Because no matter how they dressed her up, and dressed up this house, no matter how happy her mother was and how much her baby needed a father, marrying a man who did not love her back was just not right.
How could she live with herself?
She sat there, refusing offers of help until the water began to get chilly. Her breasts were larger than ever and her belly huge. She ran her hands over her skin, touching the shape of her child, feeling for his little foot or elbow, sighing her love through her tears and wishing that the love she could give him would be enough.
But it wouldn’t.
Finally the staff began to muster like a pack of anxious puppies. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She must get out of the bath and get dressed.
They were prattling on in Italian—she was beginning to pick up more every day—and then she heard a new voice, a different tone. The housekeeper.
The signor still wasn’t here. He might not be coming. Should they interrupt the signorina?
What if he didn’t come? She’d known it was too good to be true. What if he didn’t want to go ahead with it? What if....
Coral’s eyes flew open. She pulled herself up to her feet. The water sloshed around her and over the sides of the bath, landing on the tiled floor in one big splash. The door burst open and the maids appeared, looking shocked.
‘Di cosa stai parlando? Dov’e?’ Coral demanded. ‘What do you mean, he might not be coming? Where is he? How dare you stand out there gossiping?’
The maids rushed forward, crying out apologies and trying to wrap her up in towels.
‘Please, signora, please get ready. It’s just silly gossip. It means nothing. You must get dressed. You’re so cold. Please.’
They bustled her through the bathroom and into the dressing room, which had miraculously been cleared of staff. They sat her on the bed like a marionette and she let them dry her.
‘But why isn’t he here? What has happened?’
She stared around the room. Everything was set out for the preparation of the bride. Everything in its place, waiting to be painted or curled or puffed into life. Waiting for the moment she would meet her groom.
But there was no groom.
‘What will I do if he doesn’t come?’
She was thinking aloud, mumbling her words, struggling to come to terms with all that was unravelling around her.
‘Of course he’ll come. He’s always so busy. He must have so much to do before he comes for you. You’re so lovely, signorina. He must love you so very much. You and the little bambino.’
They smoothed lotions on her legs and arms, massaging her gently, chattering away. But she saw them exchanging glances nervously. Anxiously preparing her for a wedding that might not take place.
They led her over to a leather chair. Her hair was brushed and sprayed and set in huge rollers. The friendly chatter started up again, gentle jokes between them all, but this time it sounded false and tinny.
She asked for her phone.
There were no messages or calls.
She asked who had arrived at the house. Her mother was approaching by car. Her flight had landed some twenty minutes ago. But there was still no sign of Raffaele.
Her eyes crushed closed. What was she to say to everyone? The guests...? Her mother...?
Carefully, they began to apply her make-up. Her skin was unblemished—radiant, she was told. Never had they seen such a perfect bride. More beautiful than any film star, more natural than any model, she was going to melt the signor’s heart.
But still he did not come.
Maybe he had changed his mind. He had thought her selfish and greedy for wanting to claim her inheritance. Perhaps he had decided she was too foolhardy to be trusted as his wife.
Her mind ran wild with scenarios.
Or had he finally realised that marrying without love was wrong?
She asked for her phone again. Still no messages.
She sent the staff away and called him.
Straight to voicemail. That had never, ever happened before.
Since the moment he had appeared back in her life, the strong, silent mountain of his presence had been right there. She had battled against it but it had stayed there, strong and sure. The thought that she might not have it there any longer chilled her to the bone.
As if a sickness had come over her she stood up, felt her brow and looked around. She had to get away—escape from this panic, this grief, the hideous public catastrophe that lay ahead.
She stepped to the door.
And looked up into his face.
There he was.
‘Raffa!’ she cried. ‘Where have you been? What’s—?’
His face was grim and set in harsh, cold lines. His eyes were cloaked with pain.
He stepped inside and closed the door.
She stopped there, a foot away from him, held back by the chill that seeped out of him like the darkest, coldest, harshest frost.
‘We need to talk,’ he said.
And her heart sank through the floor.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HE COULDN’T REMEMBER when he had first learned how important it was to control fear. And how easy it was. All you had to do was recognise it and then calmly and methodically think through all the different worst-case scenarios. Then deal with them one by one. It worked every time.
It had to have started the day of the crash, when he had been waiting to be taken home from school for Christmas. He’d never felt such excitement, such longing to see his parents after the long, lonely weeks as a boarder. Then the police had come. He had known even before Matron had told him. He had seen the fear in her eyes.
He’d never forgotten that fear. Nothing could ever be that bad again.
He could never get rid of fear entirely, but he could stop his anxiety taking on a life of its own by working harder than anyone, by being indispensable—by marrying Coral.
No. The time had come to stop feeding his paranoia. To stop the disaster movie that ran in his head on a loop. Marriage wouldn’t keep any of them safe—it would just reassure him that he had covered more bases.
‘There won’t be a wedding, Coral,’ he said, quietly and calmly.
Colour drained from her face. Her hand flew to her belly and that gesture twisted the knife that was stuck in his heart even more deeply.
‘Wh—why? What’s happened?’
A white satin robe enveloped her beautiful body...a white scarf was wrapped around her hair. She looked more lovely than ever.
‘Did he tell you to do this? Salvatore? Is he behind this?’
‘What? No. Salvatore is... Salvatore is not my concern any more.’
‘Why are you doing this, Raffa? Why now, when everyone is downstairs waiting? When I am ready to step into my dress? What has happened to make you change your mind?’
Tears were forming in her eyes. She wiped them away and he watched as a trail of brown shadow was smeared on her cheekbone.
‘I can’t force something because it’s how I think it should be.’
‘Is it because I said I wanted my inheritance? Is that it? Surely you can see that I need to have an identity other than being someone’s wife or someone’s mother? I need to provide for the baby too.’
Her chin wobbled as she spoke. Her voice wavered.
He looked away. ‘Of course I do. I truly do. And I accept that. But it was wrong of me to think that we had to marry for us to parent our child. I know you’ll be a brilliant mother to him.’
‘So we won’t live together either?’
He walked around the room, picking up the bride-to-be artefacts. So much feminine clutter. The whole house was bedecked and throbbing with excitement. Very important people from all over the world were here to honour th
is extraordinary event. Everyone’s head had turned as he’d careered into the driveway and raced up the stairs.
‘We don’t have to do anything we don’t want to. We can draw up our own arrangement or have the legal sharks cut it up for us. It’s up to you.’
‘But what about our plans? Our child needs us both! That was what you said.’
He was standing now, right beside her wedding dress. He lifted his fingers to touch the delicate lace sheath. She would have looked so lovely. A huge ivory ribbon was tied just under the bust and trailed down the sides to the knee-length hem. He lifted it up, letting it slip through his fingers.
‘We can make new plans. I’ve already siphoned off MacIver. It’s there if you want it. You could create something amazing and it would be all yours. I’ve no influence with Argento. I’m sorry if boats float your boat, so to speak, but I really have done with that now. The lawyers are untying me as we speak.’
He heard her sob. He didn’t want to look round. He walked to the window and addressed the stupid little topiary hedges that he’d hated ever since he was a child.
‘I know you think I’m interfering, but I’d do anything for you not to be involved in any way with Salvatore—even if you’re fighting him. He’s poisonous. You deserve better. And, don’t ask me why, but I really want you to take my other baby. Take MacIver. Make it work. That’s what you really want, isn’t it, Coral? To make your mark on the world?’
He took her silence for confirmation. Every second was like another year of a jail term.
‘I’ll deal with the guests. You don’t need to face anyone. I’ll leave you here in Rome—you can have the house. I’ll take you to London, or back to Hydros. Tell me what you want, Coral, and I’ll make it happen for you. I promise you.’
‘No, you won’t you—you...bastard! You will not do this to me!’
He froze. ‘What did you say?’
She was halfway across the floor. She was untying the robe and throwing it down on the ground. Underneath she wore exquisite lingerie that hugged her wonderful curves, and stockings on her long, elegant legs.
‘You will not do this to me!’
She grabbed the wedding dress from the wooden mannequin and unzipped it. The mannequin wobbled back and forth as if in shock. She stepped into the dress, never taking her eyes off his.
‘You made love to me, Raffaele Rossini! You made me pregnant. Then you threw me out, and then wouldn’t let me out of your sight until you were sure I wasn’t a liar! And then you made me fall in love with you. You utter...’
The dress was on. The ribbon lay limp down one side. She tugged at the zip, staring at him as if she wanted to brand him with her eyes.
‘What did you say?’ he breathed.
‘You heard!’ she said.
He paced towards her.
He put his hand up to silence her.
‘What. Did. You. Say?’
He reached her. She was still struggling with the dress, twisting her arms up over her shoulders and pulling at the zip.
He grabbed her by the wrists. ‘What did you say, dammit?’
‘You will marry me if it’s the last thing you do,’ she breathed, staring up at him through the most blurry, beautiful eyes he had ever seen.
‘Oh, I will, will I?’ he asked, not moving a muscle.
Her eyes blinked. Her shoulders sank. Her lips fell open and she let her head fall down, just for a moment.
But then she looked up and into his eyes, and he felt something shift in his heart. Something shifted and settled and he knew then that he was going to be with this woman for the rest of his life.
‘You love me, don’t you?’ he said.
She looked him right in the eye. And then she nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
He gathered her into his arms. This wild, wanton woman who was his...his everything. He held her closer than close. He cradled her and rocked her and breathed his love.
‘You do. And I love you, too.’
She grabbed his shirt, handfuls of it, and laid her head on his chest.
‘You’ve got a funny way of showing it.’
He held her closer still. He wouldn’t let her go.
‘I’ve never shown it to anyone before. You’ll need to help me practise.’
She nodded, but still she didn’t move. She was happy in his arms. He could feel it. This was love. Unconditional. Uncontracted. Real.
He fell to his knees.
‘Marry me, Coral. Make me the happiest man alive. Promise you’ll never change, never do what you’re told, never shut up and sit quietly or behave. Promise that you’ll win over the media world as you’ve won me over.’
‘Oh, Raffaele!’
‘I know in my heart that my mother and father would have loved you.’
She flung her arms around his neck. Their mouths met and they kissed and he felt her love.
‘I’ve wanted you so much, Coral. From the moment—’
‘The moment you saw me coming off the jet. I know. You told me.’
He smiled. She was his woman. There was no other for him but her.
‘After you tried to hide your pregnancy I was so angry with you for thinking I wouldn’t look after you.’
‘I would never have done that if you hadn’t thrown me out.’
‘That’s my only regret. It was awful. But when you pulled off that dress and threw it at me I knew I was going to marry you.’
At that, she pulled back. She looked up. Her eyes were sooty and tear-stained, but she glowed like a sunrise in summer.
‘Did you really?’
He pulled her back into the warmth of his embrace and laid his chin on her head.
‘I knew I wanted to chase you down and never let you go.’
‘Never let me go?’ she repeated.
They stood locked together as the minutes ticked by, three becoming one.
‘Do you think they’re all still here?’
‘I think so.’
‘Do you think we should go down and see?’
‘We’re going to have to make this legal some time.’
‘Do you think we’ll hit the headlines?’
‘There’s every chance. There are two news anchors and about a dozen of the world’s top journalists down there.’
‘Maybe we should give them a story.’
‘I think they’ve got all the story they need. You’re the most unconventional, adorable bride in history.’
‘No best man, no bridesmaids, no one giving me away. Just the three of us.’
Coral gazed up into the face of the man she loved.
He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. ‘Your mother did a wonderful job raising you, Coral.’
She bit her lip and he could see she was holding back more tears. She nodded, held herself in check, and when she opened her eyes again the love was shining forth.
‘That was the right thing to say, Raffa. She did. She was a wonderful mother and—’
‘And so will you be, my darling. So will you.’
EPILOGUE
‘HAVE YOU HEARD the latest rumour?’ Coral asked as she buttered a piece of toast and cut it into quarters. She put it on Matteo’s tray and watched while his chubby fingers closed around a piece.
‘Gossip doesn’t interest me at any time of the day, but I’m particularly not keen to hear it until I’ve had at least three coffees. As you well know, my darling.’
‘Hmm, yes...but this you’ll want to hear.’
Raffaele made a dismissive sound and carried on reading his newspaper.
‘Daddy’s grumpy,’ she said, giving Matteo a huge smile.
‘Daddy gwump!’ Matteo said, beaming back, his cherubic cheeks smeared with butter and crumbs.
‘Stop teaching him bad words,’ said Raffaele. ‘I am not grumpy. I’m just a little more tired than usual this morning.’
Coral laughed, and Matteo laughed with her.
‘Did you make Daddy tired, Matty? Did you play games and run along the beach all day long?’
She reached for her precious bundle and unclipped him from the safety harness in his high chair.
Raffaele put his paper down. ‘Yes, he did. Even the dogs were exhausted.’
Coral clasped Matteo tightly, loving the sensation of the tiny bones in his warm, strong little body. In a second he had a handful of her hair, rolling it round in his sticky little fingers.
‘He loves your hair as much as I do.’
‘Almost!’ She laughed, untangling his fingers. ‘So, what did you get up to yesterday?’
Raffaele stood up, putting his arms out for his boy. Coral slid Matteo across.
‘All the favourites,’ he said. ‘As soon as you were in the air we were on the beach—were we not?’ he said, jiggling Matty in his arms. ‘Sandcastles. Paddling. Then we had a picnic lunch and then we did it all over again.’
‘Get any work done?’
‘Not a thing. When he slept, I did too. How about you? Did the shoot go to plan?’
Coral smiled, sat down and poured herself another cup of tea.
‘It was fabulous, thanks.’ She cradled the cup between her hands and blew away the steam. ‘The location was absolutely perfect. We threw out all the ideas and just shot the Princess riding her horse as the sun came up.’
‘Wasn’t it couture?’
‘Yes. Ball gowns—with a touch of Lady Godiva,’ Coral said, laughing. ‘It was so much fun.’
She put her cup down and looked up at her husband and child. They were both watching her carefully.
‘What is it?’ she said.
‘Only love. That’s all,’ said Raffa. ‘You’ve transformed MacIver, but you still want to get up to your armpits in pictures. It’s lovely. It makes me so happy.’
‘I couldn’t have done it without you, darling.’
‘I love my time at home with Matty. It’s the best possible way to raise a child. I thank God every day that we are lucky enough to be able to do it.’
The Consequence She Cannot Deny Page 16