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This was the Francesco he had warned her about right at the start. The Francesco she had refused to see.
And now she did see, all she felt was a burning anger that made her want to throw up.
‘Go and take your vengeance. Go ruin your old friends. Go and show your dead father how much better you are than him by purchasing the very casino he could never have. Let it symbolise how different you are to him.’
Shoving him out of the way, she opened the front door. ‘Now leave, and don’t you ever contact me again.’
His chest heaving, he stared at her before his nostrils flared and he strode past her.
‘Enjoy your vengeance, Francesco,’ she spat. ‘Try not to let it choke you.’
He didn’t look back.
CHAPTER TWELVE
HANNAH FIXED THE back of her pearl earrings into place, trying desperately hard to contain her shaking hands. Since that awful confrontation with Francesco the night before, it had been a constant battle to stop the tremors racking through her. The long last-minute train journey to Devon had been a constant battle, too—a battle to stop any tears forming for the bastard who’d abandoned her when she needed him most.
She didn’t want to think about him. Not now. Not when she was minutes away from leaving for the church to watch her little sister get married.
There was a tap on the door, and Melanie walked into the room carrying a small box.
‘How do I look?’ she asked, putting the box on the floor, extending her arms and giving a slow twirl.
‘Oh, Mel, you look beautiful.’ And she did, an angel in white.
‘You look beautiful, too.’ Careful not to crease each other’s dresses—Hannah wore a baby-pink bridesmaid dress—they embraced, then stepped back from each other.
‘The cars are here and our bouquets are ready,’ Melanie said. Her eyes fixed on Hannah’s bedside table, on which rested a photo of Hannah and Beth, aged eight. ‘I’ve got a bouquet for her, too.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Beth. I’ve got her a bouquet, too.’
Hannah had to strain to hear her sister’s voice.
‘If she was still here she’d be a bridesmaid with you.’ A look of mischief suddenly crossed Melanie’s face. ‘The pair of you would probably follow me down the aisle trying to trip me up.’
A burst of mirth spluttered from Hannah’s mouth. She and Beth together had been irrepressible. ‘We were really mean to you.’
‘No, you weren’t.’
‘Yes, we were. We hardly ever let you play with us and when we did it was to torment you. I remember we convinced you to let us make you into a princess.’
‘Oh, yes! You coloured my hair pink with your felt tip pens and used red crayon as blusher. You treated me like a doll.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I was just happy you wanted to play with me.’
‘It must have been hard for you, though,’ Hannah said, thinking of all the times Melanie had been desperate to join in with their games, how their mum would force them to let her tag along and they would spend the whole time ignoring her. Unless they found a good use for her.
Melanie didn’t even pretend not to understand. ‘It was hard. I was very jealous. You had each other. You didn’t need me.’
Silence rent the room as they both stared at the photo. Despite all her vows, hot tears stung the back of Hannah’s eyes. How desperately she wished Beth was there. And how desperately the pathetic side of her wished Francesco was there, too....
Thank God Melanie hadn’t grilled her about the latest sudden change to the seating plan, simply giving her a quick hug and a ‘No problem.’
Melanie cleared her throat. ‘We should get going before we ruin our make-up.’
Looking at her, Hannah could see Melanie’s eyes had filled, too, a solitary tear trickling down her cheek.
She reached over to wipe it away with her thumb, then pressed a kiss to her sister’s cheek. ‘You do look beautiful, Mel. Beth would be insanely jealous.’
Melanie laughed and snatched a tissue from the box on Hannah’s bedside table. She blew her nose noisily, then crouched down to the box she’d brought in and removed the lid. ‘Here’s your bouquet, and here’s the one for Beth. I thought you might like to give it to her.’
Hannah sniffed the delicate fragrance.
She looked at her sister. Melanie had been nine when Beth died. A little girl. Now she was a woman less than an hour away from marriage.
