Page 6 of Seduced by Her Fake Husband (The Martinelli Wedding #2)
She’d spotted him in Florence once, in her art school days.
She’d been enjoying an al fresco lunch with her boyfriend in Piazza della Signoria when he’d suddenly appeared from nowhere, strolling in her direction with his phone glued to his ear and shades on his face.
Her heart had never gone from a gentle trot to a full-blown canter at such speed before.
The closer he’d got to her, the harder her heart had beaten and the stronger the sickness that had set off in her belly.
If it had been his brother she would have hurried over to say hello, but it had been Gennaro, the man who’d frightened and unsettled her since she was old enough to think.
He’d walked past, getting to within three feet of her, without noticing her.
She’d followed him with her eyes until he’d been out of sight and then found herself unable to eat another bite.
She’d carried the sickness in her belly for days.
For the rest of her time at art school, she’d been incapable of walking anywhere in the Renaissance city without her eyes searching for him, but she’d never seen him again.
Not until he’d turned up at her parents’ home with his proposal.
By the time she’d dressed and thrown a black coffee down her throat, it was closer to lunch than breakfast, but her stomach was as tight as her chest and in no need of food.
She must have sent him a hundred messages over the course of their marriage – it was a habit they’d formed, probably because it saved either of them having to talk to the other – but this was the first she’d written with trembling fingers.
Where are you? Do you want me to join you?
His reply came promptly.
Join your family. I’m busy.
“Fuck you,” she muttered under her breath, but his terse response was exactly what she needed to galvanise her.
Only six more sleeps and she would never have to deal with the arsehole and her confusing feelings for him again. Thank God their last sleep would be in separate beds.
Outside, the sky was blue and the sun warm. Guests were sunbathing around the pool, and she smiled and waved and hailed greetings as she passed them, even the disgusting Esposito patriarch and two of his disgusting sons.
She spotted Gennaro at a table in the bar area on the other side of the pool, deep in conversation with his brother.
With her shades on, she could pretend she hadn’t noticed him, and she carried on her way into the main section of the hotel where her sister and parents had been roomed without missing a step.
It was in the lobby that she saw Dante bounding down the circular staircase. “Darling!” he hailed when he spotted her, and pulled her into an embrace. “Sorry, I can’t stay – I thought my business emergency had been dealt with, but…” He shook his head ruefully.
“You’re leaving again?”
“I will be back in time for the wedding.”
“That long?” she said, not hiding her disappointment.
Luisa had a secretly held dream that Dante would fall in love with Marisa, had been planning to play matchmaker that week.
Yes, the man was a playboy, but he had a good heart and most playboys settled down eventually.
Just because Luisa was seemingly destined to live her life a born-again virgin didn’t mean Marisa had to, and she feared that if her sister didn’t come out of her shell soon, she’d never find her way out of it.
Luisa had at least had one lover, even if he had been boring and had done nothing for her in the bedroom. Marisa hadn’t even had that .
“I’m afraid so. If you’re looking for your family, I just saw your parents go into the bistro.”
“Thank you.”
He kissed her cheeks and then bounded out of the hotel without looking back.
The bistro was one of The Bianchi’s smaller restaurants, and she found her parents on its outdoor terrace.
“Where’s Marisa?” she asked after she’d kissed and embraced them both. Her father, she was relieved to see, was reasonably steady when he rose to his feet.
“Taking a walk,” her mother said.
“She wants to explore the church,” her father added in the slow, slurring way his disease had reduced his once booming voice to.
“Is she okay?” At one point in their teenage years, Marisa had wanted to be a nun. While her brief religious fervour had certainly abated, Luisa’s sister still found comfort in the church, especially in times of trouble.
Her mother patted her hand. “She’s fine. How about you? You look tired.”
Luisa shrugged ruefully. As much as she’d put a bright, positive spin to marrying Gennaro in the beginning so as not to distress them, her parents knew she was counting the days until her marriage could end. They were counting them, too. “So do you.”
Her mother had lost weight, and not even the glamour of her makeup could fully disguise the bruising of little sleep beneath her eyes.
She received a rueful shrug in response. They’d all known this week wouldn’t be easy for any of them. “Have you eaten?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“But you must eat, cocca .”
She smiled at the endearment her mother had addressed her with all the years of her life.
“I’ll eat at lunch with Gennaro.” If he summoned her, that was.
“Is Marisa doing the boat trip later?” Her parents wouldn’t be.
Her father’s disease was a ready-made excuse to get out of any activity they’d rather drink methylated spirits than attend.
“She said she would.”
Luisa’s phone buzzed. She read the message and grimaced. “I’ve been summoned.”
“This time next week, you’ll be free of him,” her mother said softly.
She tried to inject cheer into her voice. “Six more sleeps.”
Kissing them goodbye, she fixed her shades to her face and walked back the way she’d come.
Her husband and his brother were still at the same pool bar table and had been joined by Niccolo’s fiancée.
Luisa embraced Niccolo and Siena first, then held her breath and pressed her cheek to Gennaro’s, their typical public greeting.
Having stood to greet her, he courteously pulled out a chair for her.
She sank into it with a practised, gracious, “Thank you.”
Luisa had never forgotten why she’d agreed to her marriage and, as such, always played her part even when she wanted to stab him.
Always, though, she’d been aware of the tempestuously cold undercurrent running between them, an undercurrent she doubted anyone else picked up on.
Gennaro was generally aloof and indifferent to everyone so his minor displays of affection to her, given only when he deemed it strictly necessary, were completely in line with his character.
Niccolo was a completely different character, and while she hardly knew Siena, she knew enough to feel the undercurrent running between them, a coldness that would be entirely understandable if they’d spent a few years locked in a room with Gennaro but not between a couple only days away from marrying.
Wanting to ease the tension so thick you’d need a chainsaw to cut through it, she smiled brightly. “Poor Dante has had to leave again and probably won’t be back until the wedding.”
She knew immediately that it was the wrong thing to say. Both Martinelli brothers seemed to freeze, and then Gennaro’s black, icy stare lasered onto hers and, his tone sharp, said, “Who did you hear that from?”
Luisa didn’t let her smile drop or doubt enter her voice.
“From Dante himself – I bumped into him in the lobby as he was leaving. What awful timing to have such a major business emergency to deal with,” she embellished with no real idea why she was embellishing other than some instinct was telling her to.
“The poor thing looked devastated, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.” He hadn’t.
Dante had had a spring in his step. “Still, I’m sure he’ll get it all sorted, and the main thing is he’ll be back in time for the wedding. ”
The ice in Gennaro’s stare thawed a tiny bit, and he bowed his head. “Indeed.”
“Did he say what the emergency was?” Siena asked.
Luisa shook her head. “I didn’t like to ask – it’s clearly a bad one.
Let’s hope it isn’t something fatal to his business.
” Then she gave another bright smile. “Let that not ruin everyone’s fun.
I’m very much looking forward to the afternoon’s excursion.
Have any of you been to Nerano before?” Nerano was the seaside village they would be sailing to.
“I have,” Siena said, and proceeded to discuss the village’s charms, all thoughts and talk about Dante forgotten. But not forgotten by Luisa. She sensed danger, and had to clench her hands into fists to stop them rubbing arms that suddenly felt cold.