AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Like, admire, attract.
Was she right? Was it that simple? If so, why did the very thought of it feel so terrifying? So insurmountable? And yet...he inhaled, his heart hammering fast, louder than the organ music filling the great church. And yet in some ways it made perfect sense.
As they neared the front of the church he caught sight of Sophie, elegant and poised, standing next to his mother. If he hadn’t known that she had whipped her dress up in just two days, he would never have believed it; she looked as if she were wearing the most exclusive designer fashion. She’d opted for a silvery grey damask material, which shimmered faintly under the chandelier lights. It was a seemingly conservative design, wide straps at her neck with the neckline cut high, almost to her throat—a stark contrast to the deep vee at her back, exposing creamy skin down to the midpoint of her spine. The bodice fitted tightly right to her waist and then the material flared out into a full knee-length skirt. The look was deceptively demure—but the dress fitted the contours of her body perfectly, the material lovingly caressing every slight curve. She’d twisted her hair up into a loose chignon confined by a silver band showing off the graceful lines of her neck. She was elegant and sophisticated, easily outshining the more elaborate and colourful dresses crowding the pews of the ornate church.
She looked right at him and smiled, a soft intimate smile, and his chest tightened. Two days ago he had promised her a perfect day. It hadn’t been altogether altruistic; payment for all the work she had put in on the wedding, work that had ended up going way beyond altering one dress; distraction for him as he mulled over the momentous decision to step back into the family business, to spend more time at home; seduction, he’d wanted the kind of day that would make her boneless with desire because sex with her was out of this world and they had so little time left. No, his reasons hadn’t been altogether altruistic.
But she hadn’t demanded fine wines and five-star restaurants, she’d asked him to show her his world. He hadn’t realised it at the time, but the price of her day was far higher than the most expensive restaurant in Italy. He’d paid her in intimacy, in revealing parts of his soul he kept hidden from the whole world.
Like, admire, attract.
Surely, despite the short amount of time he’d known her they had gone way beyond those three words and he’d no idea how it had happened, how he’d let his guard down. He’d kept himself so safe, most of the women he’d met over the last decade or so had as little interest in his inner life as he had in theirs. They cared about his name, his family, his prospects, his money. They made superficiality all too easy, all too attractive.
But Sophie wasn’t like that. She was visibly shocked by his wealth, unimpressed by his name. And still he hid. Because if she found him wanting, it would matter; this time it could hurt.
Marco escorted Bianca up the stairs towards the altar and her waiting groom. She’d forgotten about him, about the church full of people waiting to see her get married, all her attention on Antonio, her eyes shining and luminous. He crossed himself as they neared the altar and, as if in a dream, waited to play his small part, before descending the steps to join Sophie and his mother, leaving Bianca making her vows, readying herself for a life in the family she chose, not the one she was born to.
The church hushed, the only sound the voices of the priest, Bianca and her new husband as they repeated vows with heartbreaking sincerity and emotion. All his sister’s usual theatrics had disappeared as she gazed at the man she was promising to love in sickness and in health.
‘I couldn’t understand a word, but that was beautiful.’ Sophie gulped as the crowd burst into enthusiastic applause as Bianca and Antonio embraced for the first time as husband and wife. ‘She looks so gorgeous. Like the perfect bride. And they look so happy...’ Her voice wavered. Next to her one of Marco’s aunts was sobbing, on his other side his mother was still applying her handkerchief. Marco looked around wildly, but he was trapped; there was no escape from wet-eyed, sniffing females.
At least no escape until he was crushed into the narrow pew as his mother elbowed her way past him. ‘Oh, Sophie, grazie, cara. You performed miracles. Hey, Chesca, this is Sophie, Marco’s ragazza. Did you see how she transformed Bianca’s dress? Sì, bellissima.’
His mother kept up her chatter as they made their way down the aisle. She was obviously buzzing from the wedding and wanted everyone to know how Sophie had helped—binding the English girl ever closer to the family, he thought wryly. ‘Yes, she and Marco are very close, he’s quite besotted,’ he heard her confide more than once. ‘We expect an announcement any day now.’
