Bride By Choice

by Lucy Gordon

  ‘And what do you say?’ he asked, fascinated.

  ‘I say there’s no such thing as a nice Italian boy. They’re all like Poppa.’

  ‘And you don’t like your father?’

  ‘I adore him,’ Helen said truthfully. ‘I also adore my brothers, but I’ll go to the stake before I marry anyone like them. Honestly, they still think they’re back in the old country. And my brothers have never seen the old country.’

  Indignation was bringing a sparkle to her eyes which turned them into pure magic, he thought. She should get mad more often. It suited her. But he knew better than to voice such an old-fashioned compliment. He didn’t want her wine poured over the shirt he’d bought only that afternoon. To draw her out he asked, ‘What part of Italy is the “old country”?’

  ‘Sicily,’ she said in tones of deep exasperation. ‘A land where “men are men and women know their place”. Would you believe, I’ve actually heard my father say that?’

  ‘Easily. If the men of Sicily are used to their privileges they’re not going to give them up without a fight.’

  ‘Well, I know how to fight too,’ she said darkly.

  ‘I’ll bet you do. If I was brave and foolhardy I might say that you show your Sicilian ancestry every time you open your mouth.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I mean that Latin temper of yours. Pure southern Italian.’ Catching her wrathful eye on him, he added hastily, ‘But since I’m a coward I won’t say it.’

  ‘Very wise!’ Then she sighed and said, ‘I’m sorry. I go on about it too much, and I shouldn’t bend your ear. That’s not what you came here for.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ he murmured. ‘I’m beginning to think that’s exactly what I came here for.’

  Next moment a glamorous young woman detached herself from the crowd, flung an arm about his shoulders and planted a theatrical kiss on his mouth.

  ‘Bye, sweetie,’ she intoned breathily.

  Helen recognised Angela Havering, a fellow trainee whom she’d never liked, she now realised. Angela bestowed a second kiss for good measure before floating off on the arm of another man.

  ‘I didn’t know you were so well acquainted with Angela,’ she observed.

  ‘Just met her this evening. Like you, really.’

  ‘But I don’t call you sweetie,’ she pointed out.

  ‘You can if you want to. Have a drink with me when this is over.’

  She laughed and shook her head. ‘I can’t. I must be going soon. I have urgent things to do.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Oooh-’ she mused, ‘really important things, like planning a slow, painful death for Lorenzo Martelli.’

  There was a clatter as his glass hit the table and he struggled not to choke.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, gasping slightly. ‘My glass slipped. Why do you want to kill Lorenzo Martelli?’

  ‘Well, it’s either that or marry him.’

  ‘Is-is it?’ he asked, slightly wild-eyed.

  ‘In a few minutes I have to go and join a family party at my parents’ house, to meet this Martelli character. He’s a Sicilian, over here on a visit. His family and mine were friends years ago, so he can’t be in New York without looking us up.’

  ‘But why have you got to marry him?’

  ‘Because my parents have set their hearts on it.’

  ‘But if you haven’t met him-?’

  ‘It’s crazy, isn’t it? They fixed tonight up while I was in Boston, and all I heard were hints about what a fine match he was and how he was bound to be looking for a good Sicilian bride-’

  ‘Couldn’t he find one of those in Sicily?’

  ‘That’s what I said. The truth is, he’s probably so fat and ugly that he has to scour the world.’

  He nodded wisely. ‘Bound to be. You’re right to make a stand.’

  ‘Anyway, they’re welcome to him. Tonight I’ll sit there good as gold saying “Yes, Poppa”, and “No, Poppa”, like the perfect, dutiful Italian daughter.’

  ‘Dutiful?’ he couldn’t resist saying. ‘You?’

  ‘They want dutiful, so I’ll give them dutiful with knobs on. I may want to kick Lorenzo Martelli’s shins, but I won’t do it. Not tonight, at any rate. If I have to see him a second time, I won’t answer for the consequences.’

  ‘Hey, c’mon, he’s not really to blame.’

  ‘He is to blame,’ Helen said firmly. ‘Simply by existing he darkens the earth, and I’ll be doing everyone a favour by exterminating him.’

  He looked nervous. ‘Have you decided exactly how?’

  ‘Well, I thought of boiling in oil, but it’s probably too good for him.’

  ‘And very unimaginative.’

  ‘You’re right,’ she agreed. ‘Something with scorpions and spiders would be better.’

  He shuddered.

  ‘Aren’t you being a bit hasty? You might fall for him and want to marry him.’

  She gave him a speaking glance. ‘Death would be preferable,’ she said firmly. ‘Mine if necessary, but his for choice.’

  ‘Why have you got your knife into this guy? Is being Italian really so bad?’

  ‘Being an Italian man is like being the devil,’ she said firmly. ‘They’re old-fashioned, domineering, unreliable and faithless. Especially faithless.’

  ‘Why especially faithless? I mean, if you’re going to do them down, do them down on all counts, not just one.’

  ‘It’s the chief one. Do you know what they called Italian husbands? Married bachelors. It’s expected. A faithful husband is a considered a wimp. Creeps!’

  ‘But apart from that, you think they’re OK?’ he asked wryly.

  ‘Look, I know exactly what’s going through Lorenzo Martelli’s head at this minute.’

  ‘You don’t,’ he muttered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing. Tell me what’s going through his head.’

  ‘He’ll know that there are four unmarried daughters-Patrizia, Olivia, and Carlotta-and me. And he’ll be expecting one or all of us to make a play for him.’

  He didn’t answer, but he ran a finger around the inside of his collar.

  ‘The Martellis are rich so he’ll think he’s a god of creation,’ Helen said, warming to her theme, ‘loftily waiting while we parade before him and he takes his pick.’

  ‘The jerk!’ he said with feeling.

  ‘Exactly. Look, I know I go on about it too much, but it’s how I psyche myself up for the evening ahead.’ She looked at her watch and said reluctantly, ‘I’m afraid I have to go now. I’ll call the desk and fix a cab.’

  ‘I’d offer you a lift,’ he said, ‘But as I’ve only just arrived I don’t have any transport. Still, maybe I can escort you to your cab.’

  ‘That would be nice,’ she said cordially. ‘By the way, you haven’t told me your name.’

  ‘Why, that’s right-hey I see someone I must say goodbye to. Then I’ll get my things from my room. See you in a moment.’

  While he was gone Helen sought out Dilys who agreed to collect her luggage and take it home. Then she looked for her boss, uneasily conscious that she’d allowed herself to become distracted from her job tonight. But Mr Dacre was beaming.

  ‘Good work, good work,’ he carolled. ‘Knew I could rely on you.’

  Before she could ask what he meant the young man reappeared, claiming her arm. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said quickly, making a gesture of farewell at Mr Dacre, but not stopping.

  He had acquired an outdoor coat and a large leather bag that bulged, although she couldn’t see what it contained. As they descended to the street heads turned to watch such a handsome couple.

  As they left the building Helen was struck by sudden inspiration. ‘Come with me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come home with me. Come to supper.’

  He looked apprehensive. ‘What are you planning?’

  ‘We just walk in together and-you kn
ow-sort of act close.’

  ‘And then this Martelli character will know you’re not available, huh?’

  ‘That’s right. Oh, please, it won’t cause you any trouble, I promise.’

  He doubted it. With every word he knew he was getting in deeper, storing up trouble for the moment when Helen Angolini discovered the truth. And then there would be the devil to pay. But that would make her magnificent eyes sparkle at him, and what the hell! He was a brave man! Wasn’t he?

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he said. ‘This guy needs taking down a peg and I’m the man to do it.’

  ‘You’re wonderful, you know that?’

  ‘I’m crazy, that’s what I am.’

  The cab was waiting. As they approached it Helen noticed Erik waving to her as if he wanted to speak, so she took a couple of steps towards him.

  ‘Are you off to the lion’s den?’ he asked, giving her his gentle smile.

  ‘’Fraid so.’

  ‘I’d have offered you a lift but I’m not your parents’ favourite person. I’ll see you tomorrow. I want to hear all about your trip. ’Bye, honey.’ He kissed her cheek and went on his way.

  ‘Boyfriend?’ her companion asked as she returned to the taxi.

  ‘Sort of. I took him home to supper once and my parents set out to sabotage any relationship we might have. Momma told him all the most embarrassing stories about my childhood and then warned him about my Latin temper.’ She chuckled. ‘But Erik played her at her own game beautifully. He said his ancestors were Vikings, and if a woman got mad the man just tossed her over his shoulder and strode off to the cave. Erik’s the most gentle soul alive, but Momma didn’t know what to say. Still, I haven’t taken him there again.’

  ‘Just see him on the quiet, huh?’

  ‘We go out now and then.’

  When they were settled in the cab she gave the driver the address on Mulberry Street. ‘That’s in a part of Manhattan called Little Italy, if you can believe it,’ she said, exasperated.

  ‘I believe it.’

  Almost as soon as they started moving Helen had to answer her mobile.

  ‘Yes, Mamma, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in half an hour. I’m looking forward to meeting him. No really, I’m just thrilled that he’s honouring us with his presence tonight.’ She hung up with a sigh, and found her companion grinning at her.

  ‘You’re a very accomplished liar,’ he said.

  ‘It’s simpler to say what Mamma wants to hear,’ she sighed. ‘Anything else she just blanks out.’

  It was only a few short miles from Park Avenue to Little Italy, but the atmosphere changed swiftly from glamour and luxury to teeming life. Despite her antagonism to her background Helen could never resist a twinge of pleasure as the familiar streets appeared. This was home, whatever else she might say.

  But as they glided past the butcher’s shop that had been the family business as long as she could remember she saw, with a faint inward groan, that every window in the apartment above was filled with faces. They went up for three floors. When you were the eldest unmarried daughter of an Italian family, you lived your life in a spotlight.

  As they got out of the cab Helen shivered for the wind was like a knife and there was snow in the air.

  Her companion paid off the driver and turned to view the fascinated spectators regarding him from above. A surge of madness swept over him. He was going to be punished for what he was about to do, but it would be worth it.

  ‘Look,’ he said, taking Helen’s arm, ‘they’re all watching us. Let’s give them something to watch.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Like this,’ he said, drawing her close and leaning down so that his mouth was almost touching hers.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she whispered, torn between indignation at his nerve and excitement at the way his breath fluttered against her lips.

  ‘I’m giving you the chance to stand up for yourself,’ he murmured. ‘Right here, where everyone can see you.’

  ‘You make it sound so easy.’

  ‘It is easy. Either you’re a modern, liberated woman, or you’re a dutiful daughter who’ll let herself be marched into marriage with a fat old man.’

  With every word his lips flickered lightly against hers, making it hard to think clearly. He was right-maybe. It was hard to tell when little tremors of excitement were scurrying through her.

  ‘I don’t normally kiss men I’ve only just met,’ she protested.

  ‘Well, they don’t know we’ve only just met.’

  ‘But I don’t even know your na-’

  The gentle pressure of his lips cut off the last word, and she felt his arms tighten about her just a little, not enough to be threatening, just enough to say he meant business. He was laughing too, inviting her to share the joke even while he kissed her with lips she instinctively sensed had kissed a thousand times before.

  Those lips knew far too much, she thought. They were experts in teasing a woman until her head was in a whirl. And they brought back the visions that had assailed her when she first saw him, visions of abundance, riches and sunshine. The wind was as cold as ever, but now she was filled with warmth, melting her, overwhelming her.

  ‘It would look more convincing if you kissed me back,’ he murmured. ‘Put your arms around my neck.’

  Her mind told him to stop his nonsense, but her hands were already sliding up until she could touch his hair, wind her fingers in it, relish the soft, springiness against her palm. She was pulling him closer because she wanted more of him, longed for what only the firm warmth of his mouth could give her. And when she found herself kissing him fervently back it was useless to pretend that she was only trying to ‘make it convincing’. She was doing this because she wanted to.

  She flattened her hands against his chest. ‘I think we’ve done enough,’ she said in a shaking voice.

  ‘We haven’t even started,’ he whispered, and even then she noticed that his voice too was shaking. Looking up she saw his eyes in the near darkness, and thought there was a look of astonishment.

  ‘Let me go,’ she said urgently. She was suddenly full of alarm. She had to be free of him before it was too late. Trying to strike a lighter note she said, ‘If Lorenzo Martelli saw that he might take a stiletto to you.’

  ‘Let him come. I’m brave enough for anything tonight.’

  There was the sound of doors, voices raised in excitement. Suddenly he grasped Helen’s hand. ‘You will take my side in the row, won’t you?’ he begged.

  ‘There may not be a row.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said in a voice that was hollow with approaching doom. ‘There’s going to be a row.’

  She stared at him, puzzled. But before she could ask, her mother was on them, and incredibly she was laughing, hugging her eldest daughter to her and muttering, ‘What a clever girl you are!’

  ‘Mamma, I have someone with me. Didn’t you see what we were-?’

  ‘Oh course I saw. We all did. When Poppa told me who he was we got out the best champagne.’

  ‘Poppa knows him?’

  ‘He collected him from the airport two days ago. There now! Didn’t we choose a splendid husband for you?’

  She was suddenly dizzy. There was a fog about her head, but not thick enough to shield her from the incredible, the monstrous, the outrageous truth. There was Poppa pumping the young man by the hand, bellowing, ‘Lorenzo!’ There were her sisters, surrounding him excitedly, urging him inside.

  And there was Lorenzo Martelli, letting himself be hauled away, meeting Helen’s stormy eyes from the safety of a distance, and giving her a shrug in which guilt, helplessness and mischief were equally mixed, before turning tail and seeking refuge in the safety of the house.

  CHAPTER TWO

  M AMMA was almost bouncing up and down in her excitement, kissing her daughter again and again.

  ‘Isn’t that wonderful?’ she enthused. ‘Fancy the two of you liking each other at once! Just wait until your Aunt Lucia in Marylan
d hears about this.’

  Helen blanched at the thought of this story spreading all over Maryland. How long before it got to California? ‘Mamma, don’t tell Aunt Lucia anything just now.’

  ‘You’re right. Wait until you’ve got his ring on your finger.’

  ‘Mamma-’

  ‘OK, OK. But you gotta tell me how you met him.’

  ‘He was at the hotel reception tonight.’

  ‘Of course. He wants to sell them his vegetables. Oh, it’ll be a marriage made in heaven.’

  ‘It isn’t a marriage made anywhere,’ Helen said crossly. ‘I’m not marrying him.’

  Signora Angolini screamed. ‘What you mean? What kind of a girl kisses a man in front of the whole street and then says she won’t marry him?’

  ‘It’s not in front of the-’ A prickle on her spine caused her to look up the high buildings. Row upon row they rose, and wherever she looked the windows were packed with smiling faces.

  ‘I think we’d better get indoors,’ she said faintly. One ghastly fact was becoming clearer by the moment. There was no way she could tell her family the truth. If kissing her ‘fiancé’ in the street was bad, kissing a man whose identity she hadn’t known was a hundred times worse. The Angolini family would never recover from the shame.

  Their home was an apartment over the butcher’s shop that was Nicolo Angolini’s pride and joy. Although large, it was always slightly cramped by two parents and three daughters. Tonight it was packed to the seams with the three sons, their wives and children. By the time Helen and Mamma had climbed the stairs the introductions had been made, and Lorenzo was the centre of a smiling crowd.

  Now Helen discovered the purpose of the leather bag. Lorenzo had come bearing gifts, wine and delicacies from Sicily that made Mamma tearful as she recalled the homeland that she had last seen as a girl. Helen was so touched by her mother’s happiness that she almost forgave Lorenzo. Almost.

  Her sisters were in ecstasies.

  ‘He’s really handsome,’ Patrizia whispered, seconded by Olivia and Carlotta. ‘Oh, Elena, you’re so lucky.’

  ‘My name is Helen, and one more word out of any of you will be your last,’ she muttered.

  ‘But I want to be a bridesmaid,’ wailed Carlotta, who was fifteen.