Page 8 of Marriage Made In Hate

B IANCA HEARD THE words but could not believe she had. They had come out of nowhere, and brought a shock so great it had frozen her solid. All she could do was stare at her uncle. Completely silenced.

Then she heard another voice speak. Luca’s.

‘Matteo—’

Dimly, Bianca could hear the difficulty with which he was speaking, and as he continued, not faltering but laboured, her eyes went to him. He, too, had shock written hard across his face. Every feature stark.

‘That is an…unexpected suggestion.’

She saw him take a breath, as if air was urgently needed, then heard him forcing himself on. Forcing his voice into a lighter pitch. And as she heard his words, she understood why.

‘Marriage is a big step,’ he said.

She heard an injection of what she perceived to be twisted humour in his tone, and she understood why, and what he was doing.

‘Perhaps—’

But Matteo’s voice cut across his. ‘It’s the only way,’ he said. ‘Marriage!’

Bianca heard the urgency in her uncle’s voice, the fear. Impulsively, she spoke, pressing the thin fingers of his hand still holding hers.

‘Zio Matteo…’ She, too, tried to make her voice light, yet warm and sympathetic as well. ‘This is…well…quite a surprise—’

She found herself glancing across the table at Luca. His expression was still frozen, and he was not looking at her but at Matteo. A mask had come down over his face—she could see it.

‘You must give us time…’ she went on, addressing Matteo, taking a breath herself, knowing she needed to. ‘You must give us time to…’

Her uncle’s eyes filled with anguish. ‘There is no time! Oh, my dear child, how else can I make sure you are safe when I am gone? I must know… know …that Luca will take my place and keep you safe.’

Luca’s voice came again, and it sounded as if he’d found something to attach himself to. ‘Matteo, if you want me to be a trustee for Bianca, then of course—’

Had she heard something in his voice as he said her name? Something that had nothing to do with the excruciating absurdity of the moment? It didn’t matter whether she had or not, because her uncle was cutting across him again. This time his free hand slashed angrily.

‘ No! It is not enough, Luca! Only marriage will keep her truly safe—permanently safe!’

His eyes flashed from Luca, to Bianca, and back again, and Bianca felt her hand squeezed tightly, almost to the point of making her flinch with the pressure.

‘Why do you object? Why do you make difficulties?’ asked Matteo. ‘It is so clear—so obvious—the only solution! The ideal solution! Both of you are so dear to me! And marriage will make you dear to each other!’

The anguish, the urgency and the desperation in his voice was not lost to her—how could it be?

And she saw his features contort. But even though she saw it, she could not feel it.

Instead, a hollowness was filling her. There was a gaping gash inside her, slashed open by knives that had never lost their sharpness, sheathed though she had tried to keep them down the years.

She heard Luca speaking yet again, and now his voice was not faux light, faux humorous, but soothing, emollient. Placatory.

‘Matteo—you have sprung this on us. Be reasonable and let us have time to…to assimilate what you have said. It is a lot to take in…’

She could see that Matteo was going to speak again, his face working painfully. But Luca was holding up a hand. Not admonishingly, or warningly, but sympathetically.

‘I have heard what you have said, but Bianca and I—’

Again, she heard the gritted reticence with which he said her name, linking it to himself, and she knew why. Because it made those knives slashing out that hollow gash inside her slash yet again.

‘We need to…talk it through.’ And now the deliberate lightness was back in Luca’s voice. ‘Surely you can grant us that?’

He took another breath, shorter this time, and Bianca saw him reach for his glass of wine.

His eyes, though, were watching Matteo, and hers went to him as well.

He was not looking well at all. His colour was high, the agitation he had expressed was visible, and she could see the pulse at his thin neck throb.

With some difficulty she slipped her hand from his clasping grip, but did not remove it. Instead, she placed it—comfortingly, she hoped—on top of his where it lay on the polished mahogany surface of the table.

‘Dear Uncle,’ she said, making her voice warm and affectionate, ignoring the rapid beating of her heart, the gash inside her. ‘Luca is right.’

It cost her to say his name, let alone to say he was right, but she knew it was necessary, at this appalling moment, to do so.

‘And what we need to do now is have our dinner. I know Giuseppe will have arranged something wonderful for this special occasion, and it would be ungracious of us to spoil it! So, let us finish this delicious primo— you see how adept I am becoming to the Italian way of dining?—and then Giuseppe can show us the next culinary masterpiece that has been prepared for us.’

It was her turn now to infuse deliberate lightness into her voice, warming it with a smile. She gave her uncle’s hand another gentle pat, knowing she was trying to humour him, trying to find a way, however clumsy and obvious, to extricate herself from this hideous situation.

For a moment Matteo’s expression remained agitated, his face still working.

Then, abruptly, he seemed to subside, as if the last of his energy had left him…

been exhausted. The unnatural high colour faded from his thin cheeks and Bianca felt relief washing through her.

She found her free hand reaching for her wine glass, and realised that while she’d been speaking Luca had taken a draught from his own.

She knew exactly why, for she now did just the same.

Slowly, she felt her heart rate ease and the knives stop slashing inside her.

They had no place. Not here, not now—not ever.

Replacing her wine glass, she picked up her fork again, taking the last few mouthfuls of the delicious saffron-bathed scallops, making a murmur of appreciation.

She saw Luca resume eating as well, and to her even greater relief saw her uncle, jerkily but resignedly, pick up his own fork.

Though he still looked gaunt and drawn and ill, his colour was less alarming, his breathing steadier.

His agitation had not done him any good.

Nor me either…

The understatement bit at her, but she crushed it down. She could not afford to yield to her own reaction—not now, not yet—for she had to think of her uncle, not herself.

And Luca?

Almost— almost— a savage laugh broke from her, but she silenced it. At least for now.

Her gaze slid across the table to his face. The expressionless mask was still in place, but the lines scored around his mouth told her what she already knew.

Bitterly.

* * *

How he got through the rest of the meal Luca hardly knew. Knew only that it was endless, and that all it achieved was to tighten the knot of anger inside him that was demanding to be let loose.

But not yet.

Now he required every last gram of self-control to get through the interminable meal, to make painstakingly courteous conversation with his godfather who, thankfully, seemed to have calmed down after the dangerous agitation he had displayed as he’d dropped his ludicrous bombshell.

Luca frowned. Just his bombshell? His darkling glance speared across the wide table.

She was sitting there, cool as milk, her words smooth as butter, talking to Matteo calmly about whatever it was their conversation concerned.

Luca could barely pay conscious attention to it.

She was saying something about the history of the house, of this part of Italy, and Matteo was more animated now, engaging with the subject, holding forth.

Luca noted that he was eating—not heartily, but steadily. Drinking too.

Giuseppe and the manservant came in to clear away the plates, bestow upon them the secondo —a herb and truffle-filled porchetta—and pour a rich Barolo red wine.

No more mention was made of Matteo’s ludicrous, outrageous proposition—a proposition that had Bianca’s fingerprints all over it.

Cold anger bit into Luca. Because of course it was her idea—it was totally, screamingly obvious. Six years ago she had wanted to keep him in her life, keep herself in his. Did she really think she could achieve that now?

He would have laughed—except that only anger filled him. Furious and savage.

* * *

Bianca kissed her uncle gently on his sunken cheek, bidding him goodnight. Giuseppe was hovering, and out in the hall Bianca could see her uncle’s nurse waiting as well.

‘Buone notte…’ She smiled, stepping back. ‘I dare not detain you any longer, or Giuseppe will take me to task.’

‘Yes, yes…’ her uncle said testily.

Bianca knew that it was exhaustion that had made him so.

He had given out so much during the evening, and his meagre energy levels were completely drained. He did not look well, his colour fluctuating.

Luca stepped forward, and instinctively Bianca eased away further.

Luca stretched out his hand to his godfather. ‘I, too, will bid you goodnight, Matteo. I wish you a good rest, and promise we will regroup in the morning—but not too early! That wine Giuseppe served was strong!’

He shook his godfather’s hand briefly, then crossed to the door, opening it more widely. All but ushering his godfather out into the hall.

‘Goodnight, my boy,’ Matteo said, then paused on the threshold, turning back to Luca. His expression changed. Became anxious again…agitated. ‘And you will—?’

Luca did not let him finish. ‘Yes,’ he said firmly.