even been conceived amazed him. Then there was the very existence of another image in his head—unbidden—of a boy or a girl he’d try to guide and protect while Neha nurtured with unconditional love.
“She looks much happier just after two days of being here,” said Massimo, joining him.
“You think so?” Leo had noticed something off with her but had put it down to the strangeness of her request. It wasn’t every day she walked up to a man and asked him to father her child.
“You didn’t notice?” Massimo wasn’t being facetious for once.
“Tell me what you noticed,” Leo invited him.
Massimo cast Leo a curious look but obliged. “She has such dark circles under her eyes her makeup can’t hide it. I haven’t seen her in...eighteen months, but she’s clearly lost weight. I know these ridiculous magazines call her fat and plump—”
“Her brand is successful because, like her products, she’s authentic, real. She eats like a real person and has curves like a real woman.” Leo heard the vehemence in his voice only after the words were out.
Massimo raised a brow. “It isn’t just her physical appearance, though. She doesn’t have that glow that lights her up from the inside, that genuine quality of hers. Instead, there’s a fragility I’ve never associated with her.” Massimo’s tone became softer, gilded with worry. “I remember Mama like that, before she left. As if she were at the end of her rope.”
Success is a yoke that can stifle every other joy.
“But the two days here seem to have made a world of difference,” Massimo added.
Again, true. Each hour Neha spent here in the villa seemed to restore a little bit of sparkle to her eyes. That innate joy.
“She wants to have a child. With me.” The words came easy because somewhere in the last two days he’d come to a decision.
Massimo’s sharp inhale jarred alongside his own steady breathing. “I didn’t know you two were involved.”
“We aren’t. Until now.”
“You’re considering this,” Massimo said, astonishment ringing his tone.
Leo’s smile dimmed, his chest tightening with an ache that was years old, that he wanted to shove aside as he’d always done. But today, he couldn’t. As much as he wanted to leave it there to rot, the past had a way of shaping the future. He couldn’t make a decision without making sure no innocent, and there could be two if he agreed, got hurt.
“Go ahead, play the devil’s advocate,” he said, inviting his brother’s opinion on a matter he didn’t discuss with anyone.
Massimo turned around and leaned against the balcony. Studied Leo for long moments. “You’re considering having a child with a woman who’s the one constant in your life, a woman you respect and admire, a woman who’s the real thing. I think it’s fantastico.”
Leo tried to swallow the shock that filled his throat.
“Shades of Silvio’s ruthlessness and abusive mentality could be in both of us. That does not mean we’ll prey on innocents,” said Massimo, who preferred computers to people, perceptive when it came to this.
“You had a mother to teach you right and wrong,” Leo whispered, the words coming from a dark place he’d shoved deep inside himself. From a hurt so deep he’d tried his damnedest to bury it. “A mother who taught you that it wasn’t weak to...feel.”
What he’d had instead was a father who had filled his formative years with poison against the woman who had walked out on both of them. Greta wasn’t cruel but she hadn’t ever been comforting to her grandsons, either. At least, not until she had married her second husband, Carlo, the first person who’d tried his best to teach them what it meant to be a good man.
But Leo had already grown up by then. Had been filled to the brim with bitterness against a woman whose face he didn’t even remember.
“But I almost lost Nat with my own hang-ups, sì?” Massimo’s gaze gentled. “You reached out to me when you discovered what a brute Silvio was, even though he taught you nothing of what makes family. You made him back off, you encouraged me to follow my passion. You believed in me and brought millions in seed capital when I’d have sold those designs for peanuts. There’s a reason a smart, levelheaded woman like Neha picked you.”
Leo had no words to express the gratitude and the indefinable emotion that pressed down on his chest. He hadn’t needed Massimo’s reassurance, but it felt immensely good to have it all the same.
“The only thing I would worry about in this whole scenario is...how the both of you will make it work.” Massimo grinned. “Nat and I will watch from the sidelines, popcorn in hands. She’s going to love seeing Neha bring you down a notch.”
Leo smiled. His sister-in-law was determined to see him defeated. In something, anything. “All Neha literally wants is to put me to stud, Massimo.”
Massimo burst out laughing, then sobered up when he realized Leo was serious. “What?”
“She wants the child because if I’m the father, Mario will think twice before he comes near the child. He’s got her all twisted inside out. She doesn’t want a coparent. Much less a relationship.”
“You’re okay with that?”
Leo didn’t answer, his gaze caught on the beautiful woman who had turned his life upside down with a simple request.
He was going to be a father, yes, but he wasn’t going to do it all by her rules.
Neither was he going to be tempted into a relationship with a woman he’d share a child with, with his history of relationships. Agreeing to Neha’s request meant he could never satisfy the deep hunger she evoked in him.
NEHA KNOCKED ON the thick wooden door. When there was no answer, she turned the gleaming metal handle and stepped into Leonardo’s bedroom. Uninvited.
The suite was twice the size of hers. Hers was thoroughly feminine with soft pink walls and bedspreads; this was a thoroughly masculine domain.
A dark oak desk sat in one corner of the room with a large monitor and papers neatly filed while comfy sofas and a recliner made up a cozy sitting area around a giant fireplace. Original, priceless artwork hung on the cream walls, a casual display of the Brunetti wealth—an overarching theme over the entire villa.
Dusk hadn’t fallen completely yet and the high windows filled the room with an orange glow. One portrait hung on the wall—Silvio sitting in a vintage armchair while Leo, no more than six or seven, stood next to his father, dressed in a matching three-piece dark gray suit, his thick curly hair slicked back, his baby-blue gaze full of grief and an ache he hadn’t learned to hide yet.
A jarring contrast to the powerful, impenetrable man he was today. Neha traced her finger over the little boy’s face, a host of emotions running through her.
She called out Leo’s name a couple of times and heard nothing back. Drawing a deep breath, she ventured farther in. There wasn’t so much sunlight in the bedroom and there was a coolness to the room, the air filled with that masculine tone she associated with him. The walls were a light gray with light blocking shades on the windows while a massive king bed sat against a high-ceilinged wall.
A huge upholstered headboard and pristine white sheets made the bed look like an ocean of welcoming comfort and warmth.
She could picture Leonardo sprawled in the middle of that bed, taut muscles relaxing after a long day, languid mouth stretched into an inviting smile, waiting for her. Her breaths came shallow, her fingers reaching out as if she could...
Leo