by Bethany-Kris
Emma didn’t correct Affonso, but he was wrong on a dozen different levels. Affonso’s teenaged daughters would forever resent their father for being a distant figure in their lives, buying their love with meaningless possessions and pretty things. Emma and her own father were the perfect example of how that kind of relationship would turn out. She hated her father.
It didn’t matter.
Affonso’s games weren’t important for now.
“If Calisto even comes around, you mean.”
“He will,” Affonso said, strong and sure. “I know the man. He will.”
Emma bent down to hook the strap of her kitten heels around her ankle, only to find Affonso kneeling down in front of her. His hands stopped hers, and he offered her a charming smile.
It was far too sweet to be true.
What did he want at eight in the morning?
“Let me help,” Affonso said.
Emma let him hook the straps, and ignored the way his fingers danced up her calves before coming to a stop on her thighs. His hands were still under the skirt of her summer dress.
“Smile, Emma.”
She did.
“Beautiful,” her husband praised.
It did nothing for her. Just the same way as his hands stroking her bare thighs did nothing for her. Despite worrying the night before that Affonso might want something from her, the man hadn’t actually asked for a lot since she found out she was pregnant a month earlier.
They’d had sex once.
Nothing else.
That was weeks ago.
Instinctively, Emma reached for Affonso’s waist. It was her go-to trick to sedate and please him if he wanted, something without actually having to do very much. She much preferred taking him that way than needing to fake her way through an entire round of sex.
It wasn’t that Affonso wasn’t attractive. At his age, fifty, he appeared a decade younger. He had the virility of a much younger man, and the stamina to match.
Emma just … couldn’t.
She tried.
She couldn’t.
Affonso stopped Emma’s wandering hands, and put them back to her lap with a smile. At least his hands were gone from under her dress. She took that as a win.
“Don’t you want me to—”
“Not today,” Affonso interrupted with a grin. “Besides, sweetheart, you’re not exactly up to the task lately. Hmm?”
Emma blinked, surprised he had noticed. “No, I guess not.”
That wasn’t a total lie.
She was never up for it.
“Hormones. It’s fine.”
Emma smiled back, and it felt honest instead of the fake one she usually wore. “Maybe. I’m tired and sick a lot. It doesn’t help.”
“You don’t need to worry about it. That was something I wanted to talk with you about this morning before we met the girls downstairs for breakfast.”
“Oh?” she asked.
Affonso nodded. “I won’t be coming home tonight. I don’t think you’ll find yourself bored without me, but I figured you should know where I am, in case you need something.”
Emma’s brow furrowed. “You’ve gone away for the night before. What’s different about this time?”
He pulled a card from his slacks pocket, and set it face up on Emma’s lap. A quick glance at the card showcased a woman’s name and phone number written in Affonso’s neat scrawl.
Sandra, it read.
Emma squeezed her fists tight. “Who is that?”
“A good friend,” Affonso said, offering nothing more. “Don’t ask anything else, and you’ll be a much happier woman, I assure you. Ignorance is bliss.”
She could safely assume that the woman was just one of his mistresses.
“You didn’t have to tell me,” Emma muttered. “Or shove it in my face, Affonso.”
“I’m not. I’m also not in the business of hiding things. If I don’t come home on any given night and you need something, you can call here.”
Her stomach rolled.
“Is that all?” Emma asked.
“For now.”
Affonso stood, patted her head with his palm, and left their bedroom without another word. Emma took a few cleansing breaths to steel her nerves before she followed behind him.
She wasn’t surprised at her husband’s actions. Affonso was a bastard. He simply didn’t hide the kind of bastard he was.
Emma slipped the card into her dress pocket, wondering if she should be grateful for the woman her husband went to and thank her, or hate her. It wasn’t actually a choice. Anyone who could distract Affonso from Emma enough to keep him out of their bed was a friend of hers.
She didn’t care.
What she told Calisto months ago still stood. If her husband was fucking someone else, then he was leaving her alone.
What more could Emma ask for?
Emma was surprised to find her step-daughters weren’t milling around the kitchen, waiting for the cook to serve them as she walked in behind Affonso. Sherry, their cook, was behind the island, prepping and going from one bowl to the pan on the stove while muttering under her breath.
“A fair spread this morning?” Affonso asked.
“Yes, sir,” Sherry said, never taking her eyes off the food. “It’s almost finished. I decided to make eggs in a hat the way I used to, but I had to add it onto the rest of the meal I was cooking.”
Affonso smiled, much to Emma’s confusion. “Is that so?”
“Someone’s favorite.”
“Someone?” Emma asked.
Her husband’s grin deepened. “As I said last night, I know the man. I know him much better than he thinks I do.”
Calisto.
“Cal said he was fine with waiting for when you were ready to eat,” Sherry added.
“No problem,” Affonso said, waving it off. “Where is he?”
The cook flicked her wrist in the direction of the second entrance to the kitchen like that explained it all. “With the girls.”
Affonso tipped his head in the same direction the cook had waved. “Emma, go find them and let them know it’s time to eat.”
“Sure,” she said.
“Follow the music,” Affonso told her as she was leaving.
What music?
Emma had no idea what her husband was talking about. She couldn’t hear any music. The downstairs section of the home was as quiet as it ever was, but she was pretty sure that was on purpose. Affonso mentioned once or twice that the home’s walls were doubly thick for business purposes.
Emma didn’t question him more.
She didn’t want to know why.
Toward the back of the house, where the library and Affonso’s private office was located, Emma began to hear the music. The sweet, upbeat tune of the piano flooded the back hallway. Soon, she was leaning in the library doorway, watching Michelle play the piano while Cynthia did a few steps that Emma immediately recognized as ballet.
She hadn’t known the girl danced.
Calisto rested on the edge of the piano bench, smiling in a way that Emma hadn’t seen from him before. It was sweet—affectionate, even. Like he was so damn proud of the girls. Emma hadn’t ever seen Affonso grace them with even a small fraction of that kind of love and attention. Calisto wasn’t their father, and he gave them more than Affonso did.
It was terribly sad.
Once Michelle had finished her song, Emma cleared her throat to gain their attention. She pretended like she didn’t notice Calisto watching her under his lashes in that way of his that said he’d known she had been standing there for a while.
“Time to eat,” Emma said.
“Great. I’m fucking starving,” Cynthia mumbled, making a beeline for the door.
“Watch your mouth,” Calisto barked. “Ladies don’t talk like that.”
Michelle snickered as she strolled past Emma like she wasn’t even standing there. The girl didn’t pretend to like her. “Who said anything about Cynthia being a fucking lady?�
��
“Oh, my God,” Calisto grumbled.
“They don’t talk like that in front of their father,” Emma noted.
Calisto’s eyes popped open, and a clearness replaced his glassy-eyed look from the night before. He pushed off the bench to stand with a learned grace that Emma appreciated. She just wish her body didn’t appreciate it, too.
“Better for them that they don’t,” Calisto said.
“I see you sobered up.”
“I’m still a little drunk.”
“And you drove here this morning?” she asked, disgusted.
Calisto laughed deeply. “No, I have a driver. Worry not, kitten.”
Emma swallowed hard.
Kitten.
That was a new one.
She liked it.
In his mouth, she liked it a lot.
“What brought you over here this morning, Cal?” she asked. “One apology was enough.”
“Business for Affonso, nothing more. It wasn’t about you.”
Emma hoped he was telling the truth.
Without saying anything else, Calisto crossed the room in long, smooth strides. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he passed her by, not giving her a second look. Emma almost wished he would.
Wary, she followed behind Calisto until they were in the dining room and taking their seats. She filled her plate with different foods, and watched Calisto approach his uncle out of the corner of her eye. Calisto bent down, whispered something into Affonso’s ear, and waited.
Affonso’s features blanked, but anger simmered in his gaze. “What a mess.”
“Yeah,” Calisto agreed vaguely.
“Thank you for letting me know.”
“I’ll handle it, zio.”
“Actually,” Affonso drawled, passing Emma a look, “I think I will handle it this time. I’ll take a trip down and see what they left.”
“I usually handle that for you,” Calisto said.
“I know, but I want to. I’m bored. What else can I say?”
Emma didn’t know what her husband was up to, but she didn’t like it a bit. Especially not when he looked at her again like he was telling her to eat and stay quiet. She shoved a mouthful of pancake into her mouth and chewed.
“Tell you what,” Affonso said, smiling. “You take Emma to her appointment today. I’ll give her enforcer the day off. He can come with me and learn a bit. I’ll go downtown for you.”
Calisto glanced at Emma, unreadable. “Appointment for what?”
“Bloodwork. The baby. Standard things,” Affonso said.
“It’s a quick appointment,” Emma assured.
Calisto sighed, and his jaw clenched. “Sure.”
“Great,” Affonso said, clapping his hands together once.
Calisto wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t exactly running to get away, either.
Wonderful.
“Sit. We’ll eat together. Like a famiglia should,” Affonso demanded.
Calisto smirked, never taking his eyes away from Emma. “Right. Just like a family.”
Calisto
Emma sat still and quiet in the passenger seat. She propped her chin in her hand and watched the buildings fly by as Calisto navigated the tough, thick early morning traffic. She hadn’t said more than a couple of words to him.
It wasn’t like he blamed her.
After last night, she had every reason to want to avoid him. He’d been stupid, got stupid-drunk, and then acted stupid all over her.
Calisto knew better than that.
“Hey, Emmy?” he asked.
She never took her eyes away from the window. “Hmm?”
“About last night.”
“It doesn’t matter, Calisto. Leave it alone. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, I figured. What I said still stands. I wanted to say it again.”
Emma slowly rotated in the seat until she was staring at him. “Which one? The part where you deliberately accused me of keeping something from you, the part where you accused me of not trying to tell you at all, or the apology?”
Calisto’s hands squeezed the steering wheel harder.
Good men apologized when they did wrong.
Simple as that.
“The apology,” he said quietly.
“Thank you. Now, can you please drop it? I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I get that. I just …”
“What?” Emma demanded, blowing out a heavy breath.
“Why are you so irritated?” Calisto asked. “I’m making small talk. You’re barking at me.”
Emma shook her head, and turned back to the window. “You don’t get it, Calisto. I don’t want to talk about it. Not the pregnancy, the baby, or what happened. It hurts.” She pointed to her chest, drawing Calisto’s attention from the road for a moment. “In here, it hurts me all the time. I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Drop it.”
“Dropped.”
“Great,” she muttered.
“I am sorry you had to go through it alone,” he added quickly.
Out of the corner of his eye, Calisto watched as Emma clenched her hands in her lap until her knuckles turned white from the pressure. She let out a slow exhale, and her pretty mouth turned down into a frown.
“I wasn’t entirely alone,” she said. “Affonso was there for a while.”
“For a while?”
“He left after he took me to the hospital.”
Calisto’s brow furrowed as he slowly took a sharp corner with the car. “But he must have come back, yes?”
“A day later when I was released, he sent Carter to come pick me up and bring me home.”
Carter was one of Affonso’s men, and Emma’s full-time enforcer. Calisto’s rage bubbled up from his stomach at the very idea of Emma being alone in the hospital while she was suffering, and probably lonely.
“I’m sorry,” Calisto said again.
Emma shrugged. “Don’t be.”
“I can’t help it. Last night wasn’t entirely about you, either. I was pissed at myself for being a fucking idiot, and for putting you in that kind of position. I should have taken more care in Vegas. Instead, I made a mess and you were left to clean it alone.”
Calisto had kept his eyes on the road, not wanting to chance hitting another vehicle if someone cut in front of them. The last thing he needed was for Emma to be hurt in her current condition. Affonso wouldn’t be pleased.
Emma’s hand landed on Calisto’s arm with a gentle touch. The softness of her palm soaked into his skin immediately, reminding him of what it felt like to feel every inch of her body, explore all her silky curves and dips, with his own hands.
Just as fast as her hand was there, it was gone.
But he’d still felt it.
Nonetheless, he was grateful she quickly let him go.
“It takes two people,” he heard her say faintly.
“You’re right, but it only takes one of those people to be an asshole.”
Emma laughed softly. “You must enjoy punishing yourself. Is that it?”
Maybe.
Calisto didn’t know anymore.
“How is this pregnancy coming along?” he managed to ask.
“So far, so good.”
It bothered him in a way he couldn’t explain that Emma was pregnant with Affonso’s child. She was far too early in the pregnancy to actually look pregnant, but Calisto knew and that was enough to set his blood on fire.
Jealousy compounded in his chest. His heart ached. His fingers itched with the need to wipe all his nonsense away. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt fucking awful.
Terrible, even.
What was worse, was the fact he still couldn’t look at Emma without seeing who he knew she was beneath her new last name and status. She wasn’t just Affonso Donati’s pretty, young wife with no opinion to share and her fake smiles plastered on. She had fire. She had passion.
Calisto still found that he was ridiculously attracted to the woman, and that wasn’t okay. She still mad
e his cock hard at night when he was alone. His memories of her didn’t do her any justice.
The real thing was far better.
Calisto swallowed the lump in his throat, and ignored the snugness of his slacks. It wasn’t the time. It was never going to be the time.
Not again.
Then, he glanced at Emma in the passenger seat. She was watching him under her long lashes in that way of hers. Silent, unmoving, and sweet.
She knew he was remembering.
She had to know.
“Staying away didn’t help much, huh?” Emma asked.
Calisto cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard what I said.”
He had.
“No, it didn’t help,” Calisto admitted.
“Shame. I hoped we could be friends, at least.”
Calisto didn’t know if that was possible. “Did it help you when I stayed away?”
Emma laughed, but it was strained and shallow. “Help what? The difference between you and me, Cal, is that you had a choice in the end. You were capable of walking away. I was simply moved from one hand to the next without a single say. There was no helping me. Don’t delude yourself into thinking differently.”
“You’re right.”
And it killed him.
Emma rested back into the seat, and pressed two fingers into her temples. “I don’t know why, but I am exhausted.”
“I hear pregnancy will do that.”
“I suppose. But I feel like hell and probably look like it, too.”
Calisto shot her a small smile. “For looking like hell, as you say, I think you look beautiful.”
Emma’s eyes snapped open and found Calisto immediately. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That, Cal. I don’t even want to walk that line.”
“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
Emma frowned. “That’s exactly my point.”
“Why do you need to be here today, again?” Calisto asked.
“Bloodwork.” Emma perched herself up on the edge of the patient bed. She tugged off her cardigan and set it aside. “Nothing too invasive today.”
“A needle inside your veins is a little invasive.”
Emma snickered. “Scared of needles?”
