AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Cesare’s mouth hardened into a smile. "Why not?'
Outside the church, Sorcha was standing in the wedding group while it seemed as if a thousand photos were being taken. But her smile felt as if someone had slashed it across her face with a razor.
Her eyes flickered over to the tiny church and she saw a tall, broad-shouldered figure emerging, having to bend his head to avoid bumping it on the low door, and her heart felt as if someone had ripped open her chest and squeezed it with a bare fist.
Cesare!
Here!
"Sorcha! This way! Look at the camera'
With an effort she tore her eyes away from him and a flashbulb exploded in her face, temporarily blinding her. When it cleared he had gone. But there was her brother, Rupert, standing in a group, and she hurried over to him, completely ignoring the appreciative comments which came from his fellow ushers. Her mouth was dry and her heart was beating like a drum. And it hurt. It shouldn't do, but it hurt.
"Who in their right mind invited Cesare di Arcangelo today? ' she managed, though her
specially perfected chief bridesmaid smile didn't waver.
'Oh, he's here, is he?' Rupert looked around and an odd expression came into his eyes. 'Good.'
'Good?' Sorcha tried to squash all the instinctive fears which came scurrying to the forefront of her mind. Because none of them might be true, and it was her sister's wedding day, after all.
It was supposed to be a happy occasion, a joyous day—like all weddings should be. And it had been—right up until the moment when she had seen Cesare's dangerously handsome face and had felt her heart clench as if it was making up its mind whether to beat again.
Just the sight of his brilliant black eyes had taken her back to another time and another place—and mocked her with the lesson she had been learning ever since. That no other man could ever match up to him. And one look at him had reminded her
exactly why.
Her mouth was dry and her breath was rapid, but she sucked in a deep breath and tried to stay calm. 'Rupert, did you know he was going to be here? '
There was a pause. "Er...kind of. "
'Kind of? And so did Emma, presumably—since she's the bride?'
'Yeah. Ralph's family does a lot of business with di Arcangelo. You know that, Sorcha.'
Yes, she knew that—but it was one of those things you knew and kept pushed to the back of your mind. The same way that you knew natural disasters occurred, but you just didn't spend your time thinking about them until you had to. 'And it didn't occur to any of you to have the decency to tell me he'd been invited, in view of our...our history?"
Rupert looked vaguely bored. 'You went out with him a few years ago—what's the big deal? And anyway—he asked me not say anything. He wanted it to be a surprise.'
She wanted to yelp—what do you mean, he asked you not to? I am your sister, and as such I take precedence over Cesare di Arcangelo—in spite of his affluence and influence,
'Oh, it's certainly a surprise’ said Sorcha lightly—but if she said any more then Rupert would think she cared. And she didn't. Not any more. She had to get things into perspective. Cesare was simply part of her past who would soon be gone, if not forgotten.
But why was he here? What possible reason could there be for re-establishing a family connection which had fizzled out years ago? Loyalty to her brother? Had they really been that close? Or was it just what it seemed—he was attending the wedding of a son of a business colleague?
It was like being caught in a trap which no one apart from Sorcha could see. Even though the sun was shining, and the church was picture-postcard perfect, and the bells were pealing out, inside she felt a bleak pang of regret. Time healed, that was what everyone said—and now it seemed that the rest of the world had been colluding in a great big conspiracy of lies.
But she played her part to the maximum and flashed a series of bright, happy smiles for the cameras until they wanted just couple shots of the bride and groom and she could escape.
She just wasn't sure where.
With an odd kind of sixth sense, Sorcha suddenly became aware of being watched as surely as if eyes were burning into her back, branding her pale skin through the delicate silk-satin of her bridesmaid dress. And—try as she might—she couldn't stop herself from turning round to see, even though she knew exactly who it was.
This was the true meaning of the word irresistible, she thought as she tried uselessly to pull against the power he exerted. As if she were a snake and he some charmer, summoning her against her will. And she looked round to find herself dazzled by the ebony gaze of Cesare di Arcangelo.
Stay away, Sorcha prayed silently—but her prayer went unanswered. Sunlight bouncing off his gleaming blue-black hair, he walked across the church path towards her, tall and dark and supremely confident—leaving a sulky-looking woman in a bright yellow dress glaring at his retreating back.
Sorcha felt a lump in her throat—as if someone had rammed in a pebble large enough to block her wind-pipe—and she briefly closed her eyes, imagining—almost praying— that she would pass out. What a merciful release that would be. To faint and discover when she opened her eyes again that Cesare had gone—as if he had never set foot here in the first place. Almost as if she had dreamt it all up.
