Innoncent Secretary, Accidentally Pregnant

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.

‘Arrange that I leave at eight a.m. tomorrow. Now, if you will excuse me, I should ring my mother.’

‘Of course, but-’

‘Cancel my diary for the week-I have warned most people that this might happen soon.’ He was back in business mode, standing tall and proud but unable to meet her eyes.

‘Luca…’

He glanced at the envelope he was still holding. ‘If you were thinking of leaving, I would appreciate it if you could stay on at least till I return.’

‘Of course, but…’ How to say it, how to just come out and say it? Finally, the words just flurried out. ‘Your mother thinks that I will be coming with you-she is expecting me to be there for the funeral.’

‘No.’ His response was immediate. He could not do this again, could not let her any closer, because it had already been hard enough losing her once-he couldn’t do it again. ‘I will explain you are needed here.’

‘She thinks I am more needed there.’ Emma was crying. It wasn’t her place to cry, it was his father that was dead, but to see him so lost for that moment, to feel the weight of his pain momentarily rest in her arms, even if it would be agony, even if it was just another charade, she wanted to be there for him. She wanted this time with the man she loved, with the father of her child and maybe, just maybe, being with him, sharing in his grief, might bring them close enough for Emma to reveal her news. ‘You don’t have to do this alone.’

‘No.’ His response was final. He had done everything alone-always he had been alone. Oh, there had been women, so-called partners even, and they had shared in important milestones, family occasions even-yet in his mind he had always been alone. Now she offered a different path and Luca gazed into her eyes and down that unfamiliar route.

To have her with him, to get through this and have her beside him at night, to have that hand hold his as he tried to make it through…

Never had he been more sorely tempted.

‘No.’

He dismissed her, picked up the phone and turned his back.

She quietly closed the door on her way out, and she held it together.

Evelyn was still in tears for her own reasons, so with just a little guidance from her senior, Emma put the plans for Rico D’Amato in place, and for Luca D’Amato too. She struggled through the wretched day and then headed not to home but to visit her father.

‘I loved her, Emma.’ He was holding a photo of her mother and weeping when she arrived. ‘I loved her.’

‘I know, Dad.’

‘I always knew she’d leave me. I knew that one day she’d go…’

Instead of taking the photo away, instead of filling up his little dish with chocolate, or replacing his laundry, Emma sat in the stiff leather chair by his bed- weary with new understanding.

Love hurt.

Love sucked.

Love made you do the unfathomable.

‘I should have supported her with her art,’ Frank wept, as Emma held his hand and closed her eyes. ‘I should have been there for her. I should have been a better father for you…’

Round and round he went, trapped in a circle of dementia and bitter, bitter regret.

It was exhausting to listen to.

And exhausting to leave.

Bone weary, she stepped out of the nursing home and into the dark night, almost knowing Luca would be waiting for her, almost sensing what was to come.

‘I went to your home.’

‘I was visiting Dad.’

‘We are finished, Emma.’ He made himself say it, because she deserved better than lies, better than false promises.

Better than him.

‘There can be no relationship.’

‘I know that now.’ And she did, finally she did, because he couldn’t make it any clearer. His face was stripped of colour, just the blue of his eyes and the blackness of his words resonated in her heart. But love made you daft, love made you care, love made you weak at times, but true love, real love, actually made you incredibly strong.

‘Your offer to come to the funeral, I would like to accept it now. It would mean a lot to my mother and also to me,’ he admitted. One slight weakness and she blinked in confusion, because sometimes he sounded like a man who adored her.

‘I said I’ll come, but there can be no…’ She couldn’t finish but she knew he understood her. Unlike before, this time she meant it, because although she loved him, and wanted him, being intimate with a man who had confessed he didn’t want her meant there was one rule that had to be voiced.

‘I understand that,’ Luca said, and he did. Always sex had been like balm, a release, a distraction, a pleasure- yet with Emma it had been something else, had taken him to places that had shown him all he was missing, all he must forever miss. Emma had been right too. His mother had naturally assumed Emma would join him, and at first he had reeled from even the thought. But to have her beside him…He knew he shouldn’t but, selfishly, his need overrode logic.

‘I am leaving in the afternoon now-Evelyn will come to your home in the morning to assist you.’

And in Luca’s world no explanation was necessary-he could just give his orders and they would be followed. But as Evelyn arrived the next morning with an array of dour suits, as she helped her junior pack and pay last-minute bills and cancel plans and ring the nursing home, the mood was sombre. Black was Emma’s safe staple-a suit, a jumper, a sexy little dress-but always it was lightened with colour. Pulling on black stockings, a thin black cashmere jumper and then the black suit, Emma felt sick. She had never been to a funeral before-well, just one, but she had been too young to remember her mother’s.

They sat in silence in Emma’s lounge, waiting for the toot of Luca’s driver. Evelyn saw her junior’s pinched face and restless foot that tapped a silent tune as she braced herself for whatever lay ahead.

‘I know something happened in Italy,’ the older woman said gently.

‘How could it not have?’ Emma gave a tight shrug.

‘I warned you,’ Evelyn said, but there was no accusatory note in her voice. She had seen it before and she would no doubt see it again-but it felt different with Emma. ‘You don’t have to go to this-’

‘But I do,’ Emma interjected.

‘He’ll hurt you,’ Evelyn warned. ‘Please don’t get too involved…Luca’s incapable of commitment.’

‘I know that.’

‘And he can’t stand to look at his mistakes.’ Evelyn spoke from years of experience. ‘I’ve seen it happen so many times. Sooner or later, you’ll end up leaving. Oh, you’ll get a glowing reference, a fabulous payout…’ Each word was like an arrow to Emma’s heart, because it washed away the last dregs of the uniqueness that she’d been sure had been them. ‘He’ll hurt you,’ Evelyn said again and then the car tooted its summons and they both stood, Emma tempted to follow Evelyn’s advice-to just walk away now, before he hurt her even further.

‘He already has,’ Emma admitted finally.

‘Then tell him you can’t go with him, tell him that you’ve changed your mind.’

The doorbell rang and the two women stood in silence for a moment, but then Emma picked up her bag and opened the door. She stared into navy eyes that were glassy, and saw a taut, guarded face that, for a little while longer at least, needed her there.

Real love did make you strong, Emma realised.

It wasn’t just for Luca she would go to the funeral.

It was for their baby. For the little bit of history that she would one day have to repeat to their child whose grandfather had just died.