Page 7 of The Baby His Secretary Carries

“Nonno,” Gio said gently as he stood beside the bed.

Ottorino was eighty and wore his pajamas, but his iron-gray hair was neatly combed, his jaw shaved. He blinked his eyes open. His dark brown irises were immediately alert.

“You’re here,” he said in raspy Italian. “That’s good. Who’s this? Not a nurse.”

“No, this is Molly. My...” He still had her hand in his. She hadn’t yet agreed to the job so it seemed a misnomer to say “My assistant,” but that’s what he called her.

“Oh?” His grandfather seemed to perk up, drawing some significance from Gio’s brief hesitation. His gaze slid to their linked hands.

Gio released her.

“What does the doctor say?” Gio asked.

“It doesn’t matter what he says. If it’s my time, it’s my time.” Nonno’s fingers lifted off his chest. “I only wish you were married with a son, Gio. Then I could die in peace.” His eyebrows inched into a wrinkled line. “A daughter even.Someoneto carry on this legacy we’ve built. Why did we bother, if not for your children?”

“I know, Nonno.” Guilt stabbed at Gio, along with old anger. He had tried to fulfill his grandfather’s wish three years ago, but after spending a fortune on a lavish wedding, his fiancée had chosen to run off at the last minute with her childhood sweetheart, leaving Gio with the bill and the humiliation of being left at the altar.

He hadn’t bothered with a serious relationship since.

There was a quiet knock on the sitting-room door.

“Not the doctor.” Nonno rallied into sounding cross.

“Your legacy includes creating a stubborn man in your own image. What did you think I would do?” Gio asked. “Let’s see what he says. Won’t you feel foolish if I’ve come all this way and you only need more fiber in your diet?”

“You’re not funny.” Nonno had a stare like a basilisk, but his mouth twitched. “Let’s see if I have time to plan my own funeral, then.”

“I’ll step out,” Molly said quietly. “It was very nice to meet you, Signor Casella,” she added in decent Italian. “I hope you feel better soon.”

“Otto,” his grandfather corrected. “Don’t go far. You brighten up the place.”

“I’ll be here as long as Gio needs me,” she said with a reassuring smile. She walked away through the sitting room.

“Assistente?”Nonno pried gruffly.

Gio ignored that and turned to greet the doctor Molly let in on her way out.

CHAPTER TWO

NAUSEASTRUCKHARD. Molly had no choice but to seek out the nearest powder room.

She would love to believe this was food poisoning. She doubted it was even morning sickness. It was stress, pure and simple.

What a day! And it was only midafternoon.

As Gio had predicted, her phone had exploded once Valentina began composting the bad apples in New York. Panic had spread like a plague from the lowest receptionist to the board of directors. Everyone wanted to speak to Gio, to know if they, too, were going to lose their jobs. Molly had drafted the announcement, but Gio had been so withdrawn, she hadn’t asked him to approve it.

All she had managed to do was put lids on fires with cryptic phrases like “An announcement is forthcoming” and “Leave that with me.”

She usually thrived on days like this. She loved the challenge in this job, which made the new role, and her inability to embrace it, all the more frustrating.

That conflict had her moaning in suffering as much as this awful dry retching.

“Molly?” Gio knocked sharply on the door. “Are you sick, too?”

“What? Oh, God.” She flushed the toilet and lurched to her feet, then splashed water on her face and rinsed her mouth. Her mascara was smudged from her watering eyes and her cheeks were splotchy.

Wonderful. Not that she expected him to see her as desirable, but she didn’t want him to be outright repulsed.

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