by Lynne Graham
Glory went downstairs to join her father, Maud having already left for the church. Leaning on the stick that gave him the extra support he needed while he was still slightly unsteady on his feet, the older man looked very well. But as she reached the hall Glory’s brow indented. ‘What’s that noise? It sounds like horses…’
‘Strewth…’ Archie Little gasped in astonishment at the sight that met his eyes when he peered out of the front door.
Rafaello had sent not a car to collect her and her father but an open carriage lined in sapphire velvet, driven by a coachman in a full regalia and pulled by four white horses ornamented with elaborate plumes. Glory was thrilled to bits.
‘The boy’s certainly doing you proud,’ was all her shaken father could think to comment when a wildly impractical white carpet was unrolled to pave her entry into the church.
Glory alighted on the white carpet and smiled for the photographers and floated along the carpet into the church and down the aisle to join Rafaello at the altar in a blissful daze.
‘You look like a fairytale princess,’ he whispered, shimmering golden eyes riveted to her in heart-stopping admiration. ‘Just as I always imagined, bella mia.’
After the marriage service they travelled back in the carriage to Montague Park, where the wedding breakfast was to be served. The ballroom had been transformed with glorious flower arrangements into the most magnificent backdrop for the occasion. In the afternoon the bride and groom departed, but not before Glory had thrown her bouquet and her future stepmother had caught it.
They were to spend their honeymoon in the Grazzini home in Tuscany. Arriving there at dusk, Rafaello carried her over the threshold and straight upstairs to a gorgeous bedroom, where he finally got his bride into his arms without an audience.
‘I have had the most wonderful day,’ Glory informed him, gazing up at him with shining eyes of love and contentment.
‘It’s been the happiest day of my life, amore mia.’ Rafaello framed her lovely smiling face with possessive fingers, studying her with passionate tenderness. ‘And, if I have anything to do with it, every day you spend with me will be the same…’
Just over a year later Glory tucked their infant son into his cot. At almost six months old, Lorenzo had silky black curls and big blue eyes. He was a friendly, cheerful baby with a wonderful smile who slept well, ate well and loved being cuddled.
They had flown out to the villa in Corfu only that afternoon. The night before, they had celebrated the first anniversary of their marriage with a special family dinner at Montague Park. Glory was thinking how happy she had been to have her father and Maud, Sam and Benito all at the same table with nobody seeming to feel the slightest bit awkward any more. The divisions between their families had been healed and Rafaello had long since regained his former closeness with his father.
Archie and Maud had got married a couple of months after Glory and Rafaello and had then surprised everyone by taking over the village shop and embarking on a pretty busy lifestyle which seemed to suit them very well. Sam had lived with them in their new home in the village until he completed his school year and was able to sit his exams. He had then spent most of the summer in Tuscany with Benito and had returned with a good grasp of Italian. Determined to stay in advance of her kid brother, Glory had started taking lessons to learn the same language faster. Sam was currently studying for his A levels at a London school and he spent regular weekends with Archie and Maud. Benito had bought a city apartment, where Sam had come to grudging terms with living in the lap of luxury, but only after being made to appreciate how much the Grazzinis gave to charitable causes.
Glory had enjoyed a blissfully happy first year of marriage. She still wondered why it had taken her such a very long time to realise that Rafaello adored her. He had shown her his love in Corfu those first weeks they had been together, shown her in so many ways while her father was ill, but her own low self-esteem had blinded her to what she was seeing. In the same way, the strength of her love had enabled her to respect the sacrifice her mother had made in giving up Rafaello’s father for the sake of their respective families. And she finally understood all the harshly offered moral principles which her parent had endeavoured to instil in her daughter. Giving way to her own passion for Benito Grazzini had ultimately caused Talitha Little great unhappiness, and she had undoubtedly wanted to protect Glory from making a similar mistake.
‘Lorenzo’s not asleep already, is he?’ Rafaello demanded in disappointment as he strode into the nursery and sprang Glory from her thoughts.
She watched her tall, dark and undeniably gorgeous husband stare down ruefully into the cot where his baby son was indeed sound asleep, long lashes lying smooth on his peaceful little face.
‘You were on the phone to Benito for ages,’ Glory reminded him.
‘I don’t get enough time to play with our son,’ Rafaello lamented. ‘He’s out like a light every night by eight. I thought babies were supposed to be night owls—’
‘We don’t want him to be a night owl,’ Glory assured her husband, trying not to laugh at the tenor of his complaint. ‘I don’t think you’d be too pleased if he was crying in the middle of the night.’
Rafaello processed that alternative option and gave her a sizzling smile of comprehension that warmed her cheeks. ‘As always where our son is concerned, you are right, bella mia. Such a shame that you never got to use all that knowledge you acquired reading at least a thousand magazines on what to do with a crying baby. By the end of our honeymoon, I knew more about babies than ninety-nine out of a hundred first-time fathers-to-be and we had hit every baby shop in Tuscany at least twice—’
‘Stop teasing me,’ Glory warned him, rather embarrassed by the reminder of how obsessive she had been in those pursuits during her pregnancy. ‘Why were you on the phone so long to your father?’
‘Benito has volunteered to become chairman of a charity for the homeless—’
Glory struggled not to smile. Sam’s social conscience had evidently stretched to enclose his birth father. ‘That’s good news, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. He has too much energy to settle into full-time retirement and he has a huge number of contacts to offer.’ Rafaello reached out to bring her slim body into connection with his big powerful frame, his mouth curving with satisfaction as she gave a faint little quiver of response.
Dio mio, cara mia…’ he breathed huskily, lustrous dark golden eyes gleaming over with a wealth of tender appreciation and warmth. ‘How come you married a guy who tied himself up in knots just trying to tell you that he loved you?’
‘I had high hopes of how he would turn out,’ Glory teased, stretching her arms up to link them round his neck, looking up into his darkly handsome features with an accelerating heartbeat and the sensation that she was one of the luckiest women in the world. ‘You can actually say, “I love you” without blushing like mad now!’
‘Are you ever going to let me forget that?’ Rafaello groaned.
‘No chance…’ It was one of Glory’s most tender memories. His love was all that more special and precious because he had never said those words to anyone but her. That one small fact alone made up for the years they had spent apart.
‘I adore you, bella mia,’ he murmured, his stunning eyes telegraphing the same message into hers and making her melt inside and out. ‘I think you’re a wonderful wife and a fabulous mother and the most incredibly loving and sexy woman alive—’
‘I love you too,’ Glory told him breathlessly, and while Lorenzo slept on in perfect tranquillity his parents kissed and exchanged mutual compliments which grew increasingly excessive in nature. Eventually, Rafaello swept Glory off into their bedroom next door where they sealed their love with the passion that never failed to fill them both with renewed joy and contentment.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-0041-8
RAFAELLO’S MISTRESS
First North American Publication 2001.
Copyright © 2001 by Lynne Graham.
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