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Or because his character had been so badly maligned and the woman he was supposed to be marrying didn’t trust him one little bit?
Whatever, there was no future for them as a couple now.
‘Portia, who gave you that ridiculous information?’ he asked with predictable ferocity. ‘I need to know.’
A tear slid down her cheek.
Lucenzo visibly reined himself in, hunkered down in front of her and took both of her hands in his. ‘Tell me,’ he insisted quietly. ‘I think I know who’s been telling you lies, but I need you to verify it.’
Portia blinked rapidly. She wished she didn’t cry so easily. She would have loved to think that what Donatella had said was wicked lies, and if Lucenzo’s aunt had said all that to her face she would have had no difficulty in putting it down to sheer spite. But she’d been talking to Lorna. She’d had no idea anyone else had been listening in.
‘Who do you think?’ she asked in a shaky voice, stalling, quivering inside as he brushed her tears aside with his fingertips.
‘My dear Zia Donatella, at a guess,’ he said heavily. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
Portia nodded speechlessly. Then, at the wry twist of his mouth, she managed, ‘I overheard her talking to Lorna. If she’d said such things to my face I would never have believed her. I would have put it down to spite. She’s never been able to like me.’ She gulped frantically. ‘She once called me a sow’s ear. Is it true?’
‘You look nothing like a sow’s ear.’ His dark eyes gleamed and his mouth twitched unforgivably.
Goaded, Portia wailed, ‘I meant the rest. And it’s not funny!’
‘Of course it’s not true!’ he snapped out tersely. ‘Heavens above—what kind of monster do you think I am?’ Then, seeing her soft mouth crumple, he groaned, driven. ‘I’m sorry. Why would you trust me? I treated you badly to begin with, accused you of practically everything under the sun, and for that I apologise.’
‘Belatedly,’ she pointed out—although she’d forgiven him ages ago, because he’d changed completely once he’d heard her side of the story regarding what had happened with her and Vito.
‘Touché!’ He took her hands again. ‘Portia, listen to me. Zia Donatella is a mean-minded woman. Those things she was saying were probably wish-fulfilment. She would never have dared to say such things to your face because you would have reported back to me. Then she would have had me to deal with. And that, believe me, she would not like! Tomorrow morning she will be out of this house. She will not be at our wedding.’
At his softly tender expression a great dam burst inside her. For a split second she thought she could control it, but then she knew she couldn’t.
‘I can’t marry you, Lucenzo!’ she wailed. ‘I kept telling myself I could. For Sam. For your father. And everything. I guess I’m being really selfish—’
Tears were pouring unstoppably and she was
having trouble getting any words out. But she had to make him understand, even though he was making things a thousand times worse by looking completely and utterly shattered by what she’d said already.
‘I’m thinking only of myself, and I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t go through with it. Please try to see! Oh, Lucenzo, don’t you understand? I might love you but it isn’t enough. I need to be loved!’
She was sobbing so convulsively that she didn’t have the strength to resist when he stood up and pulled her into his arms. She could only cling to him and soak the front of his shirt.
When she’d reached the noisy hiccuping state she heard him ask, ‘Did I hear right? Did you say you loved me?’
It was exactly the sort of shock she needed to cure those hiccups. Had she really said that? She supposed she must have done. She hadn’t meant to.
‘Did you?’ he prodded.
Portia nodded and mumbled, ‘Yes. Sorry. I know you don’t love me. And I also know the only reason you asked me to marry you at all was because your father told you he was going to ask me. But don’t worry about it. I understand why you did it.’
After a short silence while he unravelled the tangle of what she’d just said, and after what Portia suspected was an inner rumble of laughter, Lucenzo whispered against her ear, ‘Carissima, you know nothing. I was horrified when Father told me what he intended, and I came to your room that night to warn you, to tell you that you’d be making the biggest mistake of your life if you were to tie yourself to a man so much older than yourself. I was too cowardly to analyse my own emotions and I ended up making love to you instead. That was when I decided I wanted to marry you. And I was still being a coward—telling myself I’d never love again—because I was afraid of being badly hurt.
‘I was behaving like a fool. An even bigger fool when I had to be honest with myself and admit that I loved you, adored you. I’d banked on making you fall in love with me after we were married. Now—’ he pushed her rumpled hair back off her face ‘—we will have no more talk of cancelled weddings. I absolutely forbid it. I love you. You love me. We will be perfect together. And before you drown me in tears, I am going to phone down and ask Ugo to bring a tray of food. And champagne. And this time,’ he drawled softly as he gazed lovingly into her glittering eyes, ‘maybe we will get to taste just a little of it!’
The ceremony had been beautiful: the little church packed to overflowing, the square crowded with the villagers who hadn’t been able to squash inside.
There were flowers everywhere, and waving people lining the road back to the villa, ready to follow on foot, by bicycle, on mule-drawn carts to enjoy the reception, because everyone had been invited.
Sitting with her brand-new, endlessly fascinating, shatteringly handsome husband in the back of the flower-strewn chauffeur-driven Bugatti drophead, the Verdi tiara glittering in the sunlight, Portia returned the waves and smiles ecstatically. She almost swooned with a happiness that seemed too great to contain in one mortal body when Lucenzo took her in his arms and to a great roar of crowd approval kissed her very soundly.
And she knew exactly what he meant when he tucked her bright head against his wide shoulder and whispered, ‘I am jealous of all these people, my beautiful darling. How soon do you think we can slip away?’
