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‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But I really have to go. If you’ll excuse me?’
With a deep breath she got to her feet. It was time to find Marco—whatever happened next was entirely up to him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MARCO SCANNED THE ROOM. One minute Sophie had been with his sister, the next she had completely disappeared. He was pretty sure she could take care of herself, but in a room that seemed to be comprised solely of his extended family and women he used to date, even the most hardened party-goer would need backup.
Hell, he needed backup. That was why she was here, wasn’t it?
‘Marco.’ He jumped as she came up behind him, laying one pale hand on his sleeve.
‘There you are. I was thinking you must have been cornered by my great-aunt Annunciata.’
‘No, not yet. Look, could I have a word? In private?’
Her hand wasn’t the only part of her that was pale. Her cheeks were almost white, her lips bloodless. Anger rose, hot and hungry. Had someone said something to hurt her? ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Yes, I just need to talk to you about something.’
Marco looked around. The door to the terrace was ajar and it looked as if nobody else was braving the sharp winter air. He took her hand, her fingers sliding into his as if they belonged there, and led her outside. Trees in pots lined the walls and vines twisted around the railings. He selected a table at the far end of the terrace and pulled out a chair for Sophie, tucking one of the blankets left out for the purpose around her shoulders as she sat.
‘I was talking to some of the other guests just now. They all knew you.’
‘Did they?’ He raised his eyebrows. She sounded solemn. Solemn at weddings wasn’t usually good.
‘One of them was an ex-girlfriend of yours. She’s a little bitter. Apparently you practically left her at the altar.’
Understanding dawned. ‘You were talking to Celia, which I expect means she was flanked by Beatrice and Elena. They usually work as a team.’
‘I didn’t get their names.’
Something was off here and he couldn’t work out what. ‘It’s a bit of an exaggeration to say I left her at the altar. We were never formally engaged.’
‘So what happened? I deserve to know,’ she added. ‘If looks could kill, I’d currently be laid out on the floor of the women’s bathroom and wedding guests would have to step over my corpse to get to the sinks.’
Marco rubbed his eyes wearily. Celia was so intrinsically mixed up with the events that had led to him leaving Venice, to the row with his father, that he’d done his best to not think of her at all over the last decade. He should have known he couldn’t return home without the whole sorry business being dredged up again. ‘It sounds like a bigger deal than it was,’ he said, staring out at the Grand Canal, following a small open boat with his eyes as it cruised slowly opposite. ‘Celia and I started seeing each other after I finished university. We were together for about three years.’
‘She said you just disappeared.’
‘It wasn’t quite like that. She was pretty, a little crazy, fun, all the things a man in his early twenties finds attractive. I guess I thought I was in love, thought she loved me, not that I had any idea what love was.’ Bianca’s words floated back to him. She was right; it had been infatuation, not love. He sighed. ‘She was a welcome distraction from home. I was just starting out, collecting and reselling, developing a client list, building up a reputation, but my father thought I was wasting my time—and told me every chance he got.’
‘That must have been difficult.’
‘It was challenging,’ he admitted. ‘But I was young and driven and wanted my own path. I thought Celia agreed with me, but gradually I realised she wanted very different things. She didn’t love the Marco Santoro who was passionate about his business and happy to start from scratch if he had to. She loved the Santoro heir with all the privileges that entailed and she kept pushing me to listen to my father. To give in.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘I didn’t. So we’d argue, she’d cry, I’d feel guilty, we’d make up. It was an exhausting cycle mirrored by the constant battles with my father. Soon I realised she spent more time at the palazzo than I did, that she was shopping with Mamma and going out with Bianca, that she was already considered part of the family. Hints were dropped, more than hints, that a proposal would be nice. Her father took me aside and made noises about buying us a house as a wedding gift. Nonna presented me with her engagement ring and told me how proud I made her.’
