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‘Did you enjoy that?’
She nodded, wrapping her scarf a little tighter as they exited the palazzo and turned into St Mark’s Square. The moon was low and round, casting an enchantment on the ancient buildings, lit up and golden by the streetlights. ‘I loved every bit of it,’ she said. ‘The whole evening, Marco. Thank you.’
He caught her hand, a boyish carefree gesture, and as he did so realisation rocketed through her, sudden and painful in its clarity. She was in love with him. Deeply, relentlessly, irrevocably in love with him. How had this happened? Maybe it was hormones, her version of mood swings, an emotion that would drain away when she hit the magic twelve-week mark. Maybe it was fear, fear of raising the baby alone in a tiny flat on a busy main road. Maybe it was simply the novelty of being treated as if she mattered, as if she was worth something by a man worth everything.
Or maybe it was real, that elusive alchemy of desire and compatibility and friendship.
She rose onto her tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to his bristled cheek in thanks. He moved as she did so, catching her in his arms, capturing her mouth under his so that her light embrace was turned into something more powerful. She allowed him to take control, leaning into him, into his warmth and strength. Allowed him to claim her as his. Because she was, his. But that was almost irrelevant. How could she tell him when he was already burdened by his family’s heavy expectations? How could she tell him she loved him when she still had to tell him about the baby? Her love would be one more load for him to bear, one more expectation for him to manage and she couldn’t do it to him. She had this night, this kiss. They had to be enough.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BIANCA QUIVERED AS the music struck up and she clutched his arm even more tightly.
‘Hold on in there,’ Marco said. ‘Not long to go.’
‘I’m not nervous, I’m excited. I love Antonio and I can’t wait to marry him, to start our life together, I just...’ She faltered, her dark eyes tearing up, and he squeezed her hand.
‘I know, you wish Papà was here. I do too.’
‘He liked Antonio. I’m glad about that. Glad he got to know him, that they respected each other. He’d have liked Sophie too.’
‘Bianca, Sophie and I aren’t...’
She turned and looked straight at him, beautiful, glowing with her hair caught up behind the heirloom tiara, her veil arranged in foamy folds down her back. ‘Not yet, but you could be. I see the way you look at her when you think nobody’s watching you.’
‘And how’s that?’
‘You look the way I feel about Antonio, that’s how.’
‘I think you’re seeing what you want to see. I like her, of course I do, I admire her...’
‘Fancy the pants off her?’ Bianca’s mouth curved into a wide grin and she waggled her perfectly plucked eyebrows at him.
‘The mouth on you. And a bride at that! Yes, I find her attractive too, but that’s not...’ He stopped, unable to find the right words.
‘That’s not what? What falling in love is? I never had you down as the stars and flowers type, Marco. Falling in love might be instantaneous, strike-me-down, can’t-live-without-this person, all-consuming lust when you are sixteen, when you’re twenty. It’s meant to be like that when you’re young. But when you grow up, when you’re an adult, then love is something slower but stronger. You start off with like and admire and attract and over time it grows and becomes all the more powerful for that. But you have to let it grow, not run away the first chance you get.’
Marco stared down into his little sister’s face. ‘When did you get so wise?’
She smirked. ‘I always was. Now stand up straight and get ready to support me down this aisle. These heels are ridiculous and I have no intention of tripping and prostrating myself at Antonio’s feet!’
The music swelled, their cue. He bent slightly and kissed Bianca’s cheek. ‘Ready, sorellina?’
She inhaled slowly, her hand shaking as she did so. ‘Ready. Let’s go get me married.’
Bianca had chosen to marry in the gorgeous Church of Santa Maria dei Miracoli, partly because of the sumptuous décor and partly, Marco suspected, because she’d liked the idea of standing at the top of the marble staircase to make her vows. There weren’t quite enough seats for all the guests and people were standing at the back and along the sides, all three hundred pairs of eyes staring right at Marco and Bianca. Marco barely noticed them; he was searching for the one person he wanted to see, Bianca’s words hammering through his brain with every step they took.
