The Blackmailed Bride's Secret Child. Rachel BaileyЧитать онлайн книгу.
this point. Do you think he wanted to die and leave his son fatherless?” He waved away her protest. “I will see the child and I will become an uncle to him.”
As much as Nico may believe that, if she allowed the contact, the truth would come to light too soon, and he wouldn’t thank her for the consequences. He would more likely resent her, possibly blame her.
“He might be fatherless, but he has his mother. Decisions about who my son will know, and when, are mine. He’s happy with his life here and he’s close to his grandparents and friends.” She bit the inside of her cheek hard, knowing she had to be cruel to be kind, but still hating saying the words. “He doesn’t need you.”
Nico took a deliberate sip of his drink then rested his glass on the bench he still leaned on. “Regardless of whether he needs me or not, he has a heritage. His family has been in the wine industry for generations, it’s in our blood, in our DNA. Mark will inherit his share of that business one day and he needs to grow to understand it.”
It’s in our blood, in our DNA.
Beth flinched. Nico believed it was in his blood.
How often had she heard him talk of his heritage this way when they were together? It would destroy him to know the information detailed in letters Kent had obtained, that Nico was an illegitimate son—not a son at all. The vineyard was no more in his blood than it was in hers.
And it would crush him to find he had no biological connection to the father he loved. She’d always thought Nico and Tim seemed more like brothers as they worked together on their estate. Their love and admiration for each other was beautiful to see.
When Kent had ambushed her with the letters—using them to blackmail her into marriage—she’d known she had no choice. Tim Jordan had suffered three major heart attacks only eight months earlier and the whole family had been cautioned by the medical staff that he needed to avoid stress.
If she’d refused to comply, Kent would have released the pages, maybe even splashed them through the tabloids. Nico would have been destroyed and Tim’s stress at finding out Nico wasn’t his son could have brought on another heart attack. She’d known Kent didn’t care about jeopardizing his own father’s life—he was still bitter that Tim had divorced his mother for Nico’s more than twenty years earlier.
Kent had never forgiven any of those involved—Nico and Nico’s mother, or their father—for the marriage that had usurped him and his mother, Minnie. The marriage that had seen them moved from the main house to a cottage next door.
It had been up to Beth to stop Kent the only way she could—by agreeing to his proposal.
That very day, she’d left the country without a word to the man she loved like no other. The man standing before her.
But everything was different now. Kent was dead. She hadn’t yet found where he’d hidden the letters, but that was only a matter of time.
From this point on, decisions were hers alone.
After an agonizing amount of thought, Beth had decided to come clean and tell Nico everything … but not until after Tim passed away. According to medical opinion, that would likely be in the next twelve months. Severe stress might tragically shorten that time period and that was a chance she couldn’t take.
She walked to the windows, needing a greater distance between them for this conversation. “Mark will be fine. He spent time with Kent on the vineyards here and in the cellar.” Though, in truth, that time had been rare.
Nico straightened, eyes determined. “But who will continue that education now? You have an obligation to your son to let him know his family. It’s his birthright to learn from a Jordan about our legacy.”
She rubbed her upper arms, chilled to the bone by the truth in his words. Marco did deserve time with his real father. Tearing her gaze from Nico’s, she turned to look at the view of the naked vines waiting in limbo for spring before they could burst forth with life again. She’d been in that same limbo for five years.
She felt him move behind her. “But let’s not fight, bella.” His voice was deeper, seductive.
His searing hands rested on her almost bare shoulders and smoothed a path to her upper arms and back again. The touch ignited sensations in her body that she hadn’t felt since he had last lain his hands on her skin. Five long years. His palms trailed down to her wrists and he moved a step closer so she could feel his body heat from behind.
She’d dreamed so often of this moment, of being here with him again … but this was wrong—nothing like her fantasies at all. This wasn’t the sweet, tender Nico of years ago.
Though why would he be? As far as he was concerned, she’d betrayed him. And he was right—no matter how pure her motives, she had betrayed him. Even acknowledging that, it hurt to know he no longer loved or trusted her.
She stepped away from his touch and faced him. “What are you doing, Nico? You can’t turn up out of the blue and assume rights that ended when we broke up.”
“When we broke up.” He reached out and gently took her hands in his. “I’m not sure we is the right word when talking about the end of our relationship.” His alluring tone belied the meaning of his words, but his eyes didn’t lie. They were pained, tormented.
Her knees weakened, seeing the hurt she’d caused him, so she locked them to stop from swaying and firmed her resolve. “This is not the best time to get into that. You said you had paperwork to discuss.”
“You have a good point,” he said, voice dark. He ran his thumbs in circles on her palms, setting off a domino effect of sparks throughout her body. “When will be an appropriate time to discuss our relationship, do you think?”
With great effort, she wrenched her hands away and tucked them under her crossed arms. “I have no interest in the topic at all. I consider it closed.”
Eyebrow raised, he stepped back to retrieve his wineglass. “I beg to differ.”
“It takes two to have a conversation.”
He sank down into an armchair and sipped his wine. “It takes two for many things. Conversations. Relationships. Love.”
She raised her chin a little. “I said I won’t discuss this.”
Nico shrugged, but there was a gleam in his eye. “Then we’re at an impasse. Take a seat.”
Warily—Nico didn’t normally give up once he’d decided he wanted something—she sat in the farthest chair from him, a dining stool near the kitchenette.
“There are papers that you need to sign as Mark’s guardian. I don’t know what Kent arranged for the personal fortune his mother gave him, but you probably know he didn’t yet own any stocks in the family business.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding once. “Your father still owns them.” Kent had never shared much about his financial status beyond the allowance he gave her to run the household, but the lawyer acting as Kent’s executor had explained this much.
“The shares in Jordan Wines were to be divided equally between us, his two sons, in four years’ time or on his death, whichever came first. The three of us had already signed a Deed of Gift to that effect.” He picked up a sheaf of papers from the coffee table. “Now he wants Kent’s share to go to Mark and he doesn’t want to wait. He’s been deeply affected by Kent’s death,” he said, his gaze fierce, “especially as they’d been in a semi-estrangement that he still doesn’t understand.”
Beth swallowed. They both knew her marriage had been the start of those tensions. But she’d never wanted this—any of it. In fact, they were the two people she’d been trying to protect—Nico and his father. If Nico knew the truth, he’d be put in the untenable position of choosing between two evils: his strong sense of right and wrong would compel him to tell his father the truth, which could lead to him being disinherited, and bringing on another heart attack,