’d have the ring he was about to buy in his pocket. He’d take her out on the terrace—it was cool but he wanted the stars and the city lights to add their own magic. Then he’d get down on one knee and ask her to be his wife.
They were almost at Tiffany’s. Marco took out his phone and hit a speed dial button.
“Hello?” a slightly-accented male voice said.
“Khan, you desert reprobate, what are you doing on my turf?”
His Royal Highness Sheikh Khan ibn Zain al Hassad, Reigning Prince of Altara, laughed.
“It’s good to hear your voice, Marco. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Actually, I’m great. And you?”
“I am happier than I have ever been,” Khan replied. “Marriage agrees with me.”
“I’m sorry I missed your wedding.”
“I am, too, but I understood. You were in South America, as I recall.”
“Yes. Brazil. So, how is your bride?”
“Laurel is pregnant,” Khan said, his voice rich with pride. “And here’s your chance finally to meet her.”
“I’m looking forward to it. How about coming for drinks and dinner? You know my address. Say, about eight?”
“We don’t want you to put you to any trouble.”
“It won’t be any trouble; it’ll be a pleasure to see you again and to meet Laurel.” Marco cleared his throat. “There will, ah, there will be someone with me.”
“Truly, we don’t want to inconvenience you. If you have a date tonight—”
“She’s not my date. She is—” What? Emily was no longer his lover. She was the woman he was going to marry, but how could he say that to his friend when he had not said it to her? “I want you to meet her. Her name is Emily. Emily Madison. She’s from Dallas.”
“Well. Emily and Laurel will have something in common. Laurel’s from there, too.”
“Right. I remember that.”
“For all we know, they might even have friends in common. You know that six-degrees-of-separation thing.”
“Anything is possible.”
“Well,” Khan said, “we’ll see you at seven.”
He ended the call, turned to his wife and took her in his arms.
“We’re going to Marco’s place.”
“Mmm,” Laurel said. “That’s nice.”
Khan lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers.
“There’s a new woman in his life.”
“Something serious?”
“I don’t think so. He’s never serious about women. Besides, he sounded nervous mentioning her.”
“Do you think we’ve come on the scene at a bad time?”
Khan sighed. “What I think,” he said, “is that we’re better off not speculating. All Marco said is that she’s from Texas. From Dallas.”
“Really? What’s her name?”
“Emily. Emily Madison.”
“Nope, I don’t know her. The only Emily I know is Emily Wilde.”
Laurel rose on her toes and looped her arms around her husband’s neck.
“How much time do we have?”
“Just under two hours.” His eyes darkened. “Why? Did you have something you wanted to do first?”
She put her lips to his ear. Khan listened, gave a sexy growl and swung her into his arms.
“Impertinent female,” he said, and kissed her.
“Damned right,” she said, laughing as he carried her into their bedroom.
Had the elevator to the penthouse always been so slow?
Emily tapped her foot impatiently as the mirrored car made its climb. She’d been so caught up in Marco’s kissing her in front of all those people, then in all that talk about her family that she was already in the elevator before she realized the importance of what was happening tonight.
Marco had invited an old friend and his wife to join them for drinks and dinner.
Such a simple thing.
Except, it wasn’t.
She’d met lots of his business acquaintances, but this was Marco’s friend. His old friend. He was bringing his wife and they were coming here, to the home Marco and she shared.
The world, her life, everything was changing. She’d met a man, gone to work for him, fallen in love with him and now they were a couple.
So much had happened in only—what?—six weeks.
And nobody knew about any of it. She’d spoken with her sisters a few times, with her brothers, even with her father. They all led busy lives; keeping in touch by telephone had long ago become important. She’d spoken with Nola, too.
But not once had she mentioned Marco.
They all knew she had a new job at a company called MS Enterprises, but that was it. She hadn’t said anything more.
Now, she wanted them to know all about him. The man she adored. She just had to tell him a few things about herself first, but she wasn’t going to think about that now.
There was too much to do, getting ready for the first visit they’d had as a couple.
Well…not really. In fact, there was hardly anything to do.
Everything was shiny and spotless. Emily reached for a throw pillow on one of the white linen sofas, fluffed it and put it back. She straightened a lampshade. A cleaning service came in three times a week to dust and polish and clean. Marco’s housekeeper came in those same three days to do the laundry, fill the fridge and freezer, cook meals and freeze them.
Travis called it living the bachelor life.
Damn. She wasn’t going to think about Travis or her brothers tonight.
She plucked another pillow from the sofa and punched it into shape. She had to get all that stuff about her family out of her head. Think about tonight. What snacks to serve with drinks.
Better still, what to wear.
Dinner wasn’t a problem.
Marco had said they’d go out or perhaps order in. Either way would be fine. He could always get an excellent table at any of the best restaurants in the city, even when he didn’t have reservations, and those restaurants would gladly deliver to their door.
It was the same for her brothers.
Emily stood still, tossed the pillow on the sofa and took a deep breath. Slowly, deliberately, she let it out.
She was turning herself into a nervous wreck.
Meeting his friends was scary enough. Knowing that her charade was about to come to an end was worse.
What was she going to say?
Marco, I have something to tell you. My father isn’t just a soldier; he’s a general. And I’m not really from Dallas; I’m from a half-million-acre ranch called El Sueño. I grew up pampered and rich and I never stood on my own two feet until I got to New York.
Or maybe she should simply say
Here’s the thing, Marco. There is no Emily Madison.
Her cell phone rang. Emily jumped at the sound, then dug for the device in the depths of her shoulder bag.
“Hello?”
“
Cara.
”
Edgy as she was, just hearing his voice made her smile. “Hi.”
“I’m on my way home.”
“Good. That’s good. I’ll be showered and dressed by the time you get here.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Shower and dress.” His voice was low and husky. “Wait for me.”
“But your friends…”
“Wait for me,” he said. “Just another few minutes.”
She heard the sound of his phone disconnecting. Disconsolate, she stared at hers until the screen went dark.
She remembered all the times she, Jaimie and Lissa had talked about men. Agreeing that guys were a good thing to have around had been easy. For sex and heavy lifting, Jaimie or maybe Lissa had said, and they’d all laughed.
They’d never mentioned love.
The truth was, she hadn’t thought about love. It had always been something way, way out there in the future, kind of like death and taxes and whether or not you’d ever use Botox.
And now here she was, not just in love but desperately in love. With the only man she would ever want, the only man she hoped to spend her life with. And everything he knew about her was untrue.
Wrong.
The details were untrue.
She wasn’t.
She was the woman he’d fallen in love with. She was Emily no matter what her last name was.
He would see that, understand it, accept it.
The sun dropped lower. The sky began to darken. And just when she knew she was going to weep, she heard the elevator give its soft sigh as it rose toward the penthouse.
She swung around. Never mind that guests were coming. Never mind anything but the truth. She would confess right now…
The doors opened.
Marco came out of the elevator with his suit coat off, his shirt unbuttoned, his eyes blazing with passion.
“
Amore mio,
” he said, and she went into his arms and forgot everything, everything but him.
******
Marco paced through the big living room, back and forth, back and forth, the ring he’d bought damn near burning a hole in his pocket.
It was perfect.
It was, wasn’t it?
He had looked at enough rings to make his head spin, all of them beautiful, some of them spectacular, none of them The One. The saleswoman had done her best to help. What size stone did he want? What shape? What kind of setting? Logical questions but his only answer was that he’d know the right ring when he saw it.
And, finally, he had.
It was a flawless blue-white three-carat diamond set in platinum and flanked by cornflower-blue sapphires. Beautiful yet modest and with a fiery heart. Just like his Emilia.
He grinned as he took it from his pocket and looked at it.
OK. Maybe the ring wasn’t so modest, but Emily was. And beautiful. And fiery.
He could hardly wait to slip the ring on her finger. He’d had to guess at the size but why worry about that when it suddenly hit him that what he really had to guess at was whether she would say “yes” to his proposal.
She loved him but the only certainty in this life was that Emily was the missing half of him.
He loved her in bed. He loved her out of bed. She was smart, she was fun, he could discuss absolutely anything with her, and she wasn’t afraid of standing up to him.
And he trusted her. With everything he was or ever would be. His soul. His life. His heart.
Dio,
he was a wreck.
If only Emily would appear—but she had all but thrown him out of their bedroom.
“I can’t get dressed with you watching me,” she’d said.
“Why?”
“Because I want to look perfect, that’s why!”
He’d smiled, stepped behind her at the cheval mirror, cupped her shoulders and kissed the side of her throat.
“You already do.”
“You don’t understand. I’m meeting your friends.”
“And?”
She’d sighed the kind of long-suffering sigh he knew women gave when men were too thick-headed to understand the mysteries women were born understanding.
“And, I’m nervous.”
“
Cara
. They are nice people.”
“I’m sure they are but—but I’m just on edge. So please, wait for me downstairs.”
Well, he had waited. And waited. First in the living room. Now on the terrace. Maybe the cool night air would calm him. Maybe he’d stop second-guessing himself. Had he chosen the right ring? Should he have taken Emily with him? What if she said,
It’
s
a pretty ring and it’s very nice of you to ask me but—
“Marco?”
Emily’s voice was soft. He put the ring in his pocket, turned around—and almost stopped breathing.
She was wearing red. Red silk, red chiffon—he’d never been very good at telling one kind of fabric from another. He only knew that the dress was incredible. It had thin straps and it skimmed her body while somehow clinging to all the right places. Her shoes were black strappy things with nosebleed heels. Her hair was loose, the way he loved it; she was wearing long pearl earrings that he’d bought for her at a tiny shop in Soho just last week.
“Art nouveau,” the vendor had assured them.
Marco had known only that they looked as if they’d been made for the woman he loved.
She flashed a quick, nervous smile. “I didn’t overdo? I mean the dress…”
He held out his arms and she went straight into them.
“Tu sei bella, cara mia.”
Her smile warmed.
“Grazie, signor. Anche tu bello.”
Marco framed her face with his hands. His heart was so full. To hell with waiting until later. He would give her the ring now, ask to her be his forever…
Beep.
“
Emilia,”
he said, “
il mio cuore …”
Beep.
“Sweetheart.” Emily put her hand over his. “It’s the intercom.”
The intercom. He had been about to propose. Besides that, the woman he loved had just called him “sweetheart.” No woman had ever called him that before.
“To hell with the intercom.”
“It’s probably the concierge saying that your friends are here. Remember?”
His friends. Khan and Laurel. Talk about bad timing…
He took her hand, kissed it, then tucked her arm within his. Together, they walked through the living room to the foyer, where he plucked the white house phone from the wall.
“Mr. Santini. Your guests are here, sir.”
“
Si
.
Excellent. Please send them up.”
He put his arm around Emily’s waist. She looked up at him.
“You sure I look all right?” she whispered, as if her words might carry into the rising elevator car.
He tilted her face to his and gave her a slow, tender kiss.
“Molto bella.”
Emily smiled. The light above the elevator blinked as the car came to a gentle stop.
Marco gave her one last kiss just as the doors slid open...
Laurel gasped. “Emily?”
Khan shook his head. “I don’t understand. Marco? You never said… Emily? Emily Wilde?”
And the world came apart.
******
Scant moments later, Marco and Emily were alone, he tight-lipped with cold fury, she weeping in despair.
She sat in the middle of one of the sofas, a pillow she’d fluffed to within an inch of its life not an hour ago clutched to her breasts like a life preserver.
Marco was pacing the same path he’d paced earlier tonight as a nervous suitor but now his footsteps were heavy, his hands were fisted in his trouser pockets, and the look on his face said that nothing in the world would ever be the same again.
“I tried to tell you,” she said in a trembling voice. “I tried and tried but you wouldn’t listen.”
“You told me nothing,” Marco snarled. “Not one damned thing!”
“I did. I said you had the wrong idea about me, that I—that I wasn’t the small- town girl you’d decided I was.”
“I decided? I decided nothing except to believe your sad story.”
“I didn’t tell you a sad story. You’re the one who—”
“Did you tell me you worked as a piano player in a bar?”
“Yes. And it was the truth.”
“Did you tell me that you lived in that—that abominable slum?”
“I
did
live there. And it wasn’t an abominable sl—”
“Perhaps it was I who I decided your father had spent his life being shuffled from army base to army base.”
“You’re distorting everything! I never said—”
“Or perhaps it was my decision to think of your brothers as—as men who went to work each morning and clocked in to their jobs!”
“I never said any such thing.”
“You never said they were the Wildes of Wilde’s Crossing, either.”
Emily narrowed her eyes. “I see. So being the Wildes of Wilde’s Crossing makes them better than if they worked with their hands?”
“I did not mean—”
“Because if that’s your problem—”
“My problem,” he said coldly, “is that I was allowed to think that your family could not help you lead a more comfortable life and yet one of your brothers is an investor with the power of an emperor, another is an attorney who is the first choice of corporate powerhouses everywhere and the third is a man who manages a ranch the size of a small nation and breeds horses that sell for more money than most people will earn in their lifetimes!”
Emily rose from the sofa, still clutching the pillow.
“I tried to tell you the truth. Several times. And, just for your information, I didn’t want their help.”
“That is not the point!”
“Then what is? Are you saying that my brothers are too successful? That would be a strange complaint from a man who owns an international conglomerate that makes millions upon millions of dollars each year.”
Color suffused his face. She knew that wasn’t what he’d meant, but anger was creeping in to replace despair and she welcomed it.
“I am not saying that!”
“No?”
“No. I am saying that letting me believe the Madisons were an average American family was a falsehood. Hell, letting me believe they even existed was a lie!”
“What if it was? It didn’t harm anyone.”
“It created a woman who did not exist!”
“I changed my name,” Emily said, “not who I am inside!”
“You let me think you were someone you are not.”
Emily flung the pillow across the room. “Meaning what? That you got off on showing the world to a little country girl?”
His jaw tightened and she regretted the words as soon as she’d said them. The accusation was all wrong. He’d wanted to make her happy, that was all.
And he had.
“I didn’t mean that,” she said quickly. “I know that wasn’t why you—”