Читать книгу The Italians: Cristiano, Vittorio and Dario: Once a Ferrara Wife... / A Dark Sicilian Secret / Blackmailed Bride, Innocent Wife - Jane Porter, Annie West - Страница 10

‘CRISTIANO, are you even listening to me?’

Cristiano turned, disconcerted to realise he hadn’t heard a single word his lawyer had spoken.

He’d left the villa at sunrise, attempting to relieve his rocketing tension levels with a punishing run before the warmth of the new day turned to blistering heat. After that, he’d swum. Then he’d caught up on his emails.

Nothing had deleted thoughts of Laurel from his brain.

He wanted to see her as the heartless bitch who had treated their marriage vows as nothing but instead he kept seeing her, pale and vulnerable as she struggled to breathe, stressed out of her mind by being back with him. Accustomed to handling a variety of emergencies on an everyday basis, he’d been appalled by the panic that had gripped him witnessing her struggle for air. He’d been perilously close to summoning every doctor on the island.

Every doctor except the idiot who had assured him that it was common for a woman to have abdominal cramps and that it was unlikely she’d lose the baby.

Anger shafted through him, but the strongest emotion was one of guilt as he acknowledged the damage he’d done by choosing to prioritise a critical work issue over her well-being. The fact that he’d grossly underestimated the seriousness of the situation didn’t excuse him. The fact that the advice of another had proved ill-founded didn’t excuse him either.

His mind was full of questions, the answers to which should have been of no interest or relevance at this stage of their relationship. He wanted to know since when her asthma had been that bad. Whether she’d been having attacks in the time they had been apart. He knew she’d suffered since childhood. It was one of the few things she’d told him about herself when they’d first met.

He knew that, for her, stress was the trigger.

If last night was anything to go by, she was under monumental stress.

Acknowledging the part his own behaviour had played in the onset of her attack, Cristiano ran his hand over his face. He couldn’t believe his own lack of control. From the moment he’d met her at the airport, his temper had been simmering dangerously. The relationship was over. It had been over for the past two years and yet the moment he’d seen her again the only thought in his mind had been, She’s my wife. Mine.

Until he’d met Laurel he’d considered himself to be a modern male—well, as modern as a Sicilian man could be. The past twenty-four hours had forced a stark rethink of that overly generous self-analysis. Every dark primitive thought that had haunted his brain had taken him right back to his caveman ancestors. Jealous? Yes, he was jealous. Jealous as hell and the knowledge sat in his gut like some thick, sickening poison slowly seeping through his body, contaminating every thought.

He didn’t want her moving on.

He didn’t want her making a new life that didn’t feature him as a central character.

His lawyer cleared his throat and pushed a file across the table to him. ‘I emailed you a document. The fact that you refused to declare a separation of assets on your marriage or a pre-nuptial agreement theoretically leaves you exposed.’ ‘I don’t care about the money.’

‘Well, you’re lucky. Apparently neither does she.’ Carlo pulled another set of documents out of his briefcase. ‘Her lawyer has said that if we can expedite the divorce proceedings, she is happy to walk away with nothing.’

The evidence that she was prepared to sacrifice anything and everything to get away from him exposed another layer of his base masculine instincts. Did she hate him that much? ‘What did you tell him?’

‘Her.’ Carlo flicked through the pages until he found the one he wanted. ‘Her lawyer is a woman. And I told her that in Sicily a couple have to have been separated for three years. Today is really just a formality. An opportunity to talk in person, given that you haven’t seen each other for two years.’

Talk?

When had they talked? Cristiano rubbed his fingers over his forehead but nothing relieved the ugly throb in his head. He’d hurled recriminations at her and she’d reacted in her usual way—erecting more walls and barriers between them. She deflected everything he threw at her.

Her passionate accusation that he’d demanded that she open up and trust him, only to abandon her when she needed him still echoed in his brain.

He had let her down. But did that excuse her decision to walk out on their marriage? Not in his book.

Trying to escape from the uncomfortable throb of his own thoughts, Cristiano strode over to the window. Why, when there were millions of women who couldn’t stop talking about themselves and their feelings, had he picked the one woman who refused to do either?

He knew that the miscarriage had devastated her and yet she resolutely refused to talk about it.

Perhaps the initial error had been his, but she’d shown no inclination to forgive him or accept any of his conciliatory gestures. Flowers, diamonds—she’d been too busy packing her suitcase to look at them.

His behaviour had been bad, but was it unforgivable?

‘Laurel sent a message that she couldn’t make this meeting because she’s helping Dani—’ Carlo was obviously trying to be tactful ‘—but I’ll get the papers to her for her signature at some point today.’

Interrupting a wedding for a divorce.

The irony of it didn’t escape him. He’d already briefed his pilot to be ready to fly him to Sardinia as soon as he could reasonably extricated himself. But first he had to get through the ordeal of his sister’s wedding. And so did Laurel.

He hoped she had more inhalers packed in her suitcase because if stress was the trigger then she was going to need them.

He turned, feeling less in control than he would have liked. ‘Do what needs to be done. I have to go and play ringmaster to this circus.’

Carlo’s lips twitched. ‘When I saw the flowers and the little white ponies I thought I’d stepped into a fairy tale. It’s typical Dani.’

‘My sister is obsessed with happy ever afters.’ But Laurel wasn’t. She didn’t believe in happy ever afters. He still remembered how, during their wedding, she’d kept touching him to check it was real. His hand. His face. Tell me this is happening. That I’m not going to wake up.

For a brief moment he’d never seen anyone so happy and it had given him a real high to know that he was the one who had won her trust. A high, quickly followed by a stomach-swooping low when it had all gone so badly wrong.

For Laurel the ending hadn’t been happy.

It had been one gigantic car crash.

‘It fits perfectly.’ Dani stood back and studied Laurel. ‘You look beautiful.’

‘We both know I am nowhere close to beautiful but thanks anyway. You, however, do look beautiful, which is a good job given that you’re the bride.’ Laurel smiled and fussed over her friend, hiding her pain behind activity. ‘You’re the one everyone is looking at.’ Thank goodness. The truth was she didn’t want to be wearing this pale silk sheath and carrying a small posy of sunny yellow gerberas. Not only did they not match her mood, but they reminded her too much of her own wedding. A day she was desperately trying to push from her memory.

She and Cristiano had married in the private chapel that had been in the Ferrara family for centuries. They’d married on a rush of impulse and a breathless tumble of happiness.

Dani had opted for a wedding on the beach attended, it seemed, by half the population of Sicily.

Laurel was relieved that this wedding was going to be so dramatically different from hers. There would be nothing to trigger uncomfortable memories. No nostalgia here. She just needed to get through it and go home.

Fortunately Cristiano had left the villa before she’d woken, which had spared them both another agonizing encounter. But now she was dreading the moment when she laid eyes on him again. He seemed determined to rake over the past and she had no wish to do that.

And as for that kiss—

So the man could kiss. That didn’t change anything. A kiss wasn’t love.

Hands not entirely steady, she adjusted Dani’s veil. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Oh, yes. You?’

Never. Laurel smiled. ‘Absolutely. Let’s do it.’ Let’s get it over with, then I can go home. Her flight was booked for the next day. All she had to do was survive the wedding, the dinner and one more night in the villa.

She would concentrate on her friend. She wasn’t going to look at Cristiano.

If she needed distraction then she’d think about the fitness programme she was putting together for a client struggling with her weight. The woman had suffered serious health problems and it had been a challenge to devise a programme that would gradually build her strength without putting too much stress on her body.

It was the part of the job she loved most. Helping people grow fitter. Improving their lives. Showing them that they could make good choices.

She walked towards the door but Dani caught her arm. ‘Wait for me. I want to be there to see Cristiano’s face when he first sees you in that dress.’

‘You never give up, do you?’

‘Not when something is worth fighting for. I know you still love him.’

The words jolted Laurel out of her self-imposed semitrance. ‘Move, or you’re going to be late for your own wedding.’

‘Don’t change the subject.’

‘This is your wedding day! You’re the subject.’ She wasn’t in love with him. Definitely not. It was always going to be an emotional time. That short lapse last night didn’t mean anything.

‘But—’

‘You’re keeping the groom waiting.’

As Laurel walked with Dani across the flower-strewn terrace, she had reason to be grateful for her friend’s flamboyant style. Her own wedding had been small and intimate. An exchange of vows between two lovers and their closest friends and family. Dani had opted to make her wedding as big a party as possible and at least two hundred guests were seated on the enormous terrace that overlooked the beach.

Laurel stooped and rearranged the generous folds of her friend’s dress, noticing with some relief that her fingers were now completely steady.

She had no idea what Cristiano’s reaction to her dress was because she wasn’t looking at him when he strode onto the terrace and she had plenty of reasons to keep herself otherwise occupied as he carried out his responsibilities as head of the family.

The only slightly rocky moment came when Laurel found herself face to face with his mother.

‘You are back.’ Not even the hot Sicilian sun could make up for the lack of warmth and Laurel knew exactly why she was being subjected to disapproval.

To Francesca Ferrara, a woman who could trace her lineage right back to the fifteenth century and earlier, Laurel must have been the daughter-in-law from hell. A mongrel, who had failed to fulfil that most basic requirement of a good Sicilian wife—turning a blind eye to her husband’s bad behaviour.

‘I’m back just for the wedding. Then I’m leaving.’

Fortunately, at that moment the string quartet started playing and the ceremony began, sparing Laurel an awkward conversation.

Relieved, she focused on her role as maid of honour. It was impossible not to be aware that people were looking at her, but she concentrated her attention on her friend, allowing the faces around her to blur.

As Dani spoke her vows and took Raimondo’s hand, a lump formed in Laurel’s throat.

Hadn’t she done the same at her own wedding? She’d been so blissfully happy, so convinced that this couldn’t possibly be happening to her, that she’d had to check it was real. The priest had been shocked but Cristiano had just laughed and immediately lifted back her veil and cupped her face in his strong hands, the warmth of his kiss giving her all the reassurance she’d needed.

It was that uncanny ability to see into her mind and knock aside her reservations and caution that had given depth to their relationship. He was the first man she’d allowed into her heart. The only man.

It had made the fall all the harder.

Thinking of it brought the tightness back to her chest.

A wave of dizziness rushed over her, although whether it was the intense heat of the sun or just misery she didn’t know.

It was only when she became aware that Santo was staring at her intently that she realised that her cheeks were damp.

Oh, no …

Frantically trying to work out how the tears had managed to fall without her permission, she saw the exact moment Santo’s hostile stare turn to a puzzled frown.

Laurel ignored him and concentrated on her friend, desperately hoping that Cristiano hadn’t witnessed her lapse in control. There was no way she dared risk a glance at him so she just had to hope he wasn’t looking in her direction. And if he was—well, she’d have to pretend she had something in her eye. Sand? An insect?

Furious with herself, she stared straight forward. She wasn’t a crier. Never had been. So why was it that since she’d arrived in Sicily that was all she’d felt like doing?

Maybe it was the stupid dress.

She’d spent hours planning her wardrobe, making sure that her clothes were practical. And here she was standing in the most romantic-looking dress she could have imagined witnessing a public display of love when love was a word she wanted to delete from her brain.

The lump in her throat grew bigger and she stood still, hardly able to breathe as her friend exchanged rings with the man she clearly adored.

Laurel wanted to cover her ears so that she didn’t have to listen. And all the time she was aware of Cristiano standing in the periphery of her vision, a powerful, commanding figure in his beautifully cut dark suit.

Was he in hell, as she was? Was he suffering?

His words flew back into her head.

We stood together in the little chapel that has been part of my family’s estate for generations, and I made you a promise. For better, for worse. In sickness and in health … Remember?

Oh, yes, she remembered. Every word, every promise, was carved into her heart.

Her unhappiness felt too big for her body and Laurel gripped her flowers tightly, trying desperately to stop her feelings from bursting out. She willed Dani and Raimondo to hurry up so that she could get away. She needed to do something ordinary. Something normal and unsentimental to settle her emotions. She’d sneak back to the villa and check her emails. That would bring her back to earth. Or maybe she’d just get out of this dress and go for a run. Lift some weights. Anything.

Desperately fighting for control, she tried to focus on the lush gardens that surrounded the old courtyard. The air was scented with the sweet smell of jasmine and out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of bright pink bougainvillea that painted the terrace in a riot of colour. It was incredibly pretty. The perfect place for a wedding.

Unable to help herself, she lifted her gaze to Cristiano.

Across the terrace, their eyes met.

She wanted to look away but she didn’t, and neither did he. Couldn’t? Wouldn’t? She didn’t know. All she knew was that he was looking at her as if he was trying to see into her mind, those deep-set black eyes fixed on hers as Dani and Raimondo exchanged vows.

This was us.

His lips didn’t move and yet in her head she could hear him saying it.

We had this and you destroyed it.

Heart pumping, she snapped the connection and looked at Dani.

Maybe she was the one who had done the walking, but he was the one who’d destroyed it.

As the couple leaned forward to kiss, Laurel discovered that her skin was covered in goose bumps. What had begun as a slight trembling turned to a shiver. Sickness bloomed inside her and she felt the blood drain from her face as she witnessed their heartfelt declaration of love.

Her own emotions stripped bare, she gripped her flowers and tried to hold herself together.

The rest of the ceremony blurred into one big torture session. One big test of her self-control. She was dimly aware of Dani flinging her arms around her new husband—of sighs from the assembled guests and of the fact she was growing colder and colder.

Somehow she managed to smile, to endure the endless photographs, to say what needed to be said—congratulations, so pleased, yes, she looks beautiful, very happy together—all the while aware of Cristiano taking charge and making sure his sister enjoyed every moment of her special day, his own pain ruthlessly subdued by his awesome willpower.

He was capable of caring, she thought miserably. But sometimes he got it horribly, horribly wrong.

Clumsy, not cruel.

Secure in the knowledge that all attention was on the bride and groom, Laurel slowly turned her head. Seeing that Cristiano was occupied by the bridesmaids, she allowed herself a long indulgent look, knowing it would be her last. After today she wouldn’t see him again.

Storing up images, she allowed her gaze to linger on those thick lashes, travel over that strong jaw and the tempting curve of that mouth. The longing was a great tearing feeling in her chest, which made no sense at all.

She had no wish to turn the clock back.

Deep down she knew that even if he had prioritised her over work on that awful day, it wouldn’t have changed anything. They might have taken a different road, but they would have ended up in the place they were now.

They didn’t work well together. A relationship needed more than fiery chemistry to hold it fast.

With no warning he turned his head and caught her looking.

A frown touched his brows, as if he saw something in her face that puzzled him.

Those broad shoulders squared under the exquisitely cut suit.

Trapped by that searching, questioning gaze, Laurel ceased to breathe. She watched with her heart in her mouth as he tried to read her, saw him use that acute brain of his to draw a conclusion from the facts at his disposal.

One of Dani’s numerous little cousins, unsettled by the size of the gathering, nestled against his legs, seeking security. Cristiano responded instantly, dragging his gaze from Laurel’s pinched white face and swinging the child into his arms, offering that security instinctively and without question. The little girl buried her head in his shoulder and he lifted a hand and stroked those blonde curls, his hand strong and reassuring, his lips moving as he soothed and calmed.

It was like a slap, the display of masculine protectiveness so perfectly timed that it snapped the nostalgia that had rendered her immobile. This was Cristiano at his best. With everyone around him depending on him.

It was ironic, she thought, that the one time she’d allowed herself to do that he hadn’t been there for her.

Feeling control slide from her grip, Laurel slid discreetly out of the group and forged her way through the guests to the other end of the terrace. If she took the long way round she could make it back to the villa unseen. This was her opportunity to make her final exit from his life with the minimum of fuss. She’d pack now and make her way to the airport. Forget waiting until the morning. She was willing to take a flight anywhere, as long as it meant getting out of Sicily tonight.

‘What’s going on, Laurel?’

Santo stood in front of her and the fact that it should be him who witnessed her distress was all the more humiliating. ‘I need to be on my own.’

Strong fingers caught her chin and lifted her face, the frown descending like black clouds as he saw her eyes. ‘You’re crying. Now why would you be crying, I wonder?’

‘I’ve been staring into the sun.’

‘Why are you leaving?’

Desperate, she threw everything she had. ‘Because it was crazy to come here. A divorce and a wedding don’t go together.’

‘I was watching your face. When Dani said her vows, you looked as if someone was removing your skin with a knife.’

The image made her wince because it was exactly how she’d felt. ‘The death of a marriage is always sad.’

‘I wasn’t looking at a woman grieving for the death of her marriage.’

Oh, God, why now? Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? ‘You saw me upset. Was it hard for me to witness two people exchange those vows? Yes, it was hard. It doesn’t change the fact that Cristiano and I are finished.’

‘Why? You’re obviously still in love with him.’

‘I’m not in love with him!’ Her foot almost slipped on the step. ‘It’s … you’re … I’m just not.’ She didn’t want to be. She couldn’t be. That would be like almost drowning in the sea and then telling someone you loved water.

‘I have never seen a woman work so hard not to look at a man as you tried not to look at Cristiano during the wedding. Were you afraid that if you looked at him, he’d see what you felt? You always had this thing, didn’t you—’ he spread his hands in an expressive Mediterranean gesture ‘—this thing where you could read each other’s minds. You each knew what the other was thinking. He used to tease me about it—used to tell me that one day I’d find a woman I connected with, the way he connected with you.’

Laurel felt as if she was about to connect with the ground. Any moment now she was going to faint and smack her head on the concrete. ‘Worry about your own love life, Santo, and leave me to worry about mine.’ She tried to pass him but he caught her arm in a firm grip.

‘What you did almost destroyed my brother. I had to watch him drag himself through every day. Losing you was like losing the oxygen from the air. Without you, he couldn’t breathe.’

Laurel couldn’t breathe either. Her chest was tight and her lungs were burning. ‘Santo—’

‘The funny thing is, I didn’t believe in love until I saw the two of you together.’

Laurel ducked quickly under his arm and started to run.

She had minutes, she guessed. Minutes in which to pack her things and get safely away from the villa before he came after her.

Minutes to end this thing for good.

The sky had turned from fiery red to a rich velvet black, embedded with stars. If there was ever a moment to believe in romance and happy endings it was now but Laurel was a non-believer.

It was over, and she needed to get out of here.