Italian Mavericks: Expecting The Italian's Baby. Andie Brock

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      ‘I wasn’t suggesting that you’re a—’

      ‘Gold-digger? No, really? Well, call me sensitive but...?’ She had gone several steps before she took a deep breath and calmed down. Sensitive, yes. She recognised her reaction had been irrational but when hurt, her natural response was to hit out and she had. She wasn’t even sure why the suggestion had hurt her so much.

      ‘You love him very much, don’t you?’

      The soft suggestion made Lara spin around. ‘I—’ She stopped herself just in time from informing her twin that Raoul was exactly the sort of man she never wanted to fall in love with, and somehow managed a smile she hoped was sincere and maybe a little soppy.

      ‘Yes, totally,’ she lied, pitying the woman who fell for a man who seemed to be in love with a ghost.

      One of her first conversations with Sergio had confirmed her earlier suspicions.

      ‘I am so glad he has someone. After Lucy died he became...a shadow. Not all of him was here, the spark had gone, but you have brought it back for him.’

      ‘I’ve never seen any photos of...her?’

      With the aid of the cane he had taken to using he had got up, walked over to a bureau and opened a drawer. He had pulled out a gilt-framed photo and with a sigh of regret handed it to Lara.

      ‘Raoul took all the photos down after she died, couldn’t bear to see her face, I imagine. I don’t know what he did with them but I kept this one. He doesn’t know I have it.’

      Lara had looked at the woman smiling out from the frame. The photo had been taken in the palazzo—she’d recognised the fresco from one of the first-floor salons. The way the light fell made it seem as though she were part of the Renaissance scene behind her, and there was a something of the angel about her, the silky golden blonde bob, the cupid’s bow mouth painted red and her smooth, pink-tinged cheeks.

      ‘She was beautiful.’

      Evicting the angelic image from her head, she swallowed a slug of guilt when her twin hugged her.

      ‘Then that’s all that matters, isn’t it? I just hope this guy is good enough for you, Lara.’

      * * *

      Her twin had made up her mind on that score before she even met Raoul.

      ‘What,’ Lily demanded as she paced the room, clutching her bouquet of wilting flowers in a white-knuckle death grip, ‘could be more important than being on time for his own wedding?’

      ‘He’ll be here.’

      It was weird, but the more tense and angry her twin got, the calmer Lara became. Another time she might have appreciated the humour in the reversal of roles but not today. She was sure the stage nerves would kick in at some point, but not yet.

      Maybe she wasn’t nervous yet because it simply didn’t seem real. The entire event had taken on the quality of a lavish film production. From the setting in the palazzo, a backdrop more glamorous and lavish than any film set, to the sharp-intake-of-breath guest list. It was an understatement to say that the Di Vittorios were well connected!

      ‘Lily, dear, will you sit down?’ Elizabeth Gray, looking too young to be anyone’s mother, caught her daughter’s arm just as the door opened to reveal the head of Security.

      ‘Buongiorno.’

      ‘He’s arrived?’

      ‘Signor Di Vittorio landed five minutes ago. He sends his apologies 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.

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