Modern Romance November Books 1-4. Sharon Kendrick
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Either way, the Neapolitan sky outside their hotel suite was ebony-dark and sprinkled with stars and when she glanced at her watch, she saw to her horror that it was almost seven—and they were due at Salvio’s parents for Christmas Eve dinner in just over an hour.
‘Wake up,’ she urged, giving her sleeping fiancé’s shoulder a rough shake. ‘Or we’re going to be late!’
Hurrying into the bathroom, she had the fastest shower on record before addressing the thorny issue of what to wear when meeting Salvio’s parents for the first time. She still wasn’t used to having quite so many clothes at her disposal and was more than a little dazzled by the choice. After much consideration, she opted for a soft knee-length skirt worn with a winter-white sweater and long black boots. Taking a deep breath, she did a little pirouette.
‘Do you think your mother will approve of what I’m wearing?’ she asked anxiously.
Salvio’s black gaze roved over her in leisurely appraisal, before he gave a nod of approval. ‘Most certainly,’ he affirmed. ‘You look demure and decent.’
Molly’s fixed smile didn’t waver as they stepped into the penthouse elevator, but really...demure and decent didn’t exactly set the world on fire, did they?
They reached the lobby and as the doorman sprang forward to welcome them, Molly became aware of the buzz of interest their appearance was creating. Or rather, Salvio’s appearance. She could see older men staring at him wistfully while women of all ages seemed intent on devouring him with hungry eyes. Yet despite the glamour of the female guests who were milling around the lobby, Molly felt a sudden shy pride as he took her arm and began guiding her towards the waiting car. Because she was the one he’d just been making love to, wasn’t she? And she was the one who was carrying his child.
The luxury car was soon swallowed up in heavy traffic and before long they drew up outside an elegant house not too far from their hotel. Molly’s nerves—which had been growing during the journey—were quickly dissolved when they were met by a tiny middle-aged woman dressed in Christmas red, her eyes dark and smiling as she opened the door to them. She hugged Molly fiercely before drawing back to look at her properly.
‘At last! I have a daughter!’ she exclaimed, in fluent though heavily accented English, before turning to her son and rising up on tiptoe to kiss him on each cheek, a faint note of reproof in her voice. ‘And what I would like to know is why you are staying in a hotel tonight instead of here at home with your parents, Salvatore De Gennaro?’
‘Because you would have insisted on us having separate rooms and this is the twenty-first century, in case you hadn’t noticed,’ answered her son drily. ‘But don’t worry, Mamma. We will be back again tomorrow.’
Slightly mollified, Rosa De Gennaro ushered them towards a beautiful high-ceilinged sitting room, where her husband was waiting and Molly stepped forward to greet him. Tall and silver-haired, Paolo De Gennaro had handsomely-rugged features which echoed those of his son and Molly got a poignant glimpse of what Salvio might look like when he was sixty. Will I still know him when he’s sixty? she wondered, unprepared for the dark fear which shafted through her and the sudden shifting sense of uncertainty. But she shelved the useless thought and concentrated on getting to know the older couple whose joy at their son’s engagement was evident. As Rosa examined her glittering ring with murmurs of delight, Molly felt a flash of guilt. What if they knew the truth? That the only reason she was here on Christmas Eve, presenting this false front of togetherness with their son, was because one reckless night had ended up with an unplanned baby.
But guilt was a futile emotion and she tried to make the best of things, the way she always did. The house seemed full of light and festivity—with the incomparable air of expectation which always defined the night before Christmas, no matter how much you tried to pretend it didn’t. A beautiful tree, laden with gifts, was glittering in one of the windows and she could detect delicious smells of cooking from elsewhere in the house.
It was a long time since she’d been at the centre of a family and Molly found herself wondering what Robbie was doing tonight. She’d tried to ring him earlier that day but he hadn’t picked up. Please don’t let him be gambling, she prayed silently. Let him have realised that there’s more to life than debt and uncertainty and chasing impossible dreams. Staring down at the nativity set which stood on a small table next to the tree, she focussed on the helpless infant in the tiny crib and tried to imagine what her own baby would look like. Would he or she resemble Salvio, with those dark stern features and a mouth which rarely smiled, but which when it did was like no other smile she’d ever seen?
She remembered the way he’d kissed her belly just before they’d made love and felt a stir of hope in her heart. He’d certainly never done that before—and surely that response hadn’t been faked? Because the fleeting tenderness she thought she’d detected had meant just as much as the sexual excitement which had followed. And wasn’t tenderness a good place to start building their relationship?
Refusing champagne and sipping from a glass of fruit juice, Molly was laughing as she examined a photo of a fourteen-year-old Salvio holding aloft a shining silver trophy, when she felt a brief pain, low in her belly. Did she flinch? Was that why Salvio’s mother guided her towards a high-backed brocade chair and touched her gently on her shoulder?
‘Per piacere. Sit down, Molly. You must be tired after your travels—but soon we will eat. You are hungry, I hope?’
Obediently, Molly took the chair she’d been offered, wondering why people were always telling her to sit down. Did she look permanently tired? Probably. Actually, she was a bit tired. She thought about the reason for her fatigue and her heart gave a little skip as she smiled at Salvio’s mother.
‘Very hungry,’ she said.
‘Here in Southern Italy we are proud of our culinary traditions,’ Rosa continued before directing a smile at her son. ‘For they represent the important times that families spend together.’
Soon they were tucking into a feast of unbelievable proportions. Molly had never seen a meal so big, as dish followed dish. There was spaghetti with clams and then fried shellfish, before an eel-like fish was placed in the centre of the elegant dining table with something of a flourish.
‘Capitone!’ announced Rosa. ‘You know this fish, Molly? No? It is a Neapolitan tradition to eat it on Christmas Eve. In the old days, my mother used to buy it from the market while it was still alive, and then keep it in the bath until it was time to cook it. Do you remember the year it escaped, Salvio—and hid under your bed? And you were the only one brave enough to catch it?’
As his parents laughed Molly sneaked a glance at Salvio and tried to imagine the billionaire tycoon as a little boy, capturing an elusive fish which had slithered underneath a bed. Just as she tried to imagine him cradling an infant in those powerful arms, but that was too big a stretch of the imagination. At times he was so cool and distant—it was only in bed that he seemed to let his guard down and show any real feeling. She stared at the small piece of capitone left on her plate, wondering how it was going to work when she had his baby. She’d already established that his London penthouse wasn’t particularly child-friendly—but where else would they live? He’d mentioned other houses in different countries but none of them had sounded like home, with the possible exception of his Cotswolds manor house.
They finished the meal with hard little biscuits called rococo and afterwards Molly insisted on helping her hostess clear the table. Efficiently, she dealt with the left-over food and dishes in a way which was second nature to her, washing the crystal glasses by hand and carefully placing them on the draining board to dry, while asking her hostess questions about life in Naples. She was just taking off the apron she’d borrowed when she noticed Rosa standing in the doorway of the kitchen watching her, a soft smile on her face.
‘Thank you, Molly.’
‘It was my pleasure, Signora De Gennaro. Thank you for a delicious meal. You have a wonderful home and you’ve been very welcoming.’
‘Prego.’