by Неизвестный
"Don’t you want to be involved in choosing a new home with me?"
"I don’t have the time. Make a short list of places you like and I’ll check them out later. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding something. Price is no great objective and there’s a glut of high—end houses on the market these days. Oh, and one more thing. I’ve looked at my calendar and although I’ve got a heavy schedule for the next two weeks, I can take a couple of days off after that. So, I suggest we set Saturday the twenty-ninth as the wedding date."
"Anything else?" she asked faintly. He’d accounted for everything except the thing that mattered most: his loving commitment to their union.
"Not at the moment," he said. "Unless something comes up in the meantime, I’ll see you this evening." But something else did come up. The women in the office organized a little get-together in the boardroom to celebrate the engagement. Nothing too elaborate, just a few balloons and streamers, and a case of champagne courtesy of Gavin.
Leila had no inkling until she walked through the door, ostensibly for a hastily called meeting, and found herself confronting a party waiting to happen. Even Carl Newbury was there, his smile knowing.
"It’s not good form to congratulate the bride, I know," he said snidely, "but I think it’s appropriate in this case. You’re a very clever operator, Leila." Her nausea this time, she thought, sidestepping his attempt to engage her in further verbal sparring, had nothing to do with her pregnancy.
Dante showed up shortly after that and if he shared her dismay at finding himself center stage in a romantic farce, he did a much better job of hiding it. He played the lead without a single misstep, slipping his arm around her waist, beaming at the well-wishers and, when Gavin proposed the first toast, kissing her full on the lips with every appearance of ardor and enjoyment.
That he stared emptily into her eyes throughout and his mouth was hard as stone were but two more secrets to which only she was privy. No one else suspected, no one else questioned. She and Dante were, to all intents and purposes, the ideal couple, the bride appropriately shy and blushing and the groom masterful beyond
compare.
"When’s the happy day?" someone asked.
"A bit sooner than we’d originally intended," Dante said, proudly parting her stomach. "Leila’s pregnant and we’re both delighted, aren’t we, sweetheart?"
"Delighted," she echoed faintly, near dying inside with embarrassment.
If playing a role in front of company personnel made her uncomfortable, however, deceiving Dante’s family that evening was pure torture. They were all so delighted for her, so generous in their loving acceptance, so eager to help make her wedding day beautiful and memorable. Not by so much as a glance did anyone hint disap-proval at her condition or question the wisdom of so speedy a marriage. Dante had chosen her and that was enough. They welcomed her into their family without reservation.
She should have been reassured, the burden of her deceit made lighter. They knew Dante so much better than she did, after all, so they’d surely sense if his heart wasn’t at least a little bit engaged. Instead she felt herself sinking into a quicksand of lies which grew more treach-erous by the minute.
"How can we help you?" his sisters asked. "Tell us what we can do to make your wedding day wonderful. And you, too, Mrs. Connors—Lee. It’s the bride’s
mother’s privilege to share this time with her daughter and we don’t want to intrude, but there isn’t much time to arrange everything so, if you need us, we’d love to be involved."
Maeve spoke up then. "And we’d love to take you up on the offer, wouldn’t we, Leila?"
"Oh, please! I need all of you," she told the table at large, but her gaze fastened on Dante.
"She does," he said, the very picture of tender con-cern. "Pregnancy’s taking a toll on her energy and I don’t want her too worn out to enjoy her honeymoon."
"Irene," her mother said, turning to Mrs. Rossi,
"you’ve already orchestrated five successful weddings, so I’ll bow to your experience. What would you sug-gest...?" It was all the encouragement needed. By the time des-sert was served, ideas were flying with typical Rossi ef-ficiency. The mothers had their heads together deciding on the guest list. Stephanie and Christine bickered over the best place to hold a reception. Annie promised to look after the flowers. Julia’s husband, Ben, volunteered to walk the bride down the aisle.
Fuelled by such enthusiasm, the wedding took on a momentum of its own, a juggernaut of an affair plowing relentlessly forward regardless of any obstacles appear-ing in its path. Stop! Leila silently cried out. Everything’s running out of control. It doesn ’t matter where or even if we have a reception. Who cares about the kind of flowers I choose or how many tiers there are to the cake? This isn’t about a wedding day, it’s about the marriage that comes after and mine promises to be empty of anything but mistrust and hurt.
But no one heard her and the little she’d eaten at din-ner threatened to rise up in protest. Mindful of her doc-tor’s orders to avoid stress and very much aware of Dante eyeing her across the table, she sipped at her glass of ice water and willed the nausea to subside.
‘‘We can be a bit overpowering once we sink our teeth into a project," Ellen, the most placid of Dante’s sisters murmured, touching her arm sympathetically. "Are you having second thoughts about letting us get involved‘?"
"Not in the least. I’m truly grateful you’re all so will-ing to lend a hand." She sipped again at the water. "I don’t have the energy to put an afternoon tea party to-gether these days, let alone a wedding?
"Have you thought about what you’re going to wear?"
Given the state of affairs between her and Dante, it occurred to Leila that black might be an appropriate choice but to have said so to one of his sisters would have been to contravene the terms of their contract. Instead, she said, "My waistline’s expanding so rapidly, it’ll have to something loose and fairly simple."
"I’d be happy to go shopping with you, Leila. Perhaps we can make a day of it, if you wouldn’t find it too tiring, and go for lunch in the park."
"That sounds lovely," Leila said, "if you don’t mind giving up a Saturday. I’m still officially on staff at Classic, even if all I’m really doing is making sure ev-erything’s in order for my successor to take over."
"Do you really think I’m going to let you work until your wedding day?" Dante said, plying her with another dose of affianced concern. "Sweetheart, Gavin’s already got a list of applicants lined up for interview and until we make a final choice, we’ll manage without you. I don’t want you overtaxing your strength."
You don’t want me around any more than you can help it, she thought wretchedly. The less you see of me, the better.
She had not thought her unhappiness showed but a few days later while they were taking a break from dress shopping, Ellen surprised her.
"You know, Leila," she said, "my brother can be a bit overbearing at times. It comes, I guess, from his be-ing the man of the house since he was sixteen and also from his success in business."
They were sitting at a quiet corner table in the atrium of The Teahouse in Stanley Park. Earlier, it had rained, a heavy downpour more characteristic of February than late April, with a cold wind blowing in from the west. As a result, the restaurant wasn’t packed with the usual, heavy lunch—hour crowd, even though the storm had passed, leaving clear skies and calm seas behind. Leila watched the freighters swinging idly at anchor in English Bay, not sure how best to respond to Ellen’s remark. "I suppose," she said carefully, "it’s the only way to be if getting ahead is important?
"Dante has always wanted more than just to get ahead." Ellen nibbled daintily at her spinach and straw-berry salad, then dabbed her mouth with her napkin.
"He has to be the best. I remember when he was still in elementary school. He must have been about ten at the time because I was in grade one. Not only was he an A student, he was also taller than most boys his age and it was never enough
that, when it came to sports, he could do better than his classmates.
"No, he had to compete against kids two or more grades ahead of him-and come in first! He had to run faster, play soccer better, hit a ball farther, than any of them. The shelves in his room were full of medals and cups and other awards that he’d won."
"Why are you telling me this, Ellen‘?" Ellen gave her a very level look and said, "Because when I watch him with you, I can’t help but think that he sees you as another trophy he’s determined to win."
"Are you saying you think our marriage is a mis-take?"
"Not at all! You’re exactly the right woman for him. I think what I’m trying to suggest is that, if he seems driven at times or focused on priorities different from yours, don’t be discouraged. He does love you, Leila, I’m certain of that. He hasn’t been my brother for the last thirty-three years for nothing. I know him too well, better, perhaps, than he knows himself."
"Yet you sense flaws in our relationship, and you’re right." Leila blinked and looked out at the freighters again.
"So there are problems? Ellen pushed aside her plate. "Would it help to talk?"
"No." Leila drew a shuddering breath. Dante would never forgive her if she confided in one of his family.
"Thank you, Ellen, but I can’t."
"In that case, I won’t press you. But before we drop the subject, let me say this. I think he is embarrassed and ashamed that you became pregnant before you were married."
Stunned at such a blunt assessment, Leila gasped.
"Because," Ellen continued, reaching across the table to grip her hand, "he blames himself. Everyone else is allowed to screw up occasionally, but not Dante. His role, as he sees it, is to fix mistakes, not make them. To be in charge, especially of his own life. When he found out you were expecting a baby--babies!—he realized there were some things he couldn’t control. He broke his own rules and he can’t forgive himself.”
"He’s never embarrassed," Leila said, remembering the way he’d almost bragged to their colleagues about her condition.
"Of course he is, Leila. He just won’t let it show. But he’ll get over it. All you have to do, if you love him and want to make a life with him, is wait it out. He’ll come around, you’ll see."
"I hope you’re right." She didn’t attempt to hide the tears springing to her eyes.
Ellen patted her hand again. "I am," she said firmly.
"In the meantime, don’t let him take his frustration out on you. Fight for the things you want. He’ll respect you for it."
"The man I met on Poinciana Island might have," Leila said, "but I can’t seem to find him anymore."
"Dare to show him you love him," Ellen said, "and you’ll find he isn’t lost, just hiding. Now eat up. We’ve got a wedding dress to buy. Of those you looked at this morning, which one takes your fancy?"
She took Ellen’s advice, clinging to it in the hectic days that followed. Not that Dante was difficult or unpleasant. On the contrary, when they were together, he was charm itself. The problem was, the only times they were to-gether was in the presence of others. The rest of the time, he was busy.
But, "Busy or not, Dante," she said, finally cornering him outside his office during the lunch break on the Tuesday before the wedding, "we’re going to have to make a decision on where we’re going to live and there’s a house I’d really like you to see."
"This isn’t a good time, darling," he said, no doubt tacking on the "darling" because Meg was at her desk and taking in every word.
Leila had had enough. "Honey," she said, deliber-ately choosing the endearment he frequently tossed at her with such unvarnished sarcasm, "we’re getting mar-ried in four days. When will it be a good time‘?" He sighed and rolled his eyes at Megan. "Henpecked already and not even at the altar, Meg! What’s a guy to do?"
"Go look at the house, of course. Leila’s right. You’ve got to live somewhere?
"Okay, okay." He bathed Leila in a smile that could melt stone. "We’ll go shopping. 'Whens my last ap-pointment, Meg?"
"Four—thirty with Gary Jefferson from ARGO."
"Reschedule it for tomorrow. There." He turned to Leila, hands raised in surrender. "Satisfied?"
"Yes," she said. "I’ll set up an appointment with the Realtor."
"Leave the address of the house with Meg and I’ll meet you there.’ ’ He bent and kissed her, a not-too-brief, not-too—prolonged touch on her mouth. "Now I’ve got to go. Try to get in a nap before then."
"You’re so lucky," Megan breathed, once his office door had shut behind him. "Honestly, Leila, I’ve never seen a man so besotted with a woman as Dante is with you."
Appearances were deceiving, Leila could have said. He’d make plans to fly to the moon rather than spend any time alone with her.
How long did he intend to keep it up?
With only four days to go before she became Mrs. Dante Rossi, it was time, she decided, that she found out.
CHAPTER NINE
DANTE arrived at the house just after four. She was in the dining room when she heard the car draw up and his footsteps ascending the steps to the front porch, and her heart faltered.
The conviction which had bolstered her courage ear-lier evaporated, along with the ludicrous notion that she could achieve through feminine wiles what she’d failed to accomplish through reason.
But it was too late to back out now. She’d set the stage and there was no time to hide the fact. He was inside the house, calling out, "Anyone home?"
"ln here, Dante," she quavered, wishing she’d chosen something less blatantly seductive to wear. The neckline of her new lemon maternity sundress was too revealing, the hem showed too much leg. "First door on your right."
He came to a stop on the threshold. "Where’s the sales agent‘?" he said, looking around suspiciously. "I didn’t see another car outside."
Of course not. When the Realtor had offered to drive them to the house, she’d told him, "We’d like to inspect the place on our own--just take our time and have a really good look around without having to worry about keeping you from your next appointment. Then, if we decide it’s what we’re looking for, we’ll give you a call."
As a ploy to get Dante alone, it had seemed brilliant strategy at the time.
"I’m afraid he couldn’t make it," she said now, faced with no choice but to play out the lie, "so I picked up the keys and came out here in a taxi."
Dante backed away as if he’d just discovered a corpse in the middle of the floor. "Then why the hell didn’t you phone and cancel, Leila, instead of wasting my time? We can’t make an offer or close a deal if he’s not here."
Marshaling her flagging courage, she grabbed his hand and, drawing him farther into the room, scolded,
"Don’t fuss about trivialities, Dante. Come and look at the view, instead. Isn’t it stunning?"
Reluctantly, he allowed her to tow him around the elegant dining table to the long windows looking north-west across the inlet to the mountains. "Very nice,’ he said shortly, "but what’s the point in getting all fired up about a place that’s full of someone else’s furniture?
Unless the present occupants are prepared to move over-night, there’s no way we could take possession before the wedding?
"We can if we want to," she said, slipping her hand in the crook of his elbow and leaning her bare shoulder against his arm in the closest she’d come to real physical intimacy with him in weeks. “The vendors have moved to Australia and these furnishings they left behind are included in the price. The house is empty, Dante. We could move in tomorrow if we wished. Let me show you the other rooms."
"How many are there?"
"Four bedrooms with en suite baths upstairs, a den and family room on this floor as well as the main re-ception rooms and kitchen, and a games room down-stairs. Oh, and a conservatory off the breakfast nook and nanny quarters over the garage."
He seemed to notice how close they were standing then. Pointedly detaching himself from her clutch
es, he strolled through the butler’s pantry to the kitchen.
"Could you be happy living here?"
I could live in a shoe box and be happy if you were with me, she wanted to tell him, but it was too soon. His guard was still up, invisible as al glass wall and just as impenetrable. Perhaps later, if all went according to plan, she could speak from the heart. For now, she contented herself by replying in a tone which matched his in neu-trality, "Yes. It’s got the sort of space we need, cer-tainly, and the location couldn’t be better for you."
"Okay." He gave one of those indifferent shrugs that had become his stock-in—trade of late. "We might as well buy it then."
She hadn’t allowed for such an eventuality. She’d counted on his being too astute a businessman to commit to such an investment without thoroughly checking it out first. Dismayed, she said, "Don’t you at least want to look around before we decide that?"
‘‘Why?’ ’ he said. "You’re the one who’ll be spending most of your time here. If you’re happy with it, that’s good enough for me."
"Well, it shouldn’t be," she said, perversely changing her mind about sabotaging her game plan when the
chance presented itself. "I like the looks and layout of the house itself well enough, but I don’t know anything about plumbing and wiring, or termites and rotting eavestroughs. What if the roof’s ready to spring a leak or the heating’s inadequate?"
With ill—concealed impatience he shot back his cuff and made no secret of the fact that he was checking his watch. "What the hell, you’re probably right. The rest of the day’s a write-off now anyway, at least as far as getting any work done. Okay, let’s begin with the out-side." A regal old dowager of sixty years, the house sat in the seclusion of a garden awash with the scent of lilacs and lilies. Clematis spangled a pergola with pale pink flowers. A willow leaned gracefully over a small reflect-ing pool one end of which was filled with water irises. Dense holly hedges and a high brick wall screened the entire property from passersby.