The Italian's Bride

Could she deprive her precious son of what he deserved—the very best?

The prickling of his spine alerted Lucenzo to her presence. He turned slowly in his chair and saw her. His heart jumped and his breath came short and fast. Not because she looked so fantastic, though the scarlet of her shirt made her silvery blonde hair look even paler, the figure-moulding light coloured pants bringing back X-rated reminders of last night. And not because she looked strangely vulnerable, excluded and lost. No, not at all.

He pushed back his chair and stood up. This urgency inside him was down to needing to stake his claim before his misguided father attempted to put his own head into the matrimonial noose.

Forcing himself not to rush to her side, he made his pace leisurely. Surely she’d had enough time to recognise the practical sense of marriage to him? Or was she still thinking it over? Was that why she seemed so unwilling to join the breakfast party?

Whatever.

Reaching her side, he said, ‘Portia?’ and watched her heavy lashes flutter open.

He saw the unusual dullness of those normally sparkling grey eyes and experienced the headiest sense of satisfaction of his entire life when she told him tonelessly, ‘I will marry you, Lucenzo.’

CHAPTER TEN

‘LUCENZO, my son—you’ve made me a very proud man!’ Eduardo beamed, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘Though I’m happy to say I’m not altogether surprised!’ He put down his coffee cup and held out his arms. ‘Portia, my darling girl, come and kiss your future father-in-law!’

Watching Portia move easily into his father’s embrace, Lucenzo narrowed his eyes. He’d fully expected his father to greet the announcement of his wedding plans with a look of downright pique or, at the very least, annoyance at the way his own ridiculous intention to marry the girl himself had been thwarted.

But the wily old devil was genuinely delighted and that ‘I’m happy to say I’m not altogether surprised’ said it all. Didn’t it just!

He, Lucenzo Verdi, acting head of Verdi Mercantile, had been set up! The old man must have gambled on his own unsuitable suggestion of marrying Portia for the honour of the family sending his remaining son off hotfoot to do his duty for him and keep Vittorio’s son here, where he belonged!

A smile of wry admiration curved his mouth. Even though this was the first time in his adult life that someone else had manipulated him, instead of the other way round, it was good to know the old fox hadn’t lost his cunning! And in all honesty he couldn’t regret the way he’d been goaded into making that proposal.

Being married to Portia wouldn’t be a problem. She knew the score, he’d been open about that, and she was obviously happy with it and had sensibly settled for the practical advantages of their union.

She wouldn’t demand the things he couldn’t give her—emotional commitment, protestations of undying love.

His deep involvement in business matters would keep him away on a regular basis, but that wouldn’t be a problem, either. Portia was adaptable. She’d proved that when she’d fitted in here, stealing a place in the hearts of his father and Nonna, not to mention the entire complement of staff. Even Lorna had taken to her, now looked on her as an amusing much younger sister. And she would want for nothing. So, yes, Portia would be fine.

And when he was here at the Villa Fontebella he would have the nights to look forward to. Sharing a bed with his wife would be no problem at all!

Portia extracted herself from Eduardo’s embrace and shakily took her place at the table. Lorna gave her a friendly congratulatory hug, whispering mischievously, ‘Well done, you! You’ve just landed the most eligible man in Italy!’ Which didn’t make her feel any better, but more of a hypocrite than ever, in fact.

Donatella, after gently putting Sam into Eduardo’s loving arms, gave her a stiff nod and said, her eyes stony, ‘Welcome to the family,’ then walked back into the villa.

Portia gulped a mouthful of the coffee Lucenzo had poured for her to wash down the lump in her throat. Donatella would treat her with that quelling brand of icy politeness from now on, instead of those acid barbs of hers, but she would never like her. In her eyes she would never become an accepted member of this exalted family.

But she, along with the rest of them, would love and cherish Vito’s son. And that was all that mattered, she consoled herself, hoping she didn’t look as miserable as she felt.

‘Cara,’ Lucenzo said from behind her. ‘Shall we go?’ He put his hands on her shoulders, his touch both intimate and reassuring as he excused them to his father. ‘Portia and I have much to discuss today. You will have to forgo her company this morning. But under the happy circumstances I’m sure you will forgive us.’

Beyond making any objections, because for one she couldn’t really think of any and two she’d used up the last remaining scraps of her mental energy when she’d decided she had to accept Lucenzo for her son’s sake, Portia mutely shadowed her brand-new fiancé as he took Sam to Assunta’s safekeeping. He instructed Ugo to see Eduardo back to his room and wait with him until the physiotherapist arrived, then ushered her to the rear of the villa, to the garage complex and handed her into an open-topped sports car.

‘Where are we going?’ she enquired in a small voice. She quivered as heat ignited inside her—his hand had accidentally brushed against her breasts as he leant over to fasten her seatbelt. This agonising awareness of him had been her undoing almost from the first time she’d set eyes on him, she mourned. Without her being fully conscious of how it was happening it had led her to this unreal situation, as the promised wife of a man who had made no bones about telling her he didn’t love her.

‘Out,’ Lucenzo replied laconically. He glanced at her, his dark brows lowering. There were smudges of fatigue around her eyes, and beneath the soft golden tan she’d acquired while she’d been here in Italy there was a pallor that concerned him. He hoped she wasn’t already regretting her decision. ‘We need to grab some relaxation before we get swamped in wedding arrangements.’

He turned the ignition key and the engine growled to life. Portia said ‘Oh’ in a small die-away voice. Another glancing sideways look took in her slumped shoulders, the down-curve of her soft mouth, the limp hands lying loosely on her lap.

She was simply tired, that was all, Lucenzo concluded, his spirits lifting with a surge of relief that took him by surprise.

Of course she wouldn’t be regretting her decision. Why should she? It was eminently sensible for all concerned. She’d probably slept as little as he had last night. The recollection of just why neither of them had spent much time sleeping overwhelmed him with a sensation that was entirely primitive

male.

When he’d collected himself enough to speak he told her, ‘We’ll stop off in the village and I’ll show you the church where we’ll be married.’ His voice sounded strangely thick and husky. He swallowed. ‘Then we’ll head for the hills.’