Page 26 of Hidden Heir, Italian Wife

“Because I’m not putting a romantic spin on it? Practical marriages work because they have goals beyond sentimental declarations. My parents married for social connections and wealth building. It’s a very successful union. They respect and care for each other. They have four children who are accomplished and well-adjusted. What about your parents? They’re divorced, if I recall correctly? Why did they marry? Love?”

“You don’t have to sound so condescending.” She dried her hands on the tea towel. “They married for me, if you must know. Mom was pregnant. Which did not turn out to be a strong enough reason to keep them together. So, no. You and I won’t be getting married.”

“Mama, can I have five more minutes please?”

“Five,” Bree agreed, brushing past him. “Then we have to get ready to go out. Yourpapàwants you to meet your other grandma and grandpa.”

***

Bree agreed to meet his parents because she wanted the introduction out of the way. It also got them out of her apartment, which had begun to feel very claustrophobic.

Marriage? Was he out of his tree?

She hadn’t been above dreaming of a big wedding as an adolescent. By the time she was living with Kabir, she had been convinced she would marry him in full pageantry. Her father would walk her down the aisle and it would be nothing but happily ever after.

The way Kabir had dismissed her as delusional for even thinking he would marry her had left her feeling foolish for wanting marriage at all, let alone a big ceremony.

Maybe she would have come around again to wanting a life partner, but she had met Jax, then had Sofia—two very strong forces that had pushed the desire for marriage from her mind. She hadn’t wanted to bring a stranger into Sofia’s life unless she was truly, madly, deeply in love, and there’d been little chance of that, not when she compared every man she met to the enigmatic, dynamic Jax.

Most importantly, she knew marriage wasn’t something to enter lightly, especially when you didn’t have genuine love and desire to be with the other person. She’d had a front row seat to the breakdown of her parents’ marriage and would never want to put Sofia through that.

They pulled up to the curb before a stately prewar apartment block. The driver opened her door and Bree stepped out, then swung her bag behind her shoulder as she turned to reach for Sofia, who was unbuckling herself from her car seat.

“Let me carry you so you don’t get your party shoes wet.”

“I’ll carry her,” Jax said, looming beside her. “Move out of the rain.”

Bree stepped under the awning that extended from the entrance to the curb, watching as Sofia trustingly allowed Jax to pick her up. He balanced her bottom on his arm as though he’d been doing it since day one, and Sofia hunched into him for shelter against the spatter of falling rain.

A doorman hurried to open the door for them, greeting them with a polite, “Good evening, sir. Ma’am.”

“Can I walk now?” Sofia asked.

Jax set her down, but offered his hand. She took it, also clasping Bree’s fingers as Jax led them into what looked like a private elevator. A brass plate readViscontiover the call button.

Inside, Sofia looked up at the small chandelier, the glittering mirrors and the flocked wallpaper of blue on silver. “It’s pretty.”

“It is,” Bree agreed with a strained smile, trying not to be intimidated by the overt wealth, but she had a suspicion that was its purpose, to convey the innate power the Visconti name possessed.

The elevator opened into a foyer where the parquet floor held an intricate pattern. A staircase rose in a graceful curve and a pretty half-round table held an arrangement of fresh flowers in a vase Bree would bet was painted by hand with twenty-four-karat gold.

A butler took their coats, revealing Sofia’s corduroy overalls atop a striped pullover. Bree had changed into a wool skirt with a cowl-necked sweater. Jax had approved both outfits, but now Bree worried they were underdressed.

She smoothed Sofia’s flyaway curls after removing her hat, sending yet another encouraging smile to the girl when, really, it was herself she was trying to bolster.

Jax held his hands down to Sofia and she picked up her arms, letting him lift her again. Then he set his hand in the small of Bree’s back, guiding her into a lounge where a man was talking.

It was his younger brother, Christo, standing in front of the fireplace. The Visconti genes were equally strong in him, but he kept his black hair longer than Jax and wore an ivory cable-knit sweater over jeans.

Christo cut off whatever animated story he was relaying and lifted his brows in amused question, sliding his gaze to Sofia, then running a distinctly masculine glance of assessment from Bree’s bangs to her boots.

“I didn’t think you’d be here yet,” Jax said. The hand at her back slid to her hip, securing her closer to his side.

Ginevra Visconti was on the sofa, back stiffening, eyes flaring with startlement at the sight of unexpected company.

“Hello.” Ginny rose and sent Bree a very cool nod. “Perhaps you’d like to introduce us, Jackson. When you texted that we would have two more for dinner, I thought you meant Eve and Dom were coming after all.”

It was a very politeThis surprise is unwelcome.

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