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‘Oh …’ Tawny grimaced. ‘And you’re marrying him? I hope you know what you’re doing—’
‘When does Zara ever know what she’s doing?’ Bee chimed in ruefully. ‘She never takes the long view.’
‘My sisters are supposed to be universally supportive on my wedding day,’ Zara cut in with a warning frown. ‘Get supporting.’
And nothing more was said. Her siblings escorted her up the church steps and smoothed out the hem of her gown in the porch. The organ began to play and the doors opened for Zara to walk down the aisle. Marriage, she was thinking on the edge of panic, marriage was such a big complex step. Was she even cut out to be a wife? There was so much she didn’t know about Vitale, so much they hadn’t discussed. He was waiting at the altar, his head held high, and she needn’t have worried about being overdressed because he and the man by his side were kitted out in fancy grey morning suits.
At the exact moment that Vitale turned his handsome head to look at her, his gaze every bit as edgy as her own, her apprehension evaporated because he smiled. A wolfish smile that took him from being a very good-looking guy to an absolutely gorgeous one. There was admiration in his gaze and she basked in it.
‘Like the dress,’ he breathed in a discreet aside before the vicar began to speak. ‘You look wonderful.’
The last knot of tension in her stomach dissolved into a feeling of warmth and acceptance. The ceremony progressed and her hand stayed steady as he slid a wedding ring on her finger. And then almost dizzyingly fast the service was over, the organ music was swelling and Vitale was escorting her back down the aisle, a light hand resting on hers. In the porch he met her siblings and she learned that his companion was his lawyer and also a friend from his university days.
They drove straight to the airport.
‘Did you mind that your parents weren’t part of the ceremony?’ Vitale asked her as soon as they were alone.
‘Not at all. It wouldn’t have been fancy enough for my mother and somehow my father would have found a way of ruining the day by calling me stupid.’ Her soft mouth compressed and she shrugged a forlorn shoulder, conscious of his bewildered appraisal and saying nothing more.
‘Why would he have done that?’
‘I should have told you by now—I suffer from dyslexia. Badly,’ Zara stressed, her hands tightly curled together on her lap because it took courage to confess a weakness that had been regarded with such disgust by her family. ‘Regardless of what my father thinks, though, I’m not slow-witted. I have some difficulty reading, writing and spelling but I manage most things fine with the help of a computer.’
Vitale frowned because he was recalling her blank appraisal of the instructions on the pregnancy test and suddenly he was rethinking that scene with a tight feeling inside his chest. The anxiety, the fear of rejection, in her gaze screamed at him. He realised that, regardless of her attempt to refer casually to the condition, what she had just admitted was a very big deal for her. ‘I went to school with a couple of dyslexics. I know you’re not slow-witted and fortunately dyslexics can get a lot of help these days.’
Zara grimaced. ‘My father doesn’t believe dyslexia exists. He just thinks I’m stupid and he wouldn’t allow me to have speech-language therapy.’
‘That’s ridiculous. Didn’t you get help at school?’
‘I was sixteen before I was diagnosed and I left a few months later. Although I dropped out of my A-level studies, I do manage,’ she said again, clearly keen to drop the subject.
He remembered how pale and tense she had been while she struggled with those instructions, clearly terrified of him realising that she had a problem, and his rage with Monty Blake roared up through him like volcanic lava. Instead of being taught how to cope with the disorder, she had been taught to be ashamed of it and left to struggle alone. He wondered why that image bothered him, why he should feel so angry on her behalf. When had he ever felt protective about a woman? Only once before and even then his intelligence warning him to keep his distance had warred with more natural instincts.
‘It’s never too late to learn. Some sessions with a professional would help you handle the condition now,’ Vitale remarked evenly. ‘And lift your confidence.’
Zara went pink. She bit back the tart comment that she was sure he hadn’t expected to take a wife still in need of lessons, because she was well aware that when she put herself down she was revealing low self-esteem. Furthermore she recognised that he had seen shrewdly right to the heart of her problem. Her family’s attitude to her dyslexia had imposed secrecy on her and her subsequent fear of exposure had only made the problem worse.
‘I thought you’d be embarrassed that I’m a dyslexic.’
‘It would take a great deal more to embarrass me, gioia mia. Your parents overreacted. Albert Einstein and some very famous people were also dyslexic,’ Vitale fielded casually.
They boarded a private jet and as Zara settled into a cream leather seat in the cabin she was thinking once again about how very little she knew about the man she had married. ‘I had no idea that you owned your own plane,’ she confided.
‘I travel a lot. It speeds up my schedule and ensures that I can move quickly in a crisis—’
‘Where are we heading?’ she prompted.
‘It’s a surprise, hopefully one which will please you.’
Lunch was served. After several sleepless nights spent worrying about the unknowns in her future, Zara was too exhausted to do more than pick at the food on her plate. Finally she pushed the plate away and closed her heavy eyes to rest them. That was the last thing she registered until the jet landed and Vitale shook her shoulder to rouse her from a deep sleep.
She was torn between pain and pleasure while he drove her through the Tuscan hills, for although she loved the Italian landscape she could not forget how much he had hurt her on her last visit.
‘Isn’t this the road we took to the Palazzo Barigo?’ she pressed at one point.
‘Sì.’ His classic profile was taut, his response clipped.
When the car actually turned beneath the arched entrance to the palazzo, Zara turned with a frown to exclaim, ‘What are we doing here?’
