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She had been avoiding him and that simmering rage all afternoon like a coward. Every time she’d looked at him she’d just seen those black eyes and the banked fire in their depths, and could still feel the firmness of his lip between her teeth all over again. And the guilt to have been audacious enough to encourage his mother to invite those people, especially when the meek and mild woman had said nervously, ‘I don’t know, Gianni won’t like it.’
So now she felt doubly guilty. When she was the one who had been marched up the aisle. So why didn’t you just turn and run? asked a snarky inner voice. Keelin ignored it, that feeling of inevitability and how she’d succumbed to it, too vivid for her liking.
She only realised then that she was still, ridiculously, holding on to her bouquet. She said a little redundantly now, ‘I should have thrown it.’
Gianni plucked it out of her hand and pressed a button so that his window slid down. A group of female tourists were standing on a corner reading a map near where the car was stalled at a red light. Gianni shouted out, ‘Signora!’
They looked up and Keelin could see their collective double takes as they took in who was calling to them and she could have rolled her eyes. But then he was calling out, ‘Catch!’ and he lobbed out the bouquet which flew high into the air and then into one of the girl’s outstretched hands. Much to her squealing delight.
Gianni didn’t respond, he just hit the button and the window slid back up again. Keelin’s mouth had opened in shock. He looked at her as the car moved off again, a mocking glint in his eyes. ‘Is it not traditional for the groom to throw it?’
Keelin shut her mouth and then said icily, ‘No, it’s not. But then not a lot about this wedding is traditional.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Gianni growled softly, ‘I have every intention of this marriage becoming very traditional very soon.’
Her breath shortened at the explicit look in Gianni’s eyes. ‘We have to talk about this. You can’t seriously expect that we’re going to just—’
He cut her off. ‘I do seriously expect that this marriage will be a real and enduring one, Keelin, so the sooner you come to terms with that, the better.’
She crossed her arms over her chest and was aware of how ridiculous she must look. Angrily she ripped the veil off her head then, wincing as pins caught in her hair. She shrank back when Gianni hissed his disapproval and put out a hand as if to help.
‘It’s fine. I can do it.’
She continued to pick out pins and said angrily, ‘Since when did someone like you ever want to have a real and enduring marriage?’
Gianni’s anger matched hers. ‘Since it came with a business deal that will make Delucca a brand name all over the world and a wife who I want more than any other woman.’
Keelin was fired up and ready to blast back with a response but her words dissolved on her tongue. A wife who I want more than any other woman.
And just like that she could feel something crumble inside her, give way. Treacherously. She dragged her gaze away from his long enough to notice that they were driving into an airfield where a helicopter was waiting.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, avoiding thinking about what he’d just said and how it made her feel.
Gianni seemed to curb his anger. ‘We’re going to my villa in Umbria. For a week. It’s remote enough to keep you out of mischief and it’s where we can really get to know each other and start our happily married life together.’
The fact that his words held a sarcastic edge made Keelin feel stupid for having lost her focus for a second.
‘Does it have a tower?’ she asked tartly. ‘So you can lock me away and just call this marriage what it is—a prison?’
He tutted and smiled a little. ‘Such a dramatic imagination. Bondage, imprisonment, whatever will you think of next?’
Keelin wanted to launch herself at him across the back of the car and wring his neck but he was opening his door and stepping out of the car before she could do anything. The driver had opened her door and was waiting solicitously for her to get out too.
She eventually did, huffily. Still clutching the veil. Gianni was lifting two small suitcases out of the boot and carrying them over to the helicopter where a pilot was waiting. Keelin followed, reluctantly. ‘What about the rest of my things?’
Gianni threw back carelessly, ‘They’ve been sent on ahead.’
She muttered something under her breath about hoping he’d remembered to pack the hair shirts. When she caught up with him at the helicopter he turned and said dryly, ‘I wouldn’t dream of marking your skin with a hair shirt, Keelin. You’ll dress in nothing but silk and satin, for my delectation.’
She scowled at him, not liking the way she had a sudden urge to see the expression on Gianni’s face if she was to parade before him in some sensual silk concoction.
‘Neanderthal.’
He just smiled but behind it Keelin could see the remnants of his anger. He still hadn’t forgiven her for almost derailing the wedding. Or for engineering the invitation of his father’s henchmen.
He held out a hand and she looked at it warily. Gianni’s smile faded and he said crisply, ‘It’s a long walk back into Rome in a short wedding dress and high heels, Keelin.’
Giving in to the inevitable, she slapped her hand into h
