Her Wedding Night Surrender (Harlequin Presents)

by Clare Connelly

  He ran a hand over her hair, wet and dark. ‘Emmeline...?’ he said softly, studying her cautiously.

  ‘Mmm?’ She wrapped her hands around his waist, holding him close to her body.

  How could he tell her now? On her first day at university? It would derail her completely, and he’d already done his best to do that. No, he couldn’t do it today.

  But Col Bovington was going downhill, and enough was enough.

  Pietro had an obligation to his wife. Soon, when the time was right, he would tell her.

  Having made the resolution, he felt a thousand times better. As if simply by deciding to do something he had in some way enacted a small step of the deed.

  Absolution was close at hand.

  * * *

  Emmeline hummed as she moved about the kitchen. There was a pile of textbooks in the corner, opened to the page she had most recently been reading. She cast a gaze over the papas di pomodoro, smelling the piquant sweetness of the tomatoes and the undertones of basil and garlic, then shifted her focus to the quails that were roasting in the oven.

  It was the first time she’d cooked dinner for Pietro’s family and she wanted everything to be perfect.

  He’d laughed when she’d said as much. ‘I have a housekeeper, a chef and a valet. Why do you not leave the food to them? You have too much on your mind already,’ he had said, nodding towards the books that were littered around the house.

  ‘I’ve only been at uni a week; it’s still early days.’ She’d smiled back. ‘Besides, I want to. I like to cook and I think... I don’t know... It just feels like something nice to do.’

  Of course now she was regretting that impulse, as time marched on and food simmered and she worried that she would have nothing ready by the time they arrived.

  There was nothing she could do but wait. The quail in confit needed an extra hour before they would be ready to remove. The soup was the entrée. There were olives, breads and cheeses ready to serve as antipasti.

  She rubbed her hands together, checking the table for the tenth time. She’d set it with a simple white cloth and put several vases of old-fashioned roses in the centre. Sprigs of orange blossom lent them a beautiful fragrance. Plus, they reminded Emmeline of his farmhouse—the place where their relationship had come alive.

  She smiled as she leaned down and breathed in deeply—then her back pocket vibrated. She reached down and fished her cell phone out, relieved and surprised in equal measure to see a text from her dad. She’d left several messages for him in the last week, and apart from a brief email she’d heard nothing.

  Hi, Pumpkin. Sorry I’ve been hard to catch lately. I’ve got the flu and it’s kept me in bed all week. Are you doing good? Love, Daddy.

  A smile tickled her lips. It was something he had often asked her when she was younger.

  I’m doing real good, Daddy. Uni is amazing.

  She ran her finger over the phone, wondering what she should say about her husband and settling for, Married life suits me. Come over and visit soon?

  She thrust her phone into her pocket and continued with her preparations. But as she showered and changed she couldn’t help but let a kernel of worry infiltrate her happiness.

  Her dad wasn’t a young man. For the flu to have kept him in bed all week sounded serious. That and the fact that she hadn’t spoken to him in rather a long time had her mind unpleasantly distracted.

  She chose a black silk slip dress, teamed it with a long string of pearls and a pair of black ballet flats, then quickly applied basic make-up.

  Pietro appeared just as she was bent forward, slashing mascara over her brows, and his eyes locked to her rear before she straightened and spun around.

  ‘If it isn’t my favourite husband,’ she murmured, her eyes clashing with his in the mirror.

  ‘Your only husband?’ he prompted.

  ‘For now.’

  She winked and turned her attention back to the mirror, ignoring the serious tremble that assaulted her heart. Initially she’d felt their marriage would be of short duration. That she’d wean herself off life at Annersty, let her father adjust to her departure and then move on. For good. But now...?

  ‘I have something for you,’ he said softly.

  Curious, she spun around, scanning his outfit, his hands, and seeing nothing.

  ‘It’s downstairs.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Come and see,’ he murmured, holding a hand out to her.

  Emmeline walked to him, wanting to peel her dress off as she went, to expose her nakedness to him. She followed behind him, her curiosity increasing with each step, until they reached the front door.

  He lifted his hand to cover her eyes. ‘Wait a moment.’

  She bit down on her lip, held her breath and listened as the heavy timber door was pulled inwards. Then his hand dropped from her eyes and she blinked, focussing beyond him.

  A sleek black car sat before her. A Bentley with a soft roof that looked as if it would turn the car into a convertible.

  ‘It’s...it’s beautiful,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t understand...’

  ‘Well, cara, you are a Roman now. You go to university here. You live here.’

  He moved to the car and opened the driver’s door; she followed, a frown etched in her face.

  ‘Do you know what I have been thinking about lately?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When we first discussed marrying, I remember you saying something about wanting only the freedom it offered.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t understand it at the time. I still don’t. But I know I want to give you everything in this world, and a car seems like an important step to true freedom.’

  Unexpected tears sparkled on Emmeline’s lashes. ‘Stop doing this to me!’ She groaned, a laugh breaking the seriousness of her mood. ‘You’re too perfect.’

  ‘Cara, I’m not...’

  Something flickered in his face—something that briefly made her heart skid to a stop before she pushed the doubts away.

  He was perfect. She had no reason to worry that he’d ever disappoint her or let her down. He was her match in all ways.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

  ‘Hop in,’ he replied, and grinned.

  She smiled brightly as she slid behind the wheel. ‘You know, I’m not actually a great driver...’

  His laugh was husky. ‘Then I shall have to teach you.’

  As he’d already taught her so much. ‘The thing is, I get bored,’ she said honestly. ‘I find it all a bit dreary.’

  ‘Not here, you won’t. Roman roads are fun. They are designed to test you.’

  ‘I love my car. Even if I just sit in it to study.’ She grinned at him.

  A plume of dust from further down the driveway heralded the arrival of another car, and Emmeline stepped out with true regret. As she did so she saw a university parking permit on the dashboard, and that single gesture of thoughtfulness meant more to her than the extravagant gift of such an expensive car.

  ‘I love it,’ she said again, walking around the bonnet and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

  His eyes latched to hers and she had the strangest feeling that he wanted to say something else. That something was bothering him.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ she asked searchingly, her eyes scanning his face.

  ‘Ciao, ragazzi!’

  Pietro’s mother stepped from the car, a vision in green, her hair styled in a topknot, a large gold necklace at her throat and a pair of gold espadrilles snaking up her legs. She sashayed towards them as though the driveway were actually a chic fashion show catwalk.

  ‘Mother,’ Pietro drawled, kissing Ria on both cheeks before she transferred her attention to Emmeline.

  ‘Ah! My lovely daughter-in-law,’ she said in her heavily accented English. ‘Still too skinny, I see,’ she said, with a disapproval that Emmeline guessed was only half joking.

  ‘Mother,’ Pietro scolded warningly. ‘That is enough.’

  ‘What?
I want grandchildren. Can you blame me?’

  Emmeline’s heart squeezed painfully. The truth was, the image of a baby had begun to fill her dreams. How sweet it would be to grow their own little person in her body—to hold it and feed it and cuddle it and love it.

  Maybe one day that would happen. But for now Emmeline was having her first taste of life as a normal adult woman and she wasn’t ready to sacrifice her independence yet. Her life with Pietro was perfect and new, and she didn’t want to add a baby into the mix.

  Yet.

  Her eyes met Pietro’s over Ria’s head and she smiled; she knew he understood. He wanted her to be happy. To be free.

  Her eyes drifted to the car, and as they walked into his home, she saw the number plate: Mrs M.

  Her smile stretched broader, making her cheeks hurt.

  Rafe arrived only a few minutes after his mother. They were sitting at the table sipping rosé wine, when he strode in, relaxed in pale trousers and a T-shirt.

  ‘Ah, Rafe. Off the yacht, I see,’ Ria said critically, but her smile showed nothing but maternal pride.

  ‘Ciao, Mamma.’ He grinned, doing the rounds and saying hello to his family. ‘This smells wonderful. So you cook, too?’ he demanded of Emmeline.

  ‘A few dishes,’ she said with false modesty.

  Emmeline had always loved cooking. She’d spent as much time in the kitchen as possible—especially when Patrice had been on the war path. It had been the perfect bolthole. A spot where she could make dishes and enjoy the therapy that cooking and baking offered. She’d mastered croissants from scratch at the age of fifteen—just before her mother had died.

  ‘Tell me again why I did not get to marry you,’ Rafe grumbled good-naturedly, taking the empty seat beside Emmeline.

  ‘Hush,’ Ria said, reaching across and batting at Rafe’s hand. ‘She is your brother’s wife.’

  ‘Still... A man can dream.’ Rafe winked at Emmeline, then reached for a handful of grissini.

  ‘Leave some for the rest of us,’ Pietro drawled, taking the seat on the other side of Emmeline and passing a glass of wine to his brother.

  Beneath the table, Pietro’s hand found Emmeline’s knee and he squeezed it. She turned to face him. Their eyes met and sparks flew that Emmeline was sure everyone must surely see.

  She smiled softly and then focussed on the story Ria was telling. Or tried to. But beneath the table Pietro’s fingers moved steadily higher, until they were brushing her thigh, teasing her, comforting her, simply being with her.

  ‘I’ll get the soup,’ she said after a moment, scraping her chair back and moving towards the kitchen.

  ‘Would you like a hand, darling?’ Ria called after her.

  Emmeline shook her head. ‘I’m in control.’

  In truth, a moment to herself was essential. A single touch from her husband was enough to set her pulse skittering and stay that way. Was it possible that if she stayed married to him she was going to end up having a stroke?

  The thought made her smile, but it also made something strange shift inside her.

  If she stayed married to him?

  Where had that come from?

  She lifted four bowls out of the cupboard and ladled delicious soup into them, thinking about the arrangement they’d come to. Discomfort was like ice inside her. They’d never really talked about how long they’d stay married for. But everything had changed. The deal they’d made was surely redundant now. She was in love, and she was pretty damned sure he was too.

  Which meant what, exactly? That they’d live happily ever after? Was that even what he wanted?

  Uncertainty brought her happiness down a notch. Perhaps they needed to have a talk about that? A Where are we going? conversation...

  She grated some fresh parmesan over the top of the soup, adding a glug of oil and few leaves of basil.

  The thing was, they’d done everything in reverse. From her extensive experience with books and movies Emmeline had gathered that generally two people met, discovered they were attracted to one another, dated, fell in love and slept together, then moved in together or got married. But at some point before that crucial last step they discussed what they wanted. Where their future was going.

  Could they discuss that now? Or would it be weird? Everything was so good she didn’t want to ruin it.

  With a small noise of frustration she lifted two bowls and moved through the kitchen and back into the dining room.

  ‘Let me give you a hand,’ Pietro said, as though he’d only just realised his wife would be ferrying four bowls on her own.

  ‘Thanks,’ she murmured, depositing the first in front of Ria before following her husband back to the kitchen. As she walked through the door he caught her around the waist and pulled her to him.

  ‘I want to take you upstairs now...’ He groaned. ‘Why is my family here?’

  She laughed, but her heart was thundering, her pulse racing. ‘I don’t know. It was a terrible idea. Let’s send them away.’

  ‘Definitely.’ He kissed her hard and fast. ‘A down payment,’ he said with a wink.

  ‘Good. I’ll expect payment in full later.’

  ‘How much later?’ He groaned again, his expression impatient.

  She kissed his cheek. ‘Not long, I hope.’

  The soup was a hit. She had been anxious about cooking such a quintessentially Italian dish for her husband’s family, but they seemed genuinely to love it, and Emmeline had to admit it was one of her best. The quail was perfect, too. Served with some crispy potatoes and garlic-roasted green beans, it was an excellent mix of flavours and textures.

  Pietro took over hosting after dinner, making espresso martinis in the lounge area that they progressed to.

  Pietro had given her a car. That meant something. Not to mention his sweet sentiments about her wanting freedom. This marriage was so much more than either of them had anticipated. It was real.

  ‘You’re quiet,’ Rafe remarked, taking the seat beside hers.

  Whoops.

  ‘And you look concerned. Is everything okay?’

  Emmeline hardly wanted to have a deep and meaningful conversation about her marriage with her brother-in-law, so she scrambled for the easiest explanation she could offer.

  ‘Oh, you know...’ She smiled at him, her mind turning over quickly. ‘It’s my dad. He’s not well, and it’s hard to be over here and so worried about him,’ she said with a shake of her head.

  Rafe’s surprise was obvious, but Emmeline didn’t understand it, of course. ‘He told you?’

  ‘Of course he told me,’ Emmeline said with a small frown of her own. ‘It’s hardly a secret.’

  ‘Oh, thank God. I know Pietro’s been tearing himself up about all this. It must be a weight off his mind that you know.’

  Emmeline’s look was quizzical. It was just the flu, and she’d only recently found out about it herself. ‘How does Pietro know?’ she asked quietly.

  Rafe froze, apparently sensing that they were speaking at cross purposes. He sipped his martini, his eyes scanning the room. ‘Um...’

  ‘How does Pietro know what?’

  Pietro appeared at that moment, devastatingly handsome in the suit that she loved so much. But Emmeline hardly noticed.

  ‘How do you know my father is sick?’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SILENCE STRETCHED LIKE a piece of elastic. Then it stretched some more.

  Emmeline tried to make two and two add up to four but it wasn’t possible.

  ‘Rafe just said you’ve known for a while. That it’s been tearing you up,’ she murmured. None of this was making sense.

  Rafe swore, standing up and setting his martini glass down in one movement. He tossed Pietro a look of deep apology. ‘I thought she knew.’

  Emmeline stood up too, the movement unknowingly fluid. ‘Knew what?’ Her voice was louder. More demanding. The fear in it was obvious.

  ‘Emmeline?’

  Ria appeared at her side, and only with ever
y single ounce of self-control in her body did Emmeline manage to calm herself. To offer her a tight, terse smile. But her eyes were haunted, her skin pale.

  ‘Thank you for a lovely dinner. I think I should leave you to it now,’ Ria said.

  ‘Me too,’ Rafe added quickly. ‘Don’t see us out.’

  Pietro glared at his brother before dragging his attention back to his wife. It was quite possibly the worst manner in which this news could have been dropped.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’

  Pietro expelled a long, slow sigh. ‘Sit down, cara.’

  ‘I don’t want a damned seat,’ she responded caustically, her eyes flying around the room as if answers might suddenly appear. ‘Well?’ She tapped her foot, her arms folded across her slender chest.

  ‘Rafe seemed to think you knew—’

  ‘Daddy has the flu,’ she answered sharply. ‘But that’s not what you’re talking about, is it? Pietro? What’s wrong with him?’

  Fear was written across her beautiful face; her eyes were haunted by it.

  ‘Your father is sick,’ he confirmed.

  Emmeline made a grunting noise of impatient displeasure. ‘I’ve gathered that. What’s wrong with him?’

  A muscle jerked in Pietro’s cheek.

  ‘Is it serious?’

  ‘Si, cara.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ She reached behind her for the sofa, collapsing into it wearily. ‘What is it?’

  Pietro crouched before her, his hands taking hers. ‘He has cancer. Advanced and incurable.’ He rubbed a thumb over her hand, across the soft flesh of her palm. His heart hurt with the pain in hers. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Tears fell down her cheeks, but shock was numbing her to their balm. ‘I don’t understand. When...? How...? Why didn’t he tell me?’

  ‘He wanted you to be happy. He wanted to know you were happy, to die knowing that you weren’t going to be left stranded by the loss of your father. He wanted to know that you have other things in your life. Other people.’

  ‘You,’ she said quietly, pulling her hands free and rubbing them along her thighs. ‘When did you find out?’

  Pietro reached up and touched her cheek but she jerked away from him.

  ‘When?’

  It was a primal grunt. She was skinning the situation alive, trying to boil it down to just bones and fact.