by Miranda Lee
‘Mmm,’ came his very uninformative reply, his face remaining pensive as he silently served himself some of the food.
Jordan took a sip of her wine before serving herself a smallish portion, her appetite having suddenly declined.
‘What are you thinking about?’ she asked, after she’d forced a few mouthfuls down.
Her question seemed to startle him. He frowned as he put his fork down and looked up.
‘Us.’
‘What about us?’
‘I think we should leave this conversation till after we’ve eaten.’
‘I don’t agree.’
Gino’s eyes hardened a little at her sharp tone. ‘Very well. I was thinking how much I love you.’
Jordan’s mouth dropped open. As a declaration of love went, this one had been delivered in a less than romantic fashion.
‘It’s not just lust,’ he went on firmly. ‘It’s love. It’s always been love.’
Jordan didn’t know what to say. He’d simply dumbfounded her.
‘What about you?’ he demanded to know. ‘How do you feel about me?’
She blinked, then licked her lips. ‘I think you know how I feel about you, Gino.’
‘I want to hear you say the words.’
‘I love you,’ she said, her heart turning over at finally giving voice to her feelings. ‘I never stopped loving you.’
He groaned, then leapt to his feet, his black eyes instantly ablaze with desire. ‘You can’t possibly expect me to sit here calmly eating after you’ve just said that, can you?’
‘No,’ she choked out, the desire she’d been trying to control all week suddenly breaking free.
He strode round the table, yanked her chair back from the table and scooped her up into his arms.
‘There’s more I want to say,’ he growled as he carried her towards the bedroom. ‘More for us to decide. But not right at this moment. I need to make love to you, Jordan. Make love, not have sex. You want that too, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, emotion flooding her heart. ‘Oh, yes.’
Gino cuddled her close to him afterwards, stunned by the passion and the power of their mating. There’d been no foreplay. Nothing but a rapid stripping of their clothes and an immediate fusion of their impatient bodies. It had been all over in seconds, both of them crying out in release together.
‘You must know that I want to marry you,’ he said thickly, his lips buried in her hair. ‘But I can’t.’
‘I know,’ she said sadly.
‘It isn’t right,’ he said with a groan. ‘I want you to be my wife.’
Jordan heard the pain in his voice, and knew she had to do something.
She cupped his cheeks with her hands and lifted his head so that their eyes could meet.
‘I will be your wife,’ she said. ‘In every way that counts. I will love you and look after you and have your children, if that’s what you want.’
His eyes widened. ‘You’d have my children? Even though I can’t give them my name?’
‘There’s no reason why I can’t take your name, Gino. That’s a simple matter of changing it by deed poll. All we’ll be missing is a piece of paper. Our love is stronger than that, surely?’
Jordan was shocked when his eyes started glistening. ‘You are a truly wonderful woman.’
‘An ordinary woman, in love with a truly wonderful man. We can make things work if we love each other enough, Gino.’
‘Yes. Yes, you’re right.’
Still he didn’t look totally happy.
‘I suppose you’re worried about your mother,’ Jordan said. ‘And your six sisters. You’re worried what they’ll think.’
‘They’ll get used to the idea.’
Jordan suspected that Gino’s family would look askance at their relationship for ever. It was not the Italian way to live together without the blessing of the church.
But that was just too bad.
‘When are you going to tell them?’ she asked.
‘Tomorrow. After we’ve gone ring-shopping.’
‘Ring-shopping?’
‘Just because we won’t have that piece of paper it doesn’t mean we can’t have proper rings.’
‘Rings, as in plural?’
‘Of course. An engagement ring and a wedding ring for you. And a wedding ring for me. I want everyone to know that I’m taken.’
Jordan struggled to hold back her tears. ‘I’d like that.’
He smiled. ‘I thought you might.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘HAPPY with those?’ Gino asked as they emerged from the jeweller’s into Collins Street.
‘They’re lovely,’ Jordan replied, not able to take her eyes off her engagement ring. It was absolutely stunning, yet very simple. A single brilliant-cut diamond set in white gold, with two smaller baguette diamonds on the shoulder settings. The wedding band next to it was even simpler. Just a narrow white gold band.
Gino’s ring, by contrast, was wider, and made in yellow gold, with small diamonds set at regular intervals around the whole circumference. It suited his more flamboyant style, she thought.
They were walking slowly back to where Gino had parked his car when his cellphone rang.
Jordan stood there in the watery sunshine, admiring her rings whilst Gino answered it.
‘I did tell you I didn’t like their scaffolding,’ Gino muttered irritably at one stage. ‘No. No, I need to see this for myself. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Problems at work,’ he said to Jordan as he put the phone back into his trouser pocket. ‘No point in trying to explain it. Look, I could be there for a couple of hours. I’ll drop you off home first. What time is it now? Half-past twelve. I shouldn’t be any later than three in getting back. Possibly four. You can catch up on your beauty sleep. You didn’t get much last night,’ he added, with a wicked gleam in his eye.
‘You didn’t, either.’
‘I got more than I did the last few nights, I can tell you.’
‘Are we still going to visit your mother tonight?’
‘Absolutely. I’ll ring her from work and line up something.’
Jordan felt her stomach tighten. ‘Maybe she won’t want to see me.’
‘Don’t cross your bridges till you come to them, Jordan.’
By three p.m., Jordan found herself clock-watching. Nerves over the evening ahead had meant she’d been incapable of settling to anything. And sleeping had been out of the question.
By four, her agitation was beyond bearing.
She didn’t like to call Gino on his cellphone. He’d promised to be home as soon as he could. But he’d left the number with her, and it seemed silly to stew when a simple call would soothe her mind.
Picking up Gino’s home phone, she punched in his number and waited for him to answer.
His phone rang a few times, then switched to his voicemail, which said that he couldn’t come to the phone right now, but to leave a message and he’d get back as soon as he could.
Jordan hesitated, then hung up, thinking that he was probably driving home at this very moment.
Ten minutes later she wished she’d left a message. Gino still wasn’t home. She was just about to call his number again when the phone rang. With a rush of relief, she hurried over and swept up the receiver.
‘Gino?’ she said.
‘Is that Jordan?’ a female voice asked—a voice with a distinct Italian accent.
‘Er…yes.’
‘This is Maria Bortelli. Gino’s mother.’
‘Oh…’ Jordan didn’t know what to say. Had Gino dropped in to see his mother before coming home? If so, then why wasn’t it Gino on the phone?
She didn’t like the sound of this.
‘I knew Gino would want me to ring you. He called me and told me about you.’
‘I see,’ Jordan said. ‘You’re…not upset with me, are you?’ Certainly she sounded upset.
‘Upset with you? No, no. Not with you. Or Gino. That is not why I am call
ing. There has been an accident, Jordan. At one of Gino’s building sites.’
Jordan’s heart jumped into her mouth.
‘What kind of accident? Dear God, please tell me Gino’s alive. Tell me he’s all right.’
‘He has had a nasty fall. Some scaffolding gave way under him. The doctors are doing tests on him right now. His hard hat was knocked off in the fall.’
‘Is he conscious?’
‘No.’
A tortured cry escaped Jordan’s lips. If Gino died, what would she do? He was her life now, her reason for living.
‘You should come,’ Mrs Bortelli said. ‘Gino would want you to be here. With him.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Jordan said, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. ‘I’ll catch a taxi. Just tell me where to go.’
The ride to the hospital felt endless, the roads choked with Friday afternoon traffic. The taxi dropped her off at the entrance, and Jordan rushed through the glass doors, her eyes already searching for the lifts. Mrs Bortelli had told her what floor to go to, and what ward.
Finally she spotted the lifts, over in a far corner of the foyer.
As she hurried over, Jordan could not help noticing a woman standing by the lift doors, staring at her. She was in her late fifties, perhaps, an elegantly dressed lady, with wavy dark brown hair and even darker eyes.
‘Jordan?’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘I am Maria Bortelli.’ Her dark eyes swept over her, her warm smile coming as a surprise. ‘You are as beautiful as Gino said.’
Jordan was so taken aback she didn’t know what to say.
‘Come,’ Mrs Bortelli went on, and took Jordan’s arm. ‘They have taken Gino up for surgery, so he is now on a different floor to the one I told you.’
‘Surgery! What kind of surgery?’
‘Brain surgery. There is some bleeding which has to be stopped.’
When Jordan swayed, Mrs Bortelli held her steady.
‘Si, si—I know how you feel,’ she said gently. ‘I felt the same way when they first told me. But I keep telling myself not to worry. My Gino is strong, and he is in good hands. I have been down here in the hospital chapel, praying for him.’
Jordan had never been a big one for prayer. She’d always believed that God helped those who helped themselves. But she suspected she was about to get acquainted with the practice.
‘Did my son buy you those rings?’ Mrs Bortelli asked during the ride up in the lift.
Jordan lifted her hand to stare blankly down at her engagement and wedding rings.
‘Yes,’ she choked out. ‘This morning.’
How happy they had been! And now…
‘Gino told me about the promise he made to his papa.’
‘He did?’
‘It was foolish of him.’
‘He knows that now. But he won’t dishonour it.’
Mrs Bortelli shook her head. ‘He is a good son. But it is not right to expect you not to have a real marriage. Still, we will just have to make the best of it. He loves you, and refuses to marry any other girl.’
The lift doors opened and the two women stepped out into the wide corridor, with its familiar hospital smell of polish and disinfectant.
‘You don’t mind that I’m not an Italian girl?’ Jordan said.
‘Why should I mind?’
‘Gino’s father obviously minded.’
‘Giovanni was much older than me, and old-fashioned. Ours was an arranged marriage, not a love-match. I promised myself that my children would only ever marry for love. That is one promise I will never dishonour. Love is far more important than a piece of paper.’
‘I’m so glad you feel that way.’
When his mother smiled, Jordan could see where Gino got his looks and his charm.
‘You and Gino will make beautiful children together.’
‘If we get the chance,’ Jordan said, her emotions suddenly catching up with her again. ‘Oh, Mrs Bortelli,’ she cried, tears flooding her eyes, then spilling over down her cheeks. ‘I love him so much.’
‘I can see that, my dear. Come,’ she said, and linked arms with Jordan. ‘He won’t be out of surgery for some time. We will go back down to the hospital chapel and pray some more.’
Gino knew he was dreaming. It had to be a dream. Because he and Jordan had just been married, in an old church he did not recognise. Jordan looked like an angel dressed in white, a beautiful Botticelli angel. She beamed up at him as they walked arm in arm back down the aisle out into bright sunshine.
Not Melbourne, he realised as his eyes looked down the ancient stone steps upon a city which he recognised.
They were in Rome.
That was it, Gino realised in his dream. That was the way. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
He struggled to wake up. But he couldn’t seem to shrug off the blanket of sleep which was imprisoning his body. Why couldn’t he wake up? he thought frustratedly. What was wrong with him?
The nurse in Recovery assigned to Gino was watching him carefully.
‘You shouldn’t be waking up yet,’ she said, when his eyelids started fluttering wildly.
When he began muttering, and trying to lift his head, she put gentle but firm hands on his shoulders.
‘Lie still,’ she whispered. ‘Everything went fine in the operation. But you must rest some more.’
His eyelids shot open, frightening the life out of her.
‘Jordan,’ he choked out.
‘You want me to tell Jordan you are all right?’
He shook his head from side to side.
‘Tell her. Tell her there is a way,’ he said, then promptly fell back to sleep again.
And rightly so. He shouldn’t be coming round for quite a while yet.
Just then Dr Shelton strode in, and the nurse was relieved that his patient was no longer thrashing about. As the doctor checked his patient’s vital signs, the nurse explained what had happened.
Dr Shelton frowned.
‘Amazing,’ he said. ‘He shouldn’t be coming round for at least another half-hour or so. Jordan, did you say?’
‘Yes.’
‘Man or woman?’
‘He didn’t say. But my guess is a woman.’
The doctor’s smile was wry. ‘That would be my guess, too.’
Jordan sat in the waiting room, surrounded by the other women in Gino’s life. His six sisters had descended at various intervals during the last couple of hours, all very anxious about their beloved brother.
Jordan had been touched by their love and concern, and totally overwhelmed by their warm acceptance of her. None of Gino’s sisters made her feel like an interloper, or resented her not being of Italian heritage. They’d been a little surprised, but also fascinated, when she’d told them about her affair with Gino all those years ago. His youngest sister, Sophia, had thought it the most romantic story she’d ever heard. They’d all echoed their mother’s opinion that it had been very foolish of Gino to make that promise to his father.
But they all knew that their brother would not break his promise.
Telling them her story had distracted everyone from the seriousness of the moment. But now the story had been told, and they’d all suddenly fallen silent.
As if on cue, a doctor dressed in surgical greens entered the room. He was a tall, slim man, in his late forties, perhaps, with a long face, a receding hairline and intelligent blue eyes.
Mrs Bortelli immediately jumped up and rushed over him.
‘Is my son going to be all right, Doctor?’ she asked.
He took both her hands in his, smiling as he patted them.
‘He’s going to be fine,’ he said, to a collective sigh of relief from the sisters.
Jordan, however, just closed her eyes and thanked God for answering her prayers.
‘We stopped the bleeding and flushed out the old blood. The scan shows his brain is looking totally undamaged. He’s still out of it, but should be awake and back in his bed within an hour
. Now, is there a lady here called Jordan?’
Jordan bolted to her feet. ‘That’s me.’
‘I have a message for you from my patient.’
‘A message? But…but…how?’
‘He came round for a few seconds and asked the nurse to tell you there is a way. Does that make any sense to you?’
‘Yes,’ she choked out, nodding and crying at the same time. ‘Yes, it makes perfect sense.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
JORDAN emerged into the late-afternoon sunshine, Gino’s arm hooked through hers.
“I never thought I would see this day,” she said to him. ‘Oh, Gino, I’m so happy I could burst.’
‘Happiness becomes you.’ He leant over to kiss her glowing cheek. ‘So does white.’
She turned her smiling face and kissed him back on the mouth.
After a full thirty seconds, the photographer cleared his throat very noisily. The happy couple broke apart, the bride blushing, the groom beaming.
‘I need the entire wedding party, please?’ the photographer commanded, as he waved his arms about with theatrical panache. He was Italian, but spoke English very well, having spent some years in England.
‘That’s the only drawback with Italian weddings,’ Gino muttered under his breath as everyone tried to assemble on the old church steps. ‘Sometimes they make Ben Hur look like a small production.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Jordan returned, with a little laugh.
Aside from the bride and groom, the wedding party had six bridesmaids, six groomsmen, five small pageboys and seven little flower-girls. And that didn’t count the mother of the groom and Gino’s uncle Stefano, who’d kindly given Jordan away.
‘If we’d had this wedding in Melbourne it would have been even bigger,’ Gino told her. ‘Probably two or three hundred guests. Today we only have a hundred.’
‘Speaking of guests, thank you so much for flying Kerry and Ben over,’ Jordan said, waving to her friend and her fiancé. ‘It was very generous of you.’
‘Couldn’t have everyone sitting on my side of the church now, could I?’
‘No more talking, please,’ ordered the photographer. ‘Just smile!’