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“I can, and I fucking will.”
I turned then and started back up the stairs, taking two at a time in a hurry to retrieve my things and be gone.
“If you leave, you’ll lose it all.”
I froze at the top as her voice echoed through the foyer.
“You’re right,” she said evenly, glancing to the side to make sure we weren’t to be interrupted by any guests. “Caroline and Ihavebeen working to overturn the entail. It’s absurd that you ever became the heir, when by rights it should have been Henry, and then Frederick, consideringhisfather was the next male heir in line. Rupert wasmyhusband. I knew him better than anyone. And there was no way he would have ever married a kitchen maid, much less in a Buddhist temple. Iwillfind the proof, Xavier. That is a promise.”
I stared at her for a long time. Long enough for her brown-eyed gaze to waver and for her set jaw to tremble. I took one step down, then another, and another until I was back on the landing, staring down at her from my considerable height.
“The next time you address me, you will use my title or Your Grace, as custom demands,” I said in a low voice that shook with suppressed rage. “In the meantime, you will vacate the premises immediately after the wake or else be escorted by every Bobbie in the area. Squatting rightsdon’tapply to the likes of you, you despicable piece of shite.”
Her mouth fell open. “Howdareyou—”
“Now,” I interrupted, waving away her weak admonishments. “I’m going to Italy to get the mother of my children. And I may not be back for a very long time, depending on how badly you’ve fucked things up. So, until then, your behavior will determine your fortunes when I do return. And you do not want to be on the receiving end of my rage, Georgina. You won’t like what comes of it when properly simmered.”
ONE
Francesca
“Ido.”
The pair of words couldn’t be said enough on this trip, apparently. Which made sense. It was a wedding, after all.
But since my brother, Matthew, and his new wife, Nina, had declared their intentions not two hours ago in a fourteenth-century Italian church, they seemed to be using that particular phrase for just about everything.
Would you care for a refreshment,signore?
I do.
Nina, do you want someone to save your bouquet to dry for the future?
Why yes,I do.
Matthew, do you want to dance with your new bride?
Yes, I fuckin’ do.
Every time, the crowd went even more wild. Like right now, when approximately fifty people were laughing like hyenas after Matthew shouted it, profanities and all, across thePiazza Guglielmo Marconi, this time in reply to the bandleader of the jazz quartet who’d asked him if he wanted them to start playing so he and Nina could dance later. Every person at the party cheered as my brother then leaned down and delivered yet another long, drawn-out kiss to his bride.
I should have been happy for them. A perfect little family that had fought for so long to come together this way. Matthew was ecstatic. His wife was aglow. Her daughter, Olivia, was practically a sunbeam.
And I was the rainiest rain cloud there ever was.
A Mary Bennett compared to the rest of her vivacious sisters, antisocial and irritable. My kinship with Elizabeth and her Darcy was long gone.
It was a lovely autumn night. The forty or so of us who had made it to the destination wedding indulged in wine, pasta, hand-pulled mozzarella, and the last of the season’s tomatoes beneath a canopy of strung lights, courtesy of the trattoria hired to cater this lovely affair. The little band kicked off a selection of jazz standards that only added to the overall ambience, especially when some of the locals and other tourists made use of the dance floor hastily erected atop the cobbled square. No one seemed to mind—if anything, the impromptu dancers lent even more romance to what was already a near-elopement.
The sunset gleamed off the Mediterranean waves.
Plates of trofie noodles steamed in front of every carefully set place.
Guests joked and chatted while enjoying the bountiful food and wine.
And I was heartbroken, lonely, and sick as a freaking dog.
“God, justlookat them,” my sister Kate muttered. “Disgusting, aren’t they?”
