AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Emma had been going out with Ralph Robinson since for ever, and her new husband was sweet and charming—but most of all he was rich. In fact, he was rolling in money, and he had splashed lots of it about in an effort to ensure that he and Emma had the kind of wedding which would be talked about in years to come. And Whittaker House might be crumbling at the seams, but no one could deny it looked good in photographs.
The youngest of the bridesmaids tugged Sorcha's dress.
'Can I have ice-cream, please, Sorcha? ' she pleaded. 'Mummy said if I was a good girl in church I could have ice-cream.'
'And you shall—but you must eat your dinner up first/ said Sorcha. 'Just stay with me until we're in the marquee, so we don't get lost—because we're all sitting at a big, special table with the bride and groom.'
'Bride and gloom, Daddy always says,' offered the more precocious of the pageboys.
Very funny, Alex,' said Sorcha, but the smile on her face died as she saw Cesare climbing out of a low silver sports car, then opening the door for the brunette.
Sorcha stared at her in disgust—the woman's dress had ridden so far up her thighs that, as she swung her legs out of the car—she was practically showing her underwear. Didn't she know that there were graceful ways to get out of a car without showing the world what you'd had for breakfast? And why should you care?
But if she didn't care—which she didn't—then why did Sorcha find it impossible to tear her eyes away from him? Because Cesare could have been hers, and now she would never know what it would have been like—was that it? Somehow it didn't matter how many times you told yourself that you had made the right choice—you couldn't stop the occasional regret. And regret was a terrible emotion to live with.
The brunette was laughing up at him, her fleshy lips gleaming provocatively—with sensual promise written on every atom of her being.
'Come along, children’ Sorcha said quickly, before he caught her studying him like some sort of crazed stalker.
But Cesare saw Sorcha bend and tie a bow in a little cherub's curls and giggle at
something the little one said and his mouth twisted. He knew that women sometimes used children as a prop when men were watching them—a silent demonstration of what wonderful mothers they would eventually make. Was that pretty little tableau all for his benefit, he thought sourly, to show him what he'd missed? Oh, but he was going to enjoy her reaction when she discovered what was coming to her! Abruptly, he turned away to toss his car keys to a valet.
Sorcha led the clutch of children around to the marquee, feeling a bit like the Pied Piper of Hamelin, but the presence of Cesare was like a dark spectre lurking in the background.
How the hell was she going to react to him for the rest of the afternoon and evening, if the mere sight of him unsettled her enough to set her pulse racing and set off all kinds of feelings churning around inside her?
She walked into the marquee, which looked as if it was competing for inclusion in the Chelsea Flower Show, and for a moment her dark mood evaporated. She forgot all
about Cesare and all worries about the business and just enjoyed the spectacle of her sister's wedding reception instead.
There were blooms everywhere—tumbling and filling and falling over in tall urns dotted around the sides of the tented room—and ivy wreathed around the pillars. Roses were crammed into copper pots on each table, reflected back in the gleaming crystal and golden cutlery, so that the whole room looked a mass of glorious, vibrant colour.
Maybe they could hire the house out as a wedding venue on a professional basis? she found herself thinking. Wouldn't that help the current cash flow situation?
She reunited her young charges with their parents until the meal began, showed an elderly aunt to her seat, and then dashed to the loo to reapply her lipstick. But when eventually she couldn't put it off any longer, she began to walk towards the top table—and her heart sank with a dull dread when she saw who was dominating it, perfectly at ease, with the lazy kind of grace which seemed to come to him as naturally as breathing.
She could see her mother at the far end in her huge hat, shrugging her shoulders in a don't-ask-me kind of way. But even more annoying was that Cesare appeared to have captured the attention of the entire room—and it was supposed to be the bride's day!
His ruggedly handsome and impeccably dressed figure was exciting jealous glances from men as well as greedy ones from women, and as she grew closer Sorcha could hear people on the adjoining tables.
‘Who is he? '
'A rich Italian, apparently! '
'Available?
'Let's hope so!'
But Cesare wasn't reacting to the interest buzzing around him—his black eyes were
trained on only her, so that by the time she reached him Sorcha felt as jittery as if she had just walked the plank and was about to jump.
She stared at the thick black hair which once she had had the freedom to run her hands through, and those slanting, aristocratic cheekbones along which she had wonderingly traced a trembling fingertip as if unable to believe that he was real and in her arms. 'You' she said, and was appalled to hear her voice tremble.
'Me, ' he agreed, his eyes glittering with satisfaction as he saw the look of consternation on her face.
She gripped the back of her seat. 'Is this some kind of bad joke?'
