Page 17 of Pregnant in the Italian's Palazzo

‘You suddenly became allergic to fun?’

‘I suddenly realised how empty the party scene was. I decided to dedicate my energy to better things.’

‘Like crashing stock markets and increasing profit flow? That kind of thing?’

Nysio smiled, against his will. Something that she was beginning to make him do with increasing frequency. ‘You don’t have any idea what my job is, do you?’

‘How could I? You are a man of mystery. I know that you’re pretty rich. That you’re descended from some kind of blue-blooded Italian royalty.’

He steeled himself against the sting her words gave him and forced himself to smile. ‘Hard to hide that with the whole palace situation though.’

‘Then... Tell me something new about yourself. Share a secret.’

He looked away, busying himself by clearing away their glasses to a nearby side table. She couldn’t know that so much of his world was built around secrets. Maybe it was the lack of stress in the past two days or maybe he’d uncharacteristically drunk too much wine with dinner after all, but Nysio felt something within him stir at her innocent request. A yearning that begged him to do just as she asked...to share his darkest secret. To lean on someone.

‘Have I...said something wrong?’

She was frowning and he realised he hadn’t spoken in a couple of minutes. He shook it off, closing the distance between them and claiming her lips in a soft exploratory kiss. Using the easy attraction between them to soothe away the prickly feelings this conversation had unearthed. She relaxed into him, giving back as good as she got, but when the kiss finished her eyes still held echoes of confusion. Nysio rubbed his thumb along the soft curve of her shoulder and felt an ache throb from somewhere deep in his chest.

‘I like poetry,’ he said finally.

Aria blinked, her mouth forming a small o for a split second until she grasped that he was in fact answering her earlier request. ‘Are we talking limericks and haikus?’

‘The dirtier the better.’ He smirked, feeling his chest ease slightly at the smile that lit up her face. ‘No, I actually took a few classes in university. I read every poem I could get my hands on. It consumed me for a semester or two.’

‘Did you ever write any of your own?’ She narrowed her gaze upon him, a Cheshire-cat smile taking over her face. ‘Oh, my God, you did, didn’t you? Can I hear one?’

‘I may have written some terrible, brooding sonnets, yes. Ones which will never, ever see the light of day to avoid offending the art itself.’

‘Please?’

He let out a wry laugh, remembering his youth and how he had once dreamed of joining the ranks of the writers and poets he admired. Without thinking, he began reciting the first refrain of the only one he could remember. On the surface it was a simple collection of words about a drunken man having an argument with the night sky, but to him it was filled with frustration and a longing for change.

When he’d finished, he cleared his throat, not quite able to look at her for fear of what emotions might be visible on her far too honest face. ‘Have my literary talents rendered you speechless?’ He laid his glass down on the nearby side table, leaning back and crossing his ankles to survey her. She had one hand on the balustrade, the other splayed across her chest as her eyes drifted open slowly.

‘That was...hauntingly beautiful.’

‘My professors certainly thought so; it was my one and only claim to fame as a creative writing student before my father made me switch to an economics major.’ Nysio remembered how embarrassed he’d felt when his father had discovered his new hobby and had begun reminding him of his responsibilities. He’d felt ridiculous for even considering his brief dream of forging his own path when he’d been raised to perform his duty to the family name.

Being a Bacchetti was a privilege, that was what he had been taught from the moment he’d been old enough to speak. He enjoyed his work now and he was good at it, and that was more than most people ever got in their lifetimes.

He turned back to the woman before him, reaching out to touch her once again, remembering the words he’d planned to speak tonight before they had become sidetracked. But really, this kind of ease and intimacy was only more evidence that his instincts were right. That he was not ready to say goodbye to Aria Dane just yet.

Aria met his gaze so openly and he felt as if he could see every needy part of her, every salacious thought that she was entertaining about him. How could one woman affect him this way? How could one look ignite passion in him that he had never felt before?

She had been hurt by a wealthy man in the past, she had told him that much. It had made her hide away much the same way that Nysio had been hiding at thepalazzo. Perhaps that was what he had seen in her? Perhaps that was why whatever this was between them felt like more than simple chemistry. There was nothing simple about it.

He couldn’t offer her anything more than pleasure...he would never marry, never have children, that much he would not be swayed upon. But they didn’t need to put a label on things. She had told him she believed in spontaneity, so maybe it was time that they acted a little spontaneous.

Aria could hardly believe how wonderful this trip to Florence had been. And Nysio...he was a dream. ‘So...you live in a palace, you write poetry in your spare time, when you’re not breaking the stock market, of course. Whatcan’tyou do?’

‘I’m just a man.’

‘That word seems so utterly banal to describe someone who does the things that you do. And yet you hide yourself away in your stone fortress. Hiding your talents from the world, keeping it all to yourself. Why do you do that?’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe I simply dislike people.’

‘No... That’s not it.’ She took a step towards him, analysing the furrow between his brows. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?’

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