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Any delay and his family might somehow learn what was happening. The Orsinis, especially his brothers, were good at uncovering secrets. And if they uncovered this one, the wedding would become a circus.
His mother and his sisters would shriek with female delight and go straight into action. He’d seen it happen with Rafe, Dante and Falco. The church. The music. The reception. The cake. The menu. The flowers. The gowns. The tuxes.
And his brothers. They’d go straight for the jugular. You know her two weeks? What, did you knock her up? Well, yeah, he had. But as well-meaning as the question would be, he’d have to answer with his fists because this was Alessia and whether she was pregnant or not wasn’t their concern. She was going to be his wife, and his decision wasn’t up for a vote.
Besides, the more he thought about it, the more certain he felt that he was doing the right thing. His baby—the baby he and Alessia had created—deserved a father.
And the woman he was marrying was a joy. She was beautiful. Bright. She could make him laugh. She could make him feel a tenderness he’d never known he possessed. The marriage was sudden, yes. But it would work out. It would be successful.
In fact, after the initial shock of trying to visualize himself as a married man, the idea had become, well, it had become kind of pleasant. He liked the idea of greeting the day with Alessia in his arms and ending it the same way.
Marriages had been built on less.
Still, this one needed a little time, a little space. Bottom line? The wedding first, followed by a honeymoon. After that, he’d contact his brothers, break the news, ask them to tell his mother and sisters. When all that was done, he’d take Alessia to New York to meet his family.
Right now, the only person he had to inform was her father. The prince probably knew everyone in Florence; he’d surely hear the news and Nick wanted it to come from him, not secondhand.
He disliked Antoninni. He’d run a centuries-old vineyard to the point of ruin. Far worse, he’d left his daughter alone to deal with Cesare Orsini, and he seemed to have little affection for her.
But he was Alessia’s father.
That night, while she prepared for bed, Nick phoned him, reached his voice mail and left a brief message.
“This is Nicolo Orsini. Your daughter has done me the honor of agreeing to become my wife. The wedding is tomorrow, ten in the morning, in the Sala Rossa of the Palazzo Vecchio. You are, of course, welcome to attend.”
It was not a warm message but it was the right one.
And Nick, in fact all the Orsini brothers, had always been big on doing that which was right.
The next day dawned bright and sunny.
A few minutes before ten, Alessia clung tightly to Nicolo’s hand as they walked into the palazzo.
Nicolo had reassured her as she lay in his arms. “This will be a good marriage,” he’d said softly.
She wanted to believe him, but she was marrying him for love—and he was marrying her only because he was a responsible, decent man.
He was the opposite of her father…. And suddenly, she realized she had no idea if her father had kept the promise he’d made about her mother’s care. Had he? Was Mama still safely in the sanitarium she had come to think of as home?
The mayor, who would perform the ceremony, was strolling toward them with her father a few steps behind. Alessia turned to Nicolo, put her hand lightly on his arm.
“The mayor will surely want to speak with you,” she said quickly. “While he does that, I must talk to my father.”
Nicolo put his hand over hers. “Can it wait until after the ceremony, sweetheart?”
Her heart felt as if it were going to overflow at the tenderness in his voice.
“This is important, Nicolo. I only need a moment, sì?”
Her bridegroom tipped her face to his and brushed his lips over hers.
“You don’t need my permission, princess. A last private word between father and daughter? Sure. Go ahead.” He smiled. “Just remember to get back here in time to become my wife.”
She smiled, rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. Then she hurried to the prince and motioned toward an alcove.
The prince’s smile was sly.
“Congratulations, daughter. What a coup! The wife of an Orsini. Eccellente!”
