Italian Mavericks: Expecting The Italian's Baby. Andie Brock
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for any delay—apparently there was a bomb threat at the airport. Don’t worry, it was just a hoax. He says the ceremony can begin when you are ready.’
‘Grazie, Marco.’
‘Signorina.’
‘Is that man carrying a gun?’ Lily asked when the door closed.
‘Probably.’ It wasn’t until she saw her sister’s expression that she realised how quickly the abnormal had become normal for her. What would normal life feel like when she returned to it? She closed off the thought, determined not to think that far ahead. She was committed now and there was no turning back. ‘The security staff are not normally armed while Sergio is on the estate but with the guests here today...’
‘Sergio apologised for it being a modest affair,’ Elizabeth confided.
The twins both looked first at their mother and then each other before they all simultaneously burst into laughter.
The very modest affair was to begin with a service in the fifteenth-century chapel, while the wedding breakfast that followed was in the grand salon with priceless frescoes on the walls and views of the Tuscan hills. The doors had been flung open to allow the guests to mingle outside in the knot garden, where an orchestra entertained the guests.
‘So that’s it, then...’ She gave her mum a tremulous smile and felt guilty when her mum’s eyes filled with tears. Lara knew there would be another sort of tears six months down the line when the fairy tale ended.
‘You look absolutely incredible, darling.’
Lara smiled and glanced down at the dress she wore, smoothing the ivory silk with her hand. ‘It is beautiful.’
It was possibly the simplest of the creations that had been brought for her to choose between. Lara had expected there to be a few, but when she had walked into the room she had found racks and racks of amazing gowns, none bearing anything as tasteless as a price tag.
‘No, my darling, you’re beautiful.’ Elizabeth pressed a hand to her trembling lips.
Lara smiled and thought of the face of an angel...an angel with blonde hair and red lips. Whose face would Raoul see when she walked towards him down the aisle: hers or his dead wife’s? Did he close his eyes and think of Lucy when they made love?
The image in her own head leeched the colour from her cheeks until she stood there several shades paler than her dress.
She started as Lily leaned in and said softly, ‘You can walk away now if you want to. It’s not too late.’
Lara squeezed her hand, wishing she could tell her twin the truth. Would Lily understand? ‘I’m fine, Lil.’ Then turning to her mum, she held out her hand. ‘Ready to give your daughter away? And with these around my neck...’ she touched the string of matching antique emeralds that Sergio had presented her with ‘...nobody is going to be looking at me.’
And after the ceremony the emeralds would be safely back in the family vault along with the other Di Vittorio heirlooms.
It made her nervous to be walking around with the national budget of a small country around her neck, even for a short time. But there had been no question of throwing Sergio’s gesture back in his face.
Infected by his mood, she had responded by asking him if he’d walk her up the aisle along with her mother. It wasn’t until after he’d accepted with obvious delight that it had occurred to her it might not be the wisest idea. After a week here she knew that Sergio had good days when it was difficult to believe how ill he was, but he had bad days too.
The chapel was the opposite side of the palazzo from the suite of rooms where they had changed, separated by miles of marble-floored corridors, which today were lined with flowers and row after row of crystal vases, so many that the scent of orange blossom filled the air. She was aware of the occasional grim-looking suited figure as she walked along, smiling when she caught sight of one of the staff peering out from behind a door or around a corner to catch a glimpse of her.
Nothing about this could be less like the quiet wedding in a register office somewhere that she had imagined when she’d agreed to the plan. Not that it mattered really, the setting didn’t alter the thing, and no amount of pragmatism could alter the fact that she was making sacred vows and she didn’t mean a word.
Sergio stood waiting outside and smiled when he saw her.
‘My grandson is a lucky man.’
Just when she thought she couldn’t feel any more guilty.
‘Thank you.’ Lara laid her hand on the arm he held out just as the massive metal-banded doors swung open and a sea of faces appeared. Beside her she heard her twin gasp.
‘It’s Hollywood meets the United Nations! Oh, my God, is that...? Lara, there’s royalty here...!’
‘I know,’ Lara gritted through a clenched smile.
Ironically it wasn’t royalty that was bothering her—it was the less tangible presence of Raoul’s first wife. How many of the people here today had watched when Raoul had exchanged vows with Lucy?
She gave herself a mental shake. It really didn’t matter if there were people here comparing her unfavourably with the blonde angel—for some weird reason she couldn’t see the woman’s face without seeing a halo—what mattered was getting through this without being outed as a total fake.
The trick was just taking one step at a time.
As she began to move down the aisle, outwardly serene, inwardly she was panicking because two steps in it had become clear that this was not one of Sergio’s good days. She could feel the tremors that moved through his body and the fingers that gripped her arm dug deep enough to make her bite her lip.
Now she wasn’t worried about getting to the altar without falling flat on her face, she was worried Sergio wouldn’t make the short distance without collapsing. She continued to smile, determined that the people watching would see her leaning on him and not the reverse.
Lara knew that for this proud old aristocrat to appear weak in front of these people would be devastating for him, and Raoul would blame her, and he’d be right to. She should never have made the offer.
* * *
Raoul stood there knowing before the organ burst into life that the reverent hush was for his bride.
It was a moment he had sworn would never happen again. The last time was enough for ten lifetimes and the poison it had left behind had burnt into his soul.
He took comfort in the fact that he would not fall in love this time—that this time his emotions were not involved. He’d fully expected to feel trapped at this juncture, he’d been prepared to feel it, but the emotion that separated itself out from the others was...actually, he couldn’t name the feeling that tightened in his chest.
The circumstances ruled out pride, not that it was an unpleasant feeling to know you were the envy of every man in the room. She was beautiful. She was about to become his wife.
For six months anyway. The thought was chased up by a vague sense of dissatisfaction, but before he could analyse it he realised that, though she was acting her head off, looking at him as though he were the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, all was not well with Lara.
For a split second he thought she was on the brink of doing a runner, then he realised what message her eyes were flashing as she turned her head slightly towards his grandfather.
Raoul stood ready to step in should he need to, right up to the point that Lara helped Sergio into his seat.
Lara felt as if she’d been holding her breath the entire length of the aisle. It wasn’t until Sergio and her mother safely took their places in the front pew and she handed her bouquet to Lily that she could actually breathe properly.
She allowed herself a small congratulatory smile before she turned to face Raoul.
Their