Page 13 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

A sudden thought made her jerk back and she hit her hip on the sharp edge of the table. She gasped.

Then he was there, his corded arm steadying her. His warm breath hitting her cheek in whispery strokes. The heat from his body was a blanket, beckoning her close. The power thrumming through his frame lulling her into a false sense of security.

All she wanted to do was lean into him and let him carry her away. Where she didn’t have to worry about how she was going to raise two babies all by herself. But…that was the easy, cowardly way out.

Murmuring thanks, she stepped away before her base urges won out and defeated her in the process.

As she rubbed the sore spot on her hip, the offending thought came back to her. “I will not under any circumstance go through any kind of DNA testing, simply to prove paternity to you. There’s no test that’s not invasive and inherently harmful to the babies. I’m a UK citizen and I’ve been boning up on my rights.”

“You have consulted a lawyer?”

“Yes, one of Bruno’s friends. I have paid the lawyer a small retainer, which she was generous enough to accept.”

His jaw tightened, and a vein pulsed in his temple. No doubt it was at the thought of a lawyer arming her with information in case it came to a custody fight. The very thought sent a cold shiver through her core.

“You’re cold,” he said, reaching for her hands.

Nyra jerked away. “No. I’m rather hot, actually. It’s your being here that’s making my body react with fear.”

This time, she caught the rearing back of his chin, as clearly as if she’d swung a punch.

A whiteness emerged around his mouth. “You’re afraid of me, Nyra?”

She shrugged. “You’re a very powerful man who thinks I’ve wronged you and threw me out without looking back. I’ve been counting my blessings that your family is too scared of you. Or my alleged sins would have hit the media already.

“And yes, while I’m afraid, I can’t be the helpless, starstruck damsel you picked up in Vegas if I want my children to grow up with a healthy sense of security and stability. I know you probably think that you made a huge mistake by not making me sign a prenup, but I want very little in terms of a settlement.”

Her chin wobbled. No, there was no place for shame here, and there was nothing she wouldn’t do to provide the love and stability she hadn’t known in so long. “The lawyer said I should ask for alimony too, but all I want is a trust fund for the babies. You can set it up so it’s overseen by someone you trust, like Bruno. If you deny me, then I will wait until they’re born and file for paternity claim.”

“Why wait?” he asked smoothly, as if they were discussing a merger for his company.

“Paternity can be proved without a doubt then and the courts will order you. I’d rather not have it go to that. And I’m hoping you won’t want that kind of publicity to damage the great Cavalieri name.”

“Like you’ve been protecting the Cavalieri name this whole time?” he said smoothly. “By lying to me about who you are?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t want my background to become a problem for you. After the kindness you showed me in Vegas and later.”

“I wish my kindness,” he said, enunciating the words, “had begat your trust, Nyra.”

No answer came to her for that fair question.

“So you’re claiming that the babies are mine?” he said, the fracture in his temper already smoothed over.

Like that day in his study, a great, overwhelming urge to do violence to his pretty face came over Nyra. She forced herself to breathe through it and fought the rising scream too.

When she turned to him, it was to find him observing her like she was a fascinating specimen, his head tilted to the side.

“Yes. That’s what I’mclaiming, Adriano,” she said, air quoting the word.

“Then there’s no reason for a trust fund or a lawyer or any other nonsense. You simply need to come home.”

Nyra snorted, even as a new fear slithered through her belly. “Right? Because you believe my word about my babies.”

“Ours, Nyra.Our babies,” he said, so softly, so gently, with her name a caress on those lips that she thought she might break apart. Some steely resolve hardened in his eyes. “Andsi, I believe you.”

“Are you sure? Like really sure, Adriano?” She threw the rag aside and started putting the lids on the numerous glass jars of paint, shaking with anger she didn’t want to give in to. “Who knows what kind of photographs might emerge a few months from now with the exact date-stamp of their conception? I don’t have the energy for your outrage and for being kicked out again. So please, just give me a tiny parcel of your mighty fortune, and a divorce. You’ll never have to see me again.”

“Basta, Nyra,” he said, showing the first crack in his smooth, rippleless countenance. “I know it wasn’t you in the photographs but your twin, Nadia. Your father was Amal Shah, the Ponzi schemer who stole millions from unsuspecting clients and their pensions across Europe and died in jail. And I know why you stole those candlesticks, why you sold our wedding ring. I’m…” He reached her then, and his fingers, those long, slender, blunt-tipped fingers she knew as well as her own,trembledas he stroked them over her cheek. “You should have told me, Nyra. All you had to do was speak one sentence, and I would have taken care of all your problems.”

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