The Sicilian's Bought Bride. Carol Marinelli
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cold night, and the glimpse of tomorrow, of another time, satisfied her craving in an instant. ‘After the bride and groom leave I have to go to the airport, I have to go to the States, but before then we will talk—arrange to see each other again.’ He kissed her then, slow and hard, but laced with tenderness.
She held onto his words all night, like a precious jewel clasped close to her chest, and it made the night bearable—made the night she had dreaded suddenly exciting.
‘Well, you’ve changed your tune.’
Helping Janey out of her wedding dress and into her leaving outfit, Catherine was barely able to keep her hands still enough to undo the zipper.
Rico was downstairs waiting for her. In an hour or so she would be in his arms again.
‘See—I knew if you actually let your hair down you might enjoy yourself.’ Turning, Janey stared for a moment, taking in the dark, dishevelled curls, the glittering eyes and flushed cheeks. ‘How come you changed your dress?’ Her eyes dragged over the simple rust silk tunic Catherine had changed into, watching her sister’s cheeks darken.
‘Pink tulle really isn’t my thing,’ Catherine answered as blithely as she could with her heart in her mouth.
‘Well, it’s certainly Rico’s thing. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.’ Calculating blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘Where did you two disappear to after the speeches?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Catherine was flustered, appalled that her sister might know. ‘Come on, Janey, you’ll miss your flight.’
‘It will wait,’ Janey said airily, ‘When you’ve got your own private plane it doesn’t leave without you.’ Her voice dropped then, suddenly serious, and her eyes were wide with an urgency that made Catherine suddenly nervous. ‘Play your cards right, sis, and all this could be yours.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous…’
‘It really could. I’ve paved the way for you, Catherine, do you know how hard I had to work to convince Marco I wasn’t just after him for his money? That I wasn’t some cheap little gold-digger?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it, Janey.’
‘But I am a cheap little gold-digger.’ Janey gave a malicious smile. ‘And now I’m married to a very rich man. You could do it too, Catherine.’ She gave a dry, mirthless laugh as her sister shook her head and covered her ears, her voice rising in excitement as she pulled Catherine’s hands away, enjoying her sister’s embarrassment as she warmed to her subject. ‘You hate your job, hate working with those awful children, hate your poky little flat…’
‘Janey…’ Catherine gave in then. Gave up trying to reason with her sister. Janey would never believe that even though she moaned about staff shortages and even her students at times, she loved her work—truly adored it. And, yes, her flat might be small, but it was home.
Tears were threatening now, at a vision of her sister so alive, so excited—such an appalling contrast to the cold, lifeless body that lay just a few rooms away. Balling her fists into her eyes, Catherine held them back. There was no point in tears, none at all. There was no one to wipe them—hadn’t been since the day her parents had died—and there was no one to comfort her tonight. Her memories flicked back in a second to the awful reality she faced—a reality she had to accept.
Janey was dead.
Rico despised her.
CHAPTER TWO
‘CATHERINE.’
Gripping the jewellery tight in the palm of her hand, she stilled, her breath hot in her lungs. Even her heart seemed to stop for a second, then thudded back into action, tripping into a gallop as the scent that had fuelled her dreams for a year reached her nostrils, as the low drawl of one single word catapulted her senses into overdrive.
‘Catherine?’
This time she looked up, praying somehow that the passage of time might render her impervious to his beauty, that a year might have dimmed the passion in those dark eyes, that somehow she might see that her imagination had been working overtime, had built him up to a status that cold reality would knock down. But if anything, Catherine realised, her imagination had underplayed his exquisiteness. Hadn’t quite captured the haughty, effortless elegance, the razor-sharp cheekbones, the jet-dark hair, superbly cut, the tiny fan of silver at the temples that accentuated those inscrutable coal eyes.
‘I came as soon as I heard.’
She didn’t respond—couldn’t respond. His presence was too overwhelming to allow for speech. Instead she gave a small nod, struggled with lips that didn’t seem to know how to move any more.
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Since five.’ Her voice was a croak, the two words all she could manage, but as his eyes bored into her Catherine realised more was called for and she cleared her throat, knowing he deserved the facts. It was his brother who was dead, after all. Their one night of passion and bitter parting had no place in this conversation, this was no time to rake over their past. ‘I came back from work and the police were at my door. They drove me here.’
‘Have they told you how it happened?’ When she didn’t answer he pushed harder. ‘I know there was an accident. I know that Marco and Janey are both dead and that Lily is on the children’s ward, but that is all I know.’ His fists were bunched in tension. Catherine could see a muscle galloping in his taut cheek and she knew how hard it must be for a man like Rico, who always knew what was happening, always had everything in control, to be in the dark—to know that for once there was absolutely nothing he could do to put things right.
‘I have tried to speak with the doctors and the police, but everyone who dealt with it directly is off duty. I will of course speak with them in the morning, but for now I would appreciate it if you could fill me in.’
His voice was supremely polite, as if he were addressing a stranger, and Catherine realised with a stab of sadness that that was exactly what she was to him—a stranger who had passed by once, no more and no less.
‘Of course.’ Again she cleared her throat, opened her mouth to speak, but his rather forebidding stance wasn’t inspiring and she dragged her eyes away, resting her head in her hands and massaging her temples for a moment, willing eloquence to come.
‘I need to know what happened, Catherine.’ There was an impatient note to his voice.
‘I’m trying to tell you, if you’d just—’
‘I need to know now!’ His fingers snapped in her face, an impatient Latin gesture that held no charm at all, and Catherine blinked and jumped back as Rico raised his voice. ‘I am sorry you have had to deal with this—sorry you have had to face it all. But that is not my fault. I was in a closed meeting, my phone was off, and my secretary had taken an early flight back to Melbourne. I came as soon as I heard. I have been stuck in traffic, held up at the airport, and sitting on a plane going out of my mind with worry. I need some answers!’
The fire suddenly seemed to go out of him, his eyes taking in her shocked expression, the reddened rims of her eyes, the pale and trembling lips. ‘I know it has been hard for you today, and I am sorry you have had to face this alone, but I am here now and I will take care of everything.’
‘Take care of everything?’ An incredulous laugh shot out of her pale lips, the anger that had simmered since the tragic news had been delivered, unleashed now. And however misdirected, however much this wasn’t Rico’s fault, he was the nearest target and Catherine turned a furious glare on him, her words coming out staccato, her body trembling with rage. How dare he waltz in here and demand answers? Swan in past midnight and say he would deal with it now when it had been she, Catherine, dealing with it—she alone facing the police, the social workers. She alone who had stood and identified the bodies.
‘I have taken care of everything,