“He’s my son.”
“Let us go,” she whispered. “Please. Somewhere, there’s a man who will love us with all his heart. A man who can actually be a loving father to Sam.” She shook her head. “We both know you’re not that man.”
The anger in Cesare’s face slid away, replaced by an expression that seemed hurt, even bewildered.
“Emma,” he breathed. “You think so little of me—”
“You heard her,” a man growled behind them. “Let her go, damn you.”
Alain Bouchard stood behind them with two bodyguards.
Cesare’s eyes widened in shock. “Bouchard...?”
Alain was a powerful man, handsome in his way. In his mid-forties, he was a decade older than Cesare. His salt-and-pepper hair was closely clipped, his clothing well-tailored. His perfect posture bespoke the pride of a man who was CEO of a luxury goods firm that had been run by the Bouchard family for generations. But the red hatred in the Frenchman’s eyes was for Cesare alone.
“Let her go,” Alain repeated, and Emma saw his two burly bodyguards, Gustave and Marcel, take a step forward in clear but unspoken threat.
For an instant, Cesare’s grasp tightened on her hand. His eyes narrowed and she was suddenly afraid of what he might do—that a brutal, juvenile fistfight between two wealthy tycoons might break out in the Champ de Mars.
Desperate to calm the situation down, she said, “Let me go, Cesare. Please.”
He turned to her, his black eyes flints of betrayed fury. “What is he doing here?”
“He’s my boss,” she admitted.
“You work for Angélique’s brother?”
She flinched. Strictly speaking, that might seem vengeful on her part. “He offered me a job when I needed one. That’s all.”
“You’re raising my son in the house of a man who hates me?”
“I never let him speak a word against you. Not in front of Sam.”
“That’s big of you,” he said coldly.
She saw Gustave and Marcel draw closer across the green grass. “Please,” she whispered, “you have to let me go....”
Cesare abruptly withdrew his hand. There was a lump in Emma’s throat as she turned away, quickly pushing the baby stroller toward Alain.
“Are you all right, Emma?” Alain said. “He didn’t hurt you?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cesare stiffen.
“Of course I’m all right. We were just talking.” She glanced behind her. “But now we’re done.”
“This isn’t over,” Cesare said.
His handsome face looked dark as a shadow crossed the sun. She took a deep breath. “I know,” she said miserably.
“Allons-y,” Alain said, putting a hand on the stroller handle, just where Cesare’s had been a moment before. They walked together down the path and out of the park, and at every step, she felt Cesare’s gaze on the back of her neck. She didn’t properly breathe until they were out of the Champ de Mars and back on the sidewalk by the street.
“Are you really all right?” Alain asked again.
“Fine,” she said. But she wasn’t. A war was coming. A custody war with her precious baby at the center. She could feel it like the dark clouds of a rising storm. Trying to push aside her fear, she asked, “What were you doing at the park? How did you know we were there?”
“Gustave called me.”
Her brow furrowed. “How did Gustave know?”
Alain’s cheeks colored slightly. “I sometimes have my bodyguards watch you, at a distance. Paris can be a dangerous city...”
His voice trailed off as they were passed by two elegant women dripping diamonds and head-to-toe Hermès.
“This neighborhood?” Emma said in disbelief.
He gave a graceful Gallic shrug. “On ne sait jamais.” His expression darkened. “And it seems I was right to have you followed, with that bastard Falconeri showing up. He’s Sam’s father, isn’t he?”
She was sure he meant to be protective, but her privacy felt invaded. “Yes,” she admitted. “But I don’t blame him for being upset. I never told him I was pregnant.”
“You obviously had reason. Is he going to try to take the baby?”
“I don’t know,” she said in a small voice.
“I won’t let him.” He stopped, looking down at her with his thin face and soulful eyes. “I’d do anything to protect you, Emma. You must know that.”
She looked at her boss uneasily. “I know.” In spite of all his kindness, she’d found herself wondering lately if he might be more interested in her than was strictly proper for an employer. She’d told herself she was imagining things. But still... She shook her head. “We’ll be fine. I can take care of us.”
Ahead, she saw Alain’s black limited-edition Range Rover parked illegally on the Avenue de la Bourdonnais, with his chauffeur running the engine.
“After what he did to my sister, I won’t let any woman be hurt by Cesare Falconeri, ever again,” Alain vowed. Emma stiffened.
“Cesare didn’t do anything to her. It was a tragic accident. He loved her.”
“Ah, but you think the best of everyone.” His expression changed from rage to gentleness as he looked down at her. His jaw tightened. “Even him. But that bastard doesn’t deserve you. He’ll get what he deserves. Someday.”
Looking at him, Emma’s heart trembled at what she might have unthinkingly done by accepting a job with Alain. He was convinced that his sister’s death had been something more than a tragic accidental overdose. But Cesare was innocent. He’d never been charged with any crime. And Emma, of all people, knew how he’d loved his wife. She took a deep breath and changed the subject.
“Sam and I will be fine,” she said brightly. “Cesare doesn’t want a family to tie him down. He’ll soon return to London and forget all about us.”
But as dark clouds crossed the bright sun, Emma thought of the tender expression on Cesare’s face when he’d first caressed his baby son’s cheek. And she was afraid.
* * *
“To the airport, sir?”
Cesare leaned back heavily in the backseat of the Rolls-Royce. For a moment he didn’t answer the driver. He pressed his hands against his forehead, still trembling with shock and fury from what he’d learned.
He had a child.
A son.
A baby born in secret, to the woman who’d left him last November without a word. And gone to work for his enemy.
Closing his eyes, he pressed his fingertips against the lids. He didn’t believe Emma had gotten pregnant on purpose. No. She’d been right to laugh at his knee-jerk reaction earlier. She was clearly no gold digger. But leaving him in London, without a word, taking his child away, taking his decision away...
He took a deep breath. She’d done it all as if Cesare didn’t even matter. As if he didn’t even exist.
“Sir?”
“Yes,” he bit out. “The airport.”
The limousine pulled smoothly back into the Paris traffic. Cesare’s throat was tight. He struggled to be fair, to be calm, when what he wanted to do was punch the seat in front of him and scream.
His