Italian Bachelors: Irresistible Sicilians. Michelle Smart
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she would have chosen someone with traditional Sicilian values. The kind of woman Luca had sworn he never wanted her to be because he loved her exactly as she was. The type of woman he now wanted her to become.
She had no idea what kind of welcome she could expect from her.
Impeccably dressed as always in a smart skirt, blouse and elegant scarf, Donatella stepped into the courtyard.
Luca undid his seat belt before turning to face Grace. ‘Remember my warning, bella. Now would be a good time to start channelling your inner Sicilian wife.’
Grace clenched her teeth together and glared at him.
With a flare of his nostrils he turned back and exited the car.
Her husband did not make empty promises. If she didn’t live up to his expectations she would be torn from Lily’s life without preamble or ceremony, and without any hope of appeal.
The situation was hopeless.
She hadn’t called the police for assistance in England because they would have arrested her for possession of an illegal firearm, grievous bodily harm and God knew what other charges.
She could forget about assistance here in Sicily. This was Luca’s territory and all the important people were in his pocket.
Grace tried to open her door but the child lock had been activated.
She crossed her arms and pursed her lips together.
As Luca and his mother conversed, both kept darting glances at the car. No guesses what they were talking about.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she gazed down at Lily, who was fast asleep in the baby seat next to her. The poor thing was worn out, having spent the entire flight screaming, her ears no doubt affected by the air pressure. Grace had wanted to wail along with her. At that moment she would love nothing more than a chance to open her lungs and scream every ounce of frustration out of her.
Luca had defeated her. Despite all her efforts, he had won and now, unless she thought of an escape route, she was consigned to live in this medieval prison for the next eighteen years.
‘I’ll think of a way to get us out of here,’ she promised quietly, rubbing a finger over Lily’s tiny hand. ‘And this time we’ll go somewhere he’ll never find us.’ Outer Mongolia sounded nice.
His conversation over, Luca walked back to the car, opened her door, then strolled round and opened the door on Lily’s side.
‘I’ll get her out,’ she said, unclipping the seat belt.
His eyes were cool. ‘I will.’
‘You’ve only got one arm.’
‘But I still have all my faculties.’ He had the baby seat out before Grace had shut her door.
He carried the seat over to his mother, whose hands flew to her cheeks, a purr of pleasure escaping from her throat.
Grace could hardly bear to look. Donatella took the baby seat from him and carried her granddaughter inside.
Luca reached the front door and paused, staring at Grace impassively. ‘Are you coming in or do you plan to spend the evening outside?’
Nodding sharply, she clutched Lily’s baby bag to her and followed him inside.
It had been only ten months since she had last been in the converted monastery but as she took in the surroundings it felt as if she had been away for a lifetime.
With an enormous sense of déjà vu twisting in her stomach, she walked a step behind him down the wide main corridor, her boots crunching on the redbrick floor.
Luca was about to step into the large family room, one of the only communal rooms in the entire building, when he came to an abrupt stop. Tension emanating from him, he rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling before taking a long, deep breath. He swallowed. ‘I have things to do.’
She caught a flash of eyes that burned before he turned and walked away.
For the beat of a moment, her lips parted to call him back. Being alone with his mother for the first time since running away from her son was infinitely more frightening than handling his gorilla-like lackeys.
Steeling herself, she stepped over the threshold.
All the decoration, paintings, furnishings...everything was exactly as she remembered it. As if time had stood still.
But of course, time had not stood still. Her own life had simply accelerated. She had lived a decade in less than a year.
The first time she had been in this room she’d been on top of the world, the happiest woman in existence. At the time she could never have foreseen that the beautiful walls would start to suffocate her. She certainly could not have foretold that the man she would marry would change with such speed, and that the gun she assumed he carried around for personal protection would take on a completely different meaning.
And now she was little more than his prisoner.
Donatella had removed Lily from her car seat and was cradling her, a look of pure bliss on her perfectly made-up face.
Lily’s eyes were open. If she was perturbed to be held in the arms of a stranger, she made no show of it.
Donatella’s shrewd eyes flickered to Grace. ‘She is beautiful.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And Lily; such a beautiful name.’
‘Thank you,’ she repeated, wondering if there had been a more excruciating, incongruous experience in the history of the world.
Luca’s warning played over and over in her mind. Under no circumstances could she intimate she was there for any reason other than devotion. But it would help if she knew exactly what he had told his mother about her sudden reappearance in their lives and about the fact of Lily.
‘It’s getting late. I need to get Lily settled and into bed,’ Grace said, not wanting to be stuck in an interrogation that was surely forthcoming and for which she didn’t know the correct answers.
Her mother-in-law’s eyes flashed before the lines around her mouth softened. ‘Please, Grace, let me enjoy my first grandchild for a little longer. I have only just learned of her existence.’
A big stab of guilt twisted in her stomach. Reluctantly, she nodded. ‘How about if I go and get our stuff unpacked and then come back for her?’
Donatella’s grateful smile twisted the guilt a little more. ‘That sounds perfect.’
Traipsing back up the corridor, Grace opened the door that led into the wing she had shared with Luca and took another step into the past.
This time all traces of the past really had been eradicated.
The only familiar item was a large family portrait on the wall, the last photo of the Mastrangelos taken before Pietro, Luca’s father, had so tragically died. It had been taken at Luca’s graduation. The pride shining on Pietro Mastrangelo’s face was palpable. And who, she reflected, would not be proud of such a family? There was Luca, the eldest son, whose serious expression was countered by the amusement in his eyes. Next to him was Pepe, Luca’s younger brother, whose air of mischief was not countered by anything. Then there was the composed, elegant Donatella. There was no pride on her face. Donatella radiated serenity. These men were her pride.
A mere two months after the picture had been taken, Pietro had died of a heart attack. The mantle of head-of-family had passed to his eldest son, Luca, a role he had now held for sixteen years.
Slowly she walked through the reception room and began opening the doors of all the rooms that made up their quarters. The vivid colours and delicate murals she had painted in each of the rooms had been painted over in drab, muted tones; the furniture they had chosen together replaced with bland, masculine replicas.
It was not until she opened the door to the