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The knowledge that he was disappointed in her filled Emily with doubt. But she stuck to her decision. There was no sense dragging out the inevitable. Another night in his bed, and in his arms, and Emily suspected the die would be well and truly cast. She would love him. If she didn’t already.

“Was it him? On the phone?”

“Him? Ewan?” She looked up from the menu she’d been perusing. “On the phone?” When he didn’t answer, she gave him more of her attention. “On which phone?”

Sabato waved a hand through the air impatiently. “That first night, when we were having dinner.”

“Oh!” She thought back to her conversation with Andrew and grinned. “No. That was my brother.”

“Your brother?” Sabato felt the gulf of missing information; it was somewhere in the haze of gratitude and relief. “Tell me about him.”

Emily passed the menu to him and sat on one of the bar stools. Sabato ignored the menu and instead poured two glasses of red wine.

“What do you want to know?”

“Are you close?” He pushed a glass towards her.

Emily nodded. “He was only five when our mum died,” she said quietly, tracing a finger around the rim of her wine glass.

Sabato stopped moving. He stood, very still on the other side of the kitchen bench. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Emily nodded jerkily. “Thank you.”

“When did it happen?”

“Two years ago. My mum and stepdad.” She sipped her wine, but barely tasted it. “It was a car accident.”

Sabato closed his eyes for a moment. “They both died?”

“Yes. Instantly, mercifully.”

“So you were twenty years old, and then what?”

She exhaled slowly, as if she could breathe out the grief. “Andrew and I moved to London. I’ve known Ewan for years and he offered me a job. I thought it would be fun.”

Sabato studied her expression. It was forlorn, and hopeful at the same time. He had noticed her ability to put a brave face on just about anything, and she did so now. “It’s not glamorous or exciting. In fact, it’s hard. Really hard.” She blinked up at him with a look of such angelic goodness that his heart turned over. “But Andrew and I are close. That’s something, right? And he’s okay.” She shook her head, obviously concentrating on only her brother. “I was so worried about him, losing mum and Simon like that. But he’s doing great.”

“And you?” He pushed, leaning forward so that he could cup her face.

“Me?” Her big blue eyes locked to his and a knife seemed to rotate sharply in his gut. “I’m great.”

Why didn’t he believe her? “And what about your grandparents? Do they help?”

“Milly and Jacob are fantastic,” she enthused quickly. “But they’ve done their parenting, and then some. They raised mum. They raised me. They deserve some time to themselves.”

He squashed the anger that was directed at these two selfish seniors. “Did they refuse to have him?”

“Refuse? Good heavens no. I partly think I broke their hearts when I took Andrew away. But they’re not in the best of health. It would have been too much. Andrew is very like his father. Musically gifted, intelligent, funny, but hard work too. He’s seven, but he thinks he’s seventeen.”

“And so you fell upon your sword.”

“I don’t see it that way,” she denied defensively. “I would give anything to have my mum back, but raising Andrew is a constant source of pleasure.”

Sabato stroked her cheek slowly. “It is an irony that you were encouraged to avoid sexual relationships so that you wouldn’t be saddled with an unwanted child – only to end up acting as a surrogate mother.”

He was right. Emily had never seen it that way. She shifted uncomfortably; his perception was, at times, unnerving. “What shall we eat?”

“Change of topic?” He said quietly, moving his thumb to her mouth. He stroked it gently and then pressed his lips to hers.


Tags: Clare Connelly Billionaire Romance