Enrico had done this? He’d brought all of these people together to witness their marriage without telling her? And he’d done it knowing there was a big chance she might jilt him in front of them all?
Or maybe he’d done it to add more pressure. As in—jilt me in front of this lot, if you dare.
Enrico turned then to look at her and she faltered to a complete standstill. Her heart seemed to split wide open then just fall apart. He looked exactly like what he was: a sensationally attractive, tall, dark, Italian male, wearing a fantastically cut three-piece suit and the requisite ice-blue tie.
His face was paler than it should be, which made his eyes too dark to be real. And stern—his frown was stern. His mouth looked flat, his chin taut as he stood there looking at her.
Enrico was caught, captivated. Freya’s dress was exquisite: a romantic creation of fine antique lace over sensual silk. With her hair left loose and a coronet of tiny pearls holding her lace veil in place, she looked staggeringly lovely and heart-shatteringly ethereal.
She was an earth mother and fragile bride in one sensational package, with their son as her escort standing proudly at her side and her bridesmaid behind her.
But her face was so white and her eyes so dark she looked as though she were attending a wake.
Was she going to do it and jilt him? Was this why she looked so ethereal and tragic?
He felt as if he was being torn apart, his emotions spitting and crackling like a million electrodes gone wild. The music was playing and she wasn’t moving. His younger brother shifted tensely at his side. Valentino did not know Freya. He’d been away in America attending university for three years. But he heard him murmur, ‘Santo cielo. Is she for real, Rico?’
Not so you could tell, Enrico thought tensely.
Then, ‘Daddy!’ Nicolo suddenly shouted out and a ripple of laughter ran around the chapel as the giver of the bride broke ranks to run to his father’s side.
His son’s hand slipped into his hand. His long fingers closed around small ones, but Enrico’s eyes did not leave his bride.
Would she do it? Would she strip him of his pride in front of all of these people?
Por Dio! Come down here and finish it one way or the other. But don’t just stand there looking at me as if I’ve died! Enrico winged his thoughts to his bride via sheer telepathy.
Freya felt as if she were standing on water, the stone floor beneath her seemed so insubstantial and unsafe. It was seeing her son and her lover standing there looking at her, both dark-haired and dark-eyed, that made it feel that frail.
As if she could hear what she was thinking, Cindy stepped up to Freya. ‘They belong to you. Go and get them,’ she whispered.
Freya’s feet began to move again. She saw a nerve flick along Enrico’s tense jaw. The music was still playing, people were whispering. As she came closer Fredo stepped up from seemingly nowhere and bent to lift Nicky into his big arms.
Then it was just the two of them with the priest, and they had the ceremony to get through. Each time Freya was expected to speak, Enrico felt his heartbeat go crazy, each soft and tremulous response she gave hitting his libido hard.
She did it, though; she got through the ceremony with only one heart-stopping moment when the priest asked if there was any reason why the marriage should not take place, and in the throat-cutting silence that followed her cold fingers shook in Enrico’s hands.
They did all the legal stuff without speaking to each other. Valentino introduced himself to Freya, then welcomed her into the family with truck-loads of Ranieri charm. Jealousy ripped through Enrico, a greedy, dark, possessive jealousy, because she smiled for Valentino but she had stopped looking at him at all.
He watched her eyes hunt the mass of Ranieri faces as she and he walked back along the aisle. He could feel her tension, her fear that Luca was going to jump out at any minute and slur their names in front of everyone.
He must have been mad to put her to the test like this, Enrico thought on a sudden burst of anger. Who the hell did he think he was, playing with her feelings like this?
The Press were there in force to capture their reports and pictures. No one could say they did not make the perfect image of romance as they stood on the church steps with their son standing between them with one of his big grins on his face.
Cindy stood just behind them chatting to Valentino. Everyone looked relaxed, except for Freya.
The sooner he got them away from here the better, Enrico decided as the fixed smile he was wearing began to make his jaw ache.
He scanned the wedding party, looking for Fredo to give him the nod to come and collect Nicolo, but a flash of red from across the street suddenly caught his eye.
The bastard, he thought as he recognised the hair colour. Luca just could not resist it. Despite everything they’d agreed, Luca could not let this moment pass without trying to cause trouble.
Bending down, Enrico scooped Nicolo onto his arm then clamped the other round Freya’s waist and hurried them down the steps and hustled them into the waiting car.
With a curt command the car shot off from the kerb before Enrico had even secured Nicolo as best as he could, as his son’s safety seat wasn’t installed. He waited for Freya to say something about that but she didn’t. In fact, they did not speak at all on the short journey to the country club he’d commandeered to house his family for the weekend. Nicky did all the talking. They answered him in turn.
The moment they stepped into the country-club foyer Enrico said tautly, ‘Freya…’
‘I saw her,’ she responded and walked off, following signs that showed the way to the ladies’ room.
Nicolo ran off then. By the time Enrico had gone after him and prevented the toddler from causing mayhem, their guests were arriving, so all he could do was to stand there and crack stupid jokes about his missing bride.
Pale but composed, Freya reappeared beside him. Enrico grabbed and grimly held on to her hand.
Freya got through the welcoming ceremony. She even got through the wedding breakfast without falling apart. But her eyes could not stop hunting for a glimpse of the redhead, or worse—the darker head of Luca himself.
Then it happened. Everyone was circulating nicely. She’d seen that Cindy was with a group of work colleagues, Fredo and Sonny were talking to a group of Ranieris. Enrico was standing a couple of feet away from her, listening intently to something one of his uncles was saying to him, and she noticed Lissa blushingly flirting with a Ranieri nephew or cousin by the open French windows that led out into the club’s grounds.
But no Nicky.
Her heart froze for a moment as an alarm bell went off inside her head. It was her chilling sixth sense that took her towards her son’s nanny. It took only a distracted glance beyond the French windows to send her blood running colder still.
Enrico turned to look for Freya just as it happened—one small step, then another, and she was off and running, crashing past Lissa and out through the open doors.
A curse left his throat as he took off after her. There was only one thing that would send her running like that and it was their son!
Freya hit the terrace like a sprinter, losing her shoes on the way down the steps that led onto a wide spread of lawn, which connected the country club to a golf course.
Out there in front of her, she could see Luca squatting down at Nicky’s level. The little boy was reaching out to take back the small football Lissa had brought along with them to stop him from becoming bored.
Freya’s veil went next, finest lace tearing from her hair and floating away on the wind.
Enrico saw her discarded shoes as he leapt down the steps. Something like a light bulb lit up inside his head then shattered into hot fragments when he caught sight of what had made her run.
‘The crazy idiot,’ he muttered. ‘Freya—stop, for Dio’s sake!’
But Freya was stopping for no one. All she could see was that Luca was going to get his own back by kidnapping her son!
The man looked round for a short second before she reached him and she caught a blurred glimpse of his dark eyes widening just before she threw herself on him, knocking him off balance so the two of them went sprawling on the ground.
Nicky started laughing. He thought it was hilarious. Enrico ripped out another thick curse as he bent down to pluck up his wife.
His crazy wife!
‘Stop it,’ he hissed out when she began fighting him as well. Then, more gently, he cajoled, ‘Cara, this is Valentino. You just tackled Valentino…’
Freya stopped fighting Enrico to look at him through bright, fear-blinded eyes. Her breathing was haywire, her green eyes wild. Enrico wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do it so badly he almost gave in to the urge.
Nothing was making sense to Freya any longer. She felt as if she’d been turned inside out and upside down. Nicky was still laughing and now he had jumped on top of his new uncle. Valentino was letting him do it while he just lay there staring up at her.
Reality began to sink in. ‘Y-you aren’t Luca,’ she heard herself whisper.
‘Dio. I hope not,’ said Valentino. ‘Did you think that I was?’
‘He—he…’
‘She is very protective of our son, Tino,’ Enrico put in gruffly. ‘It would have been better if you had let someone know you were bringing him out here to play football.’
‘But I did,’ said the younger man. ‘I told his nanny.’
Valentino rose to his feet with the same grace as his older brother possessed—in fact, he was the same height as Enrico, Freya noticed hazily. The same strength in his features, the same—
‘I’m s-sorry,’ she whispered.
‘No need.’ The younger man grinned. He even used the same easy care as Enrico would to balance Nicky on his arm. ‘I quite enjoyed being bowled over by my brother’s bride.’
His brother wasn’t so pleased about it. He had Freya clamped against him like a vice.
With a grim nod of his head, Enrico instructed Valentino to make himself scarce.
‘More football,’ Nicky demanded as Valentino carried him away from the bride and groom.
‘Sure, little one,’ his uncle said agreeably. ‘But first we will find a place where your mamma will not see us and want to join in.’
Freya laughed, but it was a very short laugh and actually closer to a sob.
Enrico didn’t laugh. He was frowning at the mass of curious people standing out on the terrace trying to understand what was going on.
‘Shall we go the whole way and I will put you across my knee and beat you?’ he murmured unpleasantly. ‘That way they will believe that we are both insane.’
‘Y-you don’t understand w-what…’
Air hissed from him angrily. Lightning flashes sparked from his eyes because he did understand, and he also knew whose fault it was that the incident had happened.
‘He looked like Luca—’
‘I will insult him with that observation later.’
‘I j-just saw him with Nicky, and after seeing the redhead at the church I…’
‘I have changed my mind about your excellent eyesight,’ Enrico interrupted. ‘You are really quiet stunningly blind!’
‘There’s no need to be nasty because I made a mistake!’ she choked out.
‘Your mistake, cara, is believing that the redhead and Luca are two different people!’ he raked out.
Freya’s chin shot up. Their eyes clashed. It was the first time it had happened since she arrived at the church. Enrico’s insides flipped over then took one of those steep, sinking dives.
‘What did you say?’ she breathed up at him.
‘Nothing,’ he denied tensely.
‘But y-you said—’
‘We are not going to do this here!’ he raked out.
‘We will do it right here!’ Freya insisted.
‘What—fight? Shout at each other? Give everyone up there something to really talk about, when I decide to go to hell with the whole damn thing and roll you back down on the ground for myself?’
Freya took a step back, hair flying away from her face in the light warmth of the summer breeze, arms tense at her sides crushing the fragile antique lace of her gown.
‘Explain what you just said,’ she insisted stubbornly.
‘Green-eyed little witch,’ he muttered, grabbed her by the waist, lifted her off the ground and kissed her—hard.
He needed it. He’d needed to do this for too many damn frustrating days to make the kiss anything but hungry. What he did not expect was for her slender arms to curve around his neck and that she would kiss him back with the same ravenous need.
Yet he should have expected it. Didn’t she always respond like this for him?
He pulled his lips away. ‘We are getting away from here,’ he gritted.
Green pools of gorgeous, sensuous helplessness drowned him. ‘OK,’ was all she said.
Just like that—just like that!
Madre de Dio, if he did not hang on to some control here he was going to carry out his threat and roll her back down on the grass!
He placed her back on her own two feet again. Shoeless feet. He flexed his shoulders as a rush of arousal swept in. ‘Pretty damn kinky,’ he muttered to himself. Then he was grabbing her hand and turning to stride across the grass, hauling his bride behind him.
The closer Freya got to the terrace full of guests the less she wanted to see them. When Enrico bent to pick up her veil from the grass, she wished he would toss it over her burning face. At the steps he stopped to gather up her shoes. By then a kind of sizzling fascination was holding their audience rapt.
Enrico ignored them, every single last one of them—uncles, aunts, employees. Arrogantly he let them part like the waves to allow him access into the country club and Freya kept her head down so she didn’t make eye contact with anyone.
He didn’t stop walking until they had left the club by the front entrance. Rows of limos lined the car park. Enrico headed for the Bentley, dismissed the driver and propelled Freya inside. Her shoes were laid on the floor beside her feet. The gossamer-fine drift of her lace veil arrived on her lap. Enrico eased himself into the driver’s seat, looking so gorgeous and obviously pulsing with testosterone that Freya was held silent and breathless as he started the engine then drove them away from their wedding reception.
Had their guests followed them to witness their departure like this? She didn’t know, did not look back to find out. Sex was in the driving seat when she knew she should not let it be. It filled every nook and cranny inside the luxurious car and inside herself.
‘Where are we going?’ she dared to ask him.
‘Home,’ he said.
Home as in London or Milan?
It was then that she remembered something she should not have forgotten. ‘But what about Nicky? We—’
Tight-lipped, he reached out and flicked on the radio. Heavy rock music suddenly blasted her out.
She knew what he was doing. He was blocking out the reminder because their son did not have a place in what was happening right now.
But Freya was beginning to regroup her senses. She was also replaying what he’d said at the country club. Did he really think that she was going to lie down on a bed somewhere and let him make love to her, while Luca Ranieri still hovered over them like some dark, leering spectre?
Anger began to simmer, because she’d let him get away without explaining that thing he’d said about Luca, which still did not make any sense to her.
They arrived at the Mayfair house. She should have known that home meant the nearest place he owned with a bed. The car engine stopped, so did the rock music.
Instantly she burst into agitated speech. ‘Don’t think I’m going to let you just walk me in there and…’
Enrico got out of the car and shut the door.
Beginning to feel just a bit fevered now, Freya stuffed her feet into her shoes. He already had her door open and was waiting for her to get out of the car. Clutching
her veil, she climbed out onto the pavement and stalked right past him, then had to wait while he used his key to open the front door.
She was about to step inside when he scooped her up into his arms.
‘W-what do you—?’
‘Tradition,’ he gritted, as he strode across the threshold then shouldered the door shut behind him.
‘The tradition thing wore thin ages ago,’ she derided. ‘So you can put me down.’
‘When I now understand why I must carry you?’ he quizzed grimly. ‘This way I maintain the upper hand until I have you exactly where I want you.’
The Ranieri Bride Page 15