She could be honest about this, at least. Dante wasn’t a tyrant, he was a man in pain. She had told him a lie that had cut to the bone. Now he was hurting. And a man like Dante Russo knew only one way to deal with pain.
He struck at its cause.
And she—she was the cause.
A sob caught in Tally’s throat and she rolled over and buried her face in the already-damp pillow.
If only she’d told him the truth that day in Vermont, when he’d first seen Sam. If only she’d said, “Dante, this is your child. I kept her from you and I kept myself from you, too, because—because I loved you. Because I knew I’d die if you turned away from me.”
Would he have laughed? Or would he have opened his arms to her? She’d never know. It was too late. She’d finally told him the truth, that Sam was his and that she loved him, but it didn’t matter.
He wanted Sam, not her. And she couldn’t blame him for that. Her lies had destroyed everything.
Too late, the beat of her heart said, too late, too late, too—
What was that?
Tally sat up, head cocked. Bells? Yes. Bells, chiming sweetly through the night. Why would bells be…
Of course.
It was Christmas. Christmas! The bells were heralding the start of the holiday, singing of joy, of wonder…
Of miracles.
Tears streamed down Tally’s face. She’d had her own miracle. A man. Proud. Strong. Protective and, yes, loving. And she’d let that miracle slip through her fingers out of cowardice. She’d been afraid to tell him about Sam.
And terrified to tell him about herself, that she loved him, that she’d always love him, until it was too late.
Almost too late, she thought, and drew a ragged breath.
Tally threw back the covers and rose from the bed. Her footsteps were hesitant at first but they quickened as she ran from room to room.
“Dante,” she said brokenly, “my beloved, where are you?”
The bells rang out again, just as she hurried into the sitting room. A beam of ivory moonlight illuminated the French doors that led to the beach. Tally flung them open—
And saw Dante, just as he turned toward the house.
“Dante,” she said, and she began to run across the sand, “Dante…”
Moonlight touched his face. She saw love, understanding, the same hope that burned in her heart, and she flew into his embrace and clung to him.
“I heard the bells,” she said, crying and laughing at the same time, kissing his mouth as she rose to him, luxuriating in the racing beat of his heart. “I heard them calling and I thought, I can’t lose him again, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”
“I love you,” Dante said fiercely, cupping her face in his hands. “I’ve always loved you, inamorata, but I was too proud—and too afraid of needing you—to admit it.”
“And I love you,” Tally said, “I always have. It’s why I left you three years ago. The thought of having you end things between us was more than I could bear.”
“I was a fool, cara,” he said, tightening his arms around her. “How could a man end what is destined to last through eternity?”
Tally laughed through her tears. “Is that all?”
He smiled, too. And then his mouth was on hers, the taste of her tears was on his lips, and as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the house, the bells rang out, telling the world that miracles are always possible.
All you have to do is believe.
SOMETIMES, HAVING WEALTH and power and all the right connections really did pay off.
They flew back to New York early in the morning the next day, Tally wearing the diamond solitaire Dante had bought for her in the Caribbean.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, when he slipped the ring on her finger.
“Not as beautiful as you,” he said, and kissed her.
All the municipal offices were closed, but such details weren’t enough to put a crimp in the plans of Dante Russo.
“I know someone who knows someone who knows someone,” he said, laughing when Tally rolled her eyes.
“Such arrogance,” she said, but her smile, her voice, her eyes shone with love.
By noon, they had a wedding license and a judge who said he’d be happy to marry them in Dante’s penthouse.
By one, the penthouse was filled with Christmas garlands. Mistletoe hung from every doorway. Dante loved catching Tally under the mistletoe, whirling her in a circle and kissing her.
The enormous sitting room was filled with baskets of crimson and white poinsettias. Holly leaves, bright with berries, lay draped over the top of the fireplace mantel. But the room’s centerpiece was a blue spruce so tall its branches reached the ceiling.
The tree was beautiful.
It filled the air with its fragrance; it glowed with what Tally was sure were a thousand white fairy lights. The flames on the hearth in the wall-long fireplace danced on the gleaming surfaces of the gold and silver balls that hung from the tree. Gaily wrapped packages spilled from under the branches, though Sam, squealing with delight, had already opened most of hers.
Champagne was chilling in silver buckets; caviar sat in a silver dish. Everything was perfect…and a little before two, the doorman brought up an enormous white box. Inside was a magnificent gown of lace and seed pearls, straight from the atelier of a world-famous designer.
It was the sort of gown princesses wear in the fairy tales little girls read.
Except, Tally thought when she finally stood beside her gorgeous groom and looked up into his eyes, except, this was no fairy tale.
This was real. It was true love, and it would last forever.
“Do you take this woman,” the judge intoned, and Dante short-circuited things by saying “Yes.”
The perfect P.A., who was one of the guests, laughed. So did Mrs. Tipton and so did Samantha, who she held against her bosom.
Dante brought his bride’s hand to his lips. They smiled into each other’s eyes. Then they gave the judge all their attention. Slowly, and with deep meaning, they took the vows that would forever unite them.
Moments later, they were husband and wife. Dante gathered his bride to him and kissed her again.
“I will love you forever, inamorata,” he said softly.
Tally smiled through tears of happiness. “As I will love you,” she whispered.
“Me, too,” Sam said.
Everyone laughed as the baby made her pronouncement.
“Down,” she told Mrs. Tipton, with all the imperiousness of a two-year-old. She toddled to her parents and held up her arms. “Up,” she commanded.
Dante, a man who never took orders from anyone, happily took this one and settled his daughter into the curve of his arm.
“Mama,” Sam said, touching a chubby hand to Tally’s cheek.
She looked at Dante, who smiled and waited for her to call him Da-Tay.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she put a little hand on each side of his face and said, “Dada.”
Dante’s eyes filled. He looked at his wife, and Tally smiled.
“Merry Christmas, beloved,” she whispered.
“Buon natale, inamorata,” he said softly.
Their daughter laughed, and flung her arms around them both.
ISBN: 978-1-55254-687-1
THE SICILIAN’S CHRISTMAS BRIDE
First North American Publication 2006.
Copyright © 2006 by Sandra Myles.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and ha
ve no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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Sicilian's Christmas Bride Page 15