Page 5 of Marriage Made In Hate

L UCA WALKED FORWARD . He had no choice. His legs were as stiff as wood, but he forced them forward. His mind was in meltdown, blanking everything.

From somewhere infinitely far away he heard Matteo speak.

‘Luca, my boy! Welcome, welcome! You have come, and I rejoice. Rejoice because now I have the two people dearest to me in the world here with me! I am longing for you to meet.’

His godfather turned his head to the woman beside him. His voice was doting.

‘My dear, here he is! My godson, Luca. Luca, come and make the acquaintance of my very dearest treasure, Bianca.’

Though he was still encased in ice, Luca moved to Matteo, said his name in greeting. And then—because he must, because he had no choice but to do so—he turned to the woman at Matteo’s side.

‘Bianca.’

It had been six years since he had said her name out loud. He has last said it when he was dismissing her from his life. Telling her that their time together had finished, their affair was done with.

‘ It’s over, Bianca. Over! Accept it.’

And now her name came from his throat again.

She gave the very slightest inclination of her head—no other movement. He might have given a savage laugh had he not been frozen in shock—she was as frozen as he was.

His eyes locked to hers. He had recognised her in an instant, but in truth he should never have known who she was. She could not have looked more different from the way she’d looked all those years ago in London.

He had taken in her entire appearance in the single moment it had taken for him to recognise her.

Her elegantly styled knee-length dress was indigo, with a gracefully draped neckline.

Its three-quarter sleeves showed off a pearl bracelet on each slender wrist, bracelets that matched the pearl choker around her neck and the single drop pearl earrings at her lobes, revealed by the low, full chignon into which her Titian hair had been drawn at the nape of her neck, and set with pearl combs.

As he took her in, out of nowhere a sudden rage speared him. He recognised that pearl set—it had been Matteo’s wife’s. Luca had seen Luisa wear it dozens of times while she was alive.

Now Bianca, a barmaid out of the East End of London, was wearing it…

In the aftermath of the shock that had iced through him, a question seared.

What the hell was Bianca doing here, in his godfather’s house, wearing Luisa’s jewellery?

The answer that came—the only possible answer—raced through him in a silent inner snarl.

There could be only one explanation—horrific and appalling as it was…

A voice sounded nearby, dragging him back. It was Giuseppe, deferentially asking him what aperitivo he might like. Still in shock—more than shock…worse than shock—Luca tersely made his usual request, and then Matteo was speaking again, the warmth in his voice deepening.

‘It is so very, very good to have you here, my dear boy. I have been impatient for this day!’

Luca dragged his eyes back to his godfather, and he made himself make some kind of mechanical reply.

‘Yes, so very impatient!’ Matteo went on, his tired face animated. ‘And here you are at last!’

It was impossible to think of what to say, and Luca could only be grimly grateful that Giuseppe was now hovering at his elbow, his aperitivo on the upheld silver tray. He took it gratefully, wanting the shot of alcohol.

There was something else he wanted as well—badly. He wanted to seize in a vise-like grip the arms of his godfather’s ‘dearest treasure’—the words twisted in his head viciously—and drag her bodily from the room. And then find out what the hell was going on!

But he couldn’t—not right now. All he could do was stand stiffly, raise his martini glass to his lips and feel the alcohol hit his system as he swallowed.

Matteo was talking again, his face less animated now, but with an expression on it that made Luca’s teeth grind. ‘Doting’ was definitely the word for it—and it was directed at his benighted ‘dearest treasure’…

‘It is like a miracle,’ his godfather was saying, his voice fond. ‘Just when my spirits were sinking beyond all hope, thanks to this wretched illness of mine, I have been rewarded beyond measure—and certainly beyond my deserving.’

His eyes lifted to Luca, and with a start Luca saw moisture in them.

‘It is a gift I never hoped for—and yet it has been given to me. To lighten my days before they are taken from me.’

He gave a slightly crooked, poignant smile, his eyes going back to his ‘dearest treasure’.

He extended his hand to her and Luca had to watch her take it and hold it tenderly, while trying to stop his teeth grinding yet more at the nauseating sight.

It filled him with a black, cold fury he knew he had, for the moment, to conceal.

Until he could get her to himself…wreak his fury on her…

Matteo was still speaking, that mawkish note in his voice. Luca steeled himself and listened to what his obviously besotted godfather trotted out next.

‘My dearest treasure—come to lighten this dark time of my life! With whom I can spend these last months more happily than I dared to believe or hope! Upon whom I can lavish the wealth I must leave behind…’

Nausea rose in him, and bitter, angry bile. Was this what Matteo had meant when he’d said he wanted to make the most of the time that was left to him? Taking up with a woman young enough to be his daughter? Lavishing his dead wife’s jewels on her?

Because what other possible explanation could there be for Bianca’s presence here? As sordid as it was, what else could it be?

He felt the nausea of his revulsion mix with the deadly anger of his outrage—and mix with something more, too, that he refused to acknowledge, let alone allow. All he could allow was a vicious channelling of his reaction to seeing what he was seeing, and coming up with an explanation for it.

And why should it be Bianca ensconced here?

Bianca! How had she achieved it? How had she spent the last six years, and then ended up battening on to Matteo, getting him to spend his money on her, dress her in designer clothes, shower his dead wife’s jewellery on her?

He did not know how—but he did know the ‘why’ of it. Bitterly and savagely.

Because I gave her a taste for it. Showed her how she could acquire it.

Nausea bit again. Not just at the sight of Matteo’s doting expression and his dead wife’s jewellery adorning the woman holding his hand, but at something more. Something that repulsed him. To think Bianca had stooped to become what she now so obviously was…

Something deeper still pounded at him, feeding his savage fury.

Bianca was holding another man’s hand.

He pushed it from him. It was he who had severed their connection and ended their time together—he who had walked away from her. So why should he care whose hand she held now so long as it wasn’t his dying godfather’s? That was the only cause of his reaction to finding her here.

Yet as his eyes locked to hers he felt not just revulsion at the reason why she was here, but also something he could not stop himself reacting to. She was not looking at him. Her gaze was fixed on Matteo, her face in profile to Luca.

He felt words fill his head, force themselves upon him. Force admission.

She’s even more stunning, more fantastically beautiful, than I remember her…

It was dragged from him unwillingly, unwanted. Dragged into his consciousness though he wished the words to perdition. Yet how could he deny it? He could feel a war within himself. Rage and contempt. And something far more basic. Far more dangerous.

Whatever she has become—however sordid—how can I deny the beauty she possesses?

Beauty that once, in a very different style—flamboyant and flaunting—had beguiled him. All those years ago. Beauty that had now matured, become styled with an elegance and grace that he had never previously associated her with.

It caught at him even more powerfully. Infusing the shock still riveting him, the outrage still possessing him, the fury still blackening his eyes, with something quite different…

His godfather was speaking again, and Luca forced himself to listen, to drag his eyes, his consciousness, from where they rested on Bianca’s perfect sculpted profile. The lamplight caught the opalescence of the pearls at her ears, the combs in her glorious hair, the graceful line of her throat…

Dimly, his godfather’s words penetrated.

‘My boy, forgive me… You must excuse me. I must be absent for a few moments. My dratted nurse is wanting to administer my evening medications, take my pulse and blood pressure. It must be done, but it will not take too long. But I will not subject you to witnessing it.’

He patted Bianca’s hand, and Luca saw her slip it from Matteo’s.

‘Take Bianca out on to the terrace—take the air awhile. Then, when all my nurse’s ministrations are complete, we shall go in to dine and the evening can begin.’

He smiled, both at Luca and at his ‘dearest treasure’, who was now getting to her feet. Was she doing so reluctantly? Well she might…

Luca’s thoughts were dark. As black as pitch. But Matteo’s suggestion could not have been better timed. Giuseppe was entering the saloni and the young man Paolo, Matteo’s nurse, in his neat white uniform, was following him with a tray of medicines and a blood pressure kit.

Bianca was already stepping towards the French windows that led out on to the terrace. Her spine was as stiff as a poker, and tension radiated from her with every high-heeled step she took.

Grimly, Luca went after her.

His expression, now that Matteo could not see it, was as savage as his thoughts.

* * *

Bianca stalked past Luca on legs that were as heavy as iron, gaining the terrace through the French windows. The cooler night air hit her and she shivered. Surely it was that air, and that alone, that drew such a response from her?

Out on the terrace, she turned. Disbelief was still drowning her.

Matteo’s godson was Luca.