The Italian's Bought Bride. Kate Hewitt
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on hers, until Allegra could bear it no longer and stared at the floor.
She realized he was treating her like a child—a child to be charmed or chastened, placated or punished.
With sudden, stark clarity, she realized he’d always treated her this way. She’d never felt like a wife, or even a woman.
She wondered if she ever would.
‘Go to bed, Allegra.’ He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, his thumb skimming her face once more. ‘Go to bed, mylittle bride. Tomorrow is our wedding day. A new beginning, for both of us.’
‘Yes…’ she whispered. Except it didn’t feel like a beginning. It felt like the end. Her throat was raw and aching and she couldn’t look at him as she nodded. The implications of what he had said to her father—what he had now said to her—were flooding through her, an endless tide of confusion and fear. ‘Yes…all right.’
‘Do not be afraid.’
She nodded again, jerkily, as she moved backwards up the stairs. Stefano gazed up at her, his eyes burning into her mind, her heart, her soul. Burning and destroying.
She turned around and ran the rest of the way up.
‘Allegra!’
Gasping aloud in frightened surprise, she saw her mother, Isabel, striding down the upstairs corridor. Allegra glanced behind her, but she could no longer see Stefano.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Isabel demanded, belting her dressing gown, her long, still-blonde hair streaming behind her in a smooth ripple.
‘I…I couldn’t sleep.’ Allegra stumbled into her bedroom and her mother followed. Everything was unchanged, she saw—the teddy bears, the tattered books, her wedding dress. All signs of her innocence, her ignorance.
‘What is wrong?’ Isabel asked. Her face, with its austere beauty, was harsh. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!’
‘Nothing is wrong,’ Allegra lied quickly. ‘I couldn’t sleep and I went for a drink of water.’
Isabel arched one eyebrow and Allegra shrank back a little. She wasn’t frightened of her mother, but she couldn’t help but be nervous around her. After a lifetime of nannies and boarding school, she sometimes wondered if she even knew her mother at all.
Isabel’s cold eyes swept over Allegra’s dishevelled appearance. ‘Have you seen Stefano?’ she asked, and there was a sly note in her voice that made Allegra’s skin crawl even as she shook her head.
‘No. No, I—’
‘Don’t lie to me, Allegra.’ Isabel took her daughter’s chin in her hand, forcing her to remain still, as pinned as a butterfly uselessly fluttering its fragile wings. ‘You never could lie to me,’ Isabel said. ‘You’ve seen him. But what’s happened?’ There was a cruel note in her voice as she added, ‘Has the fairy tale been tarnished, my dear daughter?’
Allegra didn’t know what her mother meant, but she didn’t like her tone. Even so, she felt trapped, helpless. And alone.
And she wanted to confide in someone, anyone, even her mother.
‘I saw him,’ she whispered, blinking back tears.
There was a tiny pause that spoke far more than anything her mother could have said in words. ‘And?’
‘I heard him talking to Papa…’ Allegra closed her eyes, shook her head.
Her mother exhaled impatiently. ‘So?’
‘It’s all been a business arrangement!’ This came out in a wretched whisper that caught on the jagged edge of her throat. Tears stung her eyes. ‘Stefano never loved me.’
Her mother watched her with cool impassivity. ‘Of course he didn’t.’
Allegra’s mouth dropped open as another illusion was ripped away. ‘You knew? You knew all along…?’ Yet even as she spoke the words, Allegra wondered why she was surprised. Her mother had never confided in her, never seemed to enjoy her company. Why shouldn’t Isabel know? Why shouldn’t she have been in on the sordid deal, the business of brokering a wife, selling a daughter?
‘Oh, Allegra, you are such a child.’ Isabel sounded weary rather than regretful. ‘Of course I knew. Your father approached Stefano before your eighteenth birthday and suggested the match. Our social connections, his money. That was why he was at your party. That was why you had a party.’
‘Just to meet him?’
‘For him to meet you,’ Isabel corrected coolly. ‘To see if you were suitable. And you were.’
Allegra let out a wild laugh. ‘I don’t want to be suitable! I want to be loved!’
‘Like Cinderella?’ It would have been a taunt if her mother didn’t sound so tired, so bitter. ‘Like Snow White? Life is not a fairy tale, Allegra. It wasn’t for me and it won’t be for you.’
Allegra spun away, her hands scrubbing her face, bunching in her hair as if she could somehow yank the memory from her mind, forget the words Stefano had spoken to her father and then to her. Both conversations had damned him.
‘It’s not the Dark Ages, either,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘You speak of this…this as if people can just barter brides…’
‘For women like us, well-placed, wealthy, it is not so far,’ Isabel returned grimly. ‘Stefano seems like a good man. Be thankful.’
Seems, Allegra thought, but was he? She thought of the way he’d spoken to her father, the way he’d spoken to her, the coldness in his eyes, how he’d scolded and then dismissed her. What more is there?
She realized she didn’t know him at all.
She never had.
‘Honourable,’ Isabel added, and now true bitterness twisted her words, her face. ‘He has treated you well so far, hasn’t he?’ She paused. ‘You could do worse.’
Allegra turned to stare at her mother, the cool beauty transformed for a moment by hatred and despair. She thought of her father’s words, I know a woman in Milan, and inwardly shuddered.
‘As you did?’ she asked in a low voice.
Isabel shrugged, but her eyes were hard. ‘Like you, I had no choice.’
‘Papa spoke…Stefano said…things…’
‘About other women?’ Isabel guessed with a hard laugh. She shrugged. ‘You’ll be glad for it, in the end.’
Allegra’s eyes widened. ‘Never!’
‘Trust me,’ Isabel returned coldly.
Allegra was compelled to ask, her voice turning ragged, ‘Have you ever been happy?’
Isabel shrugged again, closed her eyes for a moment. ‘When the bambinos come…’
Yet her mother had never seemed to enjoy motherhood; Allegra was an only child and she’d been tended by nannies and governesses her whole life, until she’d gone to the convent school.
Would children—the hope of children—be enough to sustain her through a cold, loveless marriage? A marriage she had, only moments ago, believed to be the culmination of all her young hopes. Now she realized she had no idea what those hopes had truly been. They had been the thinnest vapour, as insubstantial as smoke. Gone now. Gone with the wind.
She thought of how she’d compared Stefano to Rhett Butler and she choked on a terrible, incredulous laugh.
‘I can’t do it.’
A crack reverberated through the air as