Page 30 of Marriage Made In Hate

B IANCA STOOD POISED at the top of the sweeping flight of stairs in Luca’s palazzo , ready to descend .

Memory was vivid in her head of how she had stepped down the long staircase at her uncle’s villa on the night of the party he had organised to celebrate what he had so fondly assumed was the celebration of his beloved niece’s engagement to his equally beloved godson.

Then, she had been wearing an evening gown, chosen by her uncle, which had dismayed her by looking far too much like a wedding gown—an item of clothing she would never wear for Luca…

Or so she had thought.

As she stood now, at the top of the staircase, a wash of wonder and of radiant happiness went through her.

For today was her wedding day.

Her wedding to Luca.

The man she loved so much.

And there, waiting at the foot of the stairs, was another man she loved too.

Matteo. Looking so well—for his pioneering treatment had worked, and he was now permitted to mingle once more, his cancer if not quite in remission, then certainly more reduced than anyone could have hoped.

For now, at least. Oh, he still had to be careful, she knew.

His strength was limited, and his life was still limited.

But for now he had the wonderful gift not only of the present, but of a future that would surely encompass seeing her and Luca well established in their marriage.

And perhaps, too even seeing the birth of their first child. She felt hope quiver within her. She and Luca had determined that conception would be a first priority for them after their wedding.

The wedding had been organised the moment she had returned with Luca to Italy.

The old proverb came into her head: Marry in haste, repent at leisure.

But she dismissed it summarily. She and Luca had already done their repenting—six long years of it—and both regretted that their youthful affair had ended as it had.

And they were marrying in haste only for Matteo’s sake, not wanting to keep him waiting a moment longer than was necessary.

It was taking place here, at the palazzo , with the ceremony in the D’Alabruschi family chapel.

The guests were the same as those who had come to the engagement party, plus Giuseppe and all the staff from the Villa Fiarante—she would not dream of being married without those stalwarts.

And Nurse Paolo was coming too, even if he was also here to keep an eye on Matteo.

Bianca had invited Andrew and his wife, and several of her colleagues, who had all flown out for the occasion.

She had arranged with Andrew that she would continue to work part-time, and remotely, as a researcher here in Italy—a compromise that would keep her career open for now.

Perhaps one day, she hoped, when her Italian was sufficiently fluent, she might be able to work for an Italy-based environmental consultancy and forge links with Andrew’s?

But that was all for later. For now, she was focussing on her wedding.

As well as her colleagues, she had invited her aunt too—but had not been surprised to receive no answer.

It was a sadness to her, for her aunt was all that remained of her mother’s family, but it was something that she accepted.

Just as her aunt had accepted, after all, the gift of a little bungalow in the south coast seaside town where she was now living.

It had been paid for by Luca, though. Not from the money Matteo had said was Tomaso’s and therefore his daughter’s.

Bianca’s expression shadowed for a moment. She knew that she must tell Matteo what her aunt had so shockingly disclosed about her paternity, but she and Luca had agreed not to do so until they were married. After all, their marriage would take place whoever’s daughter she was.

Another wash of wonder and of happiness went through her. To know, with absolute and total certainty, that Luca loved her, and could not care less what her background was, or who she was, was a reassurance beyond measure to her. He cared only that she was the woman he loved, and always would.

Yet it was a grief to her, all the same, to know that Matteo was not her uncle—that she was not his brother’s daughter.

Discovering her existence, as he had thought he had, had brought comfort to him at a time when there had been little to comfort him, and she grieved in advance that she would have to take that from him.

For all that, though, she hoped that it would not sever their relationship.

Because she knew, with a lift of her heart, that she would always feel for Matteo what she had come to feel for him, even without any link of blood between them.

And after all, she consoled herself, she would still be the wife of his beloved godson—dear to him, surely, for that reason alone.

She took a breath, filled with resolve. Dimly, she could hear the faint strains of organ music echoing along the marble floors from the chapel at the far end of the palazzo. It was time to go down.

Gathering her full skirts, her vision slightly blurred by the veil over her face, she started her careful descent.

As she gained the final step Matteo stepped forward, arm outstretched.

She slipped her hand from her satin skirts, placed it on his sleeve.

She turned towards him. Smiled through the lace veiling.

‘Oh, my dearest, dearest treasure…’ Matteo’s voice was warm and full, his eyes alight. ‘How beautiful you look!’

He pressed her hand to his sleeve and she felt her ring finger heavy not with the ring Luca had bought for her that day in Pavenza, but with the huge, antique heirloom ring—the betrothal ring every D’Alabruschi bride wore on her wedding day.

Its weight was considerable, and Bianca would indeed revert to the smaller version for everyday wear, returning this one to the family vault after the wedding.

But she had asked Luca to take her back to the little jeweller’s in Pavenza, wearing the heirloom ring, to show it off.

The jeweller had been delighted to see it again, and had examined it closely, exclaiming at the workmanship, the perfection of the stones and the setting, thanking her and Luca for the opportunity to do so.

She had been glad to do it—and she was glad now to let her eyes fill with all the warmth that was in Matteo’s.

‘And how well you look!’ she said.

‘How could I be otherwise on this happy, happy day? I am fulfilling my dreams!’

‘And fulfilling mine, too.’ She smiled.

‘And Luca’s,’ Matteo said. ‘Never have I seen a man more smitten!’ He took a breath, patted her hand once more. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘I shall take you to him. Bestow you upon him. Come.’

He started forward and Bianca went with him down the long, marbled passageway, pausing a moment at the far end, where two ushers threw open the double doors to the chapel.

As they did so the music swelled, the congregation rose to its feet and there at the far end, by the altar rail, Bianca beheld the figure of the man she was to unite her life with, unite her heart with.

The man she loved.

Luca—always and only Luca.

He turned at her entrance, looking so handsome in his light grey morning dress that she thought she must die from beholding him as she walked towards him. His eyes went to hers, his face transfixed.

At his side, his best man, Pietro, murmured something to him.

With a jolt, Luca stepped forward, ready to take her hand when she reached him, still looking dazed, transfixed.

Skirts rustling, veil trailing behind her, she came to him.

Matteo lifted her hand from his sleeve, placed it in Luca’s waiting clasp. Then stood aside.

Luca’s fingers were warm around hers, his gaze warmer. He stepped with her up to the altar rail, where the priest was raising his hands. The organ music died away and the congregation sat.

The priest waited a moment, holding Luca and Bianca’s eyes. Then he lifted his gaze to the congregation beyond in the little chapel. His sonorous words were addressed to them all.

‘Dearly beloved…’

And the wedding began.

* * *

The guests had departed. Evening darkened the sky.

It was autumnal, but not cold. Luca took Bianca’s hand.

They would spend their wedding night here at his palazzo , but tomorrow they would set off on their honeymoon.

It would not be a long honeymoon, for neither of them wanted to leave Matteo for long, and it would be in Italy.

A touring honeymoon, with Luca driving them wherever the fancy took them.

The coast, the hills, the mountains and the lakes, the historic cities, the woods and forests, the peaceful countryside… Then they would return to the palazzo.

They would make their home here, he and his beloved Bianca, his bride, his wife, his peerless and most beautiful viscontessa.

A home for themselves and for Matteo too—for it had been agreed that he should move here from the Villa Fiarante to keep company with them.

They would split their time between the palazzo and the villa, especially when Luca was required in Rome, or for brief and occasional foreign trips abroad.

He had already arranged to work largely from home.

And as soon as Nature proved co-operative he and Bianca would start a family. New life to encourage Matteo…to give him yet another reason to retain his own life for as long as it was possible. He was determined upon it, Luca knew, and had been open in his avowal that he would see his godson’s son.

‘It might be a daughter first,’ Luca had warned him smilingly.

‘Another Bianca,’ Matteo had approved.

And Luca would be just as approving—son, daughter, whatever they were blessed with, it would be a joy and a privilege.

Now, taking Bianca’s hand, he raised it to his lips. ‘Have you enjoyed our wedding day?’ he asked her.