Everything in the dimly lit Neapolitan apartment had seemed so fragile and it had made her move carefully, almost exaggeratedly—as if afraid that a sudden move might knock over one of the priceless-looking antiques which adorned the room. And hadn’t there been a noticeable lack of affection between mother and son? Ciro’s cool attitude towards his mother seemed to have been more dutiful than loving. For a moment that had scared the hell out of Lily and she wasn’t sure why.
‘She seemed to disapprove of me,’ she said.
‘Well, that’s a relief!’ Danielle grinned. ‘No mother on the planet ever approves of her son’s bride—that’s a given! They’re always as jealous as hell until the requisite replacement boy-child makes an appearance. What did she say?’
Lily stared down at her glittering sapphire and diamond engagement ring. She couldn’t blame the awkward atmosphere on the language barrier since Ciro’s mother spoke English as perfectly as her son. She had just felt wrong. As if her pale, English curves would never fit into the sleek and moneyed world which the D’Angelos inhabited.
But if she was being honest, it was more than Leonora D’Angelo’s attitude which had given her cause for concern. His cousin Giuseppe, who was to be their best man, seemed to have reservations about her, too. Ciro had told her that the two men were very close—more like brothers than cousins. But over dinner, the handsome blue-eyed Giuseppe had seemed to be studying her intently—as if he was trying to work her out. Or had her pre-wedding nerves just imagined that?
‘So are you saying you want me to go and talk to Ciro?’ Danielle’s voice broke into her worried thoughts and Lily watched as her friend walked over to the window and stared out at the blue sweep of the bay. ‘In front of the two hundred assembled guests who will be filing into the church, even as we speak—and somehow explain to him that you’ve changed your mind about marrying him?’
For a few seconds, Lily allowed herself to play out the scene in her head—imagining the uproar and embarrassment as all the guests turned to one another in horrified question. And that was when she started laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. What was she like? Wasn’t this what she’d secretly been dreaming about, almost from the first time she’d seen him? When her heart had tumbled into a place she hadn’t been expecting—and she had connected with him in a way which had taken her completely by surprise? Wasn’t this the end-product of weeks of frustration and years of yearning—that soon she would have someone to love? Someone who seemed to need all the love she could give him—because she thought she detected a great core of loneliness at the very heart of Ciro D’Angelo. The man who seemed to have everything except for the one thing that money couldn’t buy.
‘No, I haven’t changed my mind, Dani. And you’re right. It’s just stupid nerves which made me forget just how lucky I am.’ She stood up and the layers of white tulle fell to the ground in a soft whisper. ‘Come on, let’s go—because I’m not sure whether it’s the done thing in Italy for the bride to be late and I have a very nervous brother next door, who has been railroaded into giving me away!’
Lily was much too nervous and excited to take much notice of the bustling streets during the short drive to the church and she listened to Jonny and Danielle’s excited comments with only half an ear. But as the car drew up outside the small church she felt a strange sense of approaching destiny.
There was a sudden hush as she stood in the arched doorway of the small church, dimly aware of the overpowering scent of flowers and the sudden swell of organ music. For a moment she was aware of the enormity of the step she was about to take, before reassuring herself that was perfectly normal, too. Because it was important. One of the most important days of her life.
Smoothing down her veil, she looped her arm through Jonny’s and began the slow walk down the aisle, aware of the collective turning of heads as she passed the people who were mostly strangers to her. But there was only one person in her line of vision. One person who dominated it all. Who had dominated her life from the minute he’d walked into it on a sunny English day.
Toweringly dark and impossibly gorgeous—there seemed almost an edge to him today. It was as if the impeccably formal clothes had distanced him and made him into someone different—someone she didn’t really know. He was at home here, Lily thought suddenly. At home among all these sleek and sophisticated people, while she was the pale Englishwoman who knew nobody. Her heart missed a beat and for a moment she felt as if she couldn’t go through with it, her step faltering slightly as her white shoe stepped into a pool of rainbow light which poured down from the stained glass window. She saw Jonny glance at her, his gaze concerned.
And then the man waiting at the altar slowly turned his head and Lily’s heart fired into life again, crashing against her ribcage so hard that she wondered if the movement was visible beneath her delicate dress.
This is Ciro, she thought—and felt a soft, creeping pleasure as she walked towards him, looking up to
meet the dark blaze of his eyes as she finally reached him. The man she had grown to admire and to respect. Who had somehow got back her mother’s pearls and sternly told her that it would be a crime if her talented brother didn’t achieve his potential. The man who had done so many loving things to get her here today. Her darling Ciro.
‘Okay?’ he mouthed at her, and she nodded, sliding her hand into the waiting warmth of his.
The service was conducted in both languages and Lily managed to repeat her vows without stumbling—though her finger was trembling as Ciro slid the golden ring onto it. And then the priest was pronouncing them man and wife and the congregation had started clapping and he put his face close to hers, a smile nudging at the edges of his lips.
‘You look beautiful,’ he murmured.
‘Do I?’
‘More than beautiful. Like a flower. Soft and pure and white—like the Lily you were named after.’
‘Oh, Ciro,’ she whispered.
He smiled. Her face was upturned, her lips trembling with eagerness, but the kiss he grazed over her lips was breathtakingly short and deliberately so. They still had a wedding breakfast and reception to get through before they could be alone as man and wife. And he had waited much too long for this to want to do anything but savour her at his leisure. ‘Come on, let us go and meet our guests,’ he said.
The reception and the first night of their honeymoon were being held at the Il Baia hotel which had the added pressure of everyone falling over themselves to please Ciro. Lily had wondered if he wouldn’t rather spend his wedding night anonymously, rather than in a place where everyone knew him—but he had shaken his head.
‘It means we can slip away from the reception without making a fuss,’ he’d murmured. ‘And it wouldn’t be a very good advertisement for the hotel if the boss spent his wedding night in a rival establishment, now would it?’
Lily supposed it wouldn’t, and by early evening, she couldn’t have cared less where they were going—she just couldn’t wait to get there. Her face ached from all the photo-taking, she’d shaken a million hands during the line-up and she’d barely managed to get close to a morsel of food, let alone eat any of it. She tried not to be overwhelmed by the vast amount of Ciro’s friends, compared to the small clutch of people she’d flown out from Chadwick Green. And she tried not to feel insecure when she looked at all the beautiful women who chattered so vivaciously, expressively swirling their hands around as they talked.
At least Jonny seemed to be enjoying himself with a group of Ciro’s younger cousins, while Danielle was certainly getting plenty of offers to dance. And Fiona Weston was eating some sort of dessert called sfogliatella, and trying very hard to find the recipe for it.
By nine o’clock, when Lily was in serious danger of flagging, Ciro put his arm around her waist.
‘I think it’s about time I took you to my bed at last,’ he murmured. ‘How does that idea appeal to you, Signora D’Angelo?’
She leaned her head against his broad shoulder, thrilling to the possessive note in his voice and to the sound of her brand-new title. She was Ciro’s wife, she thought ecstatically and all her uncertainties melted away. For the first time in a long time she would have someone to lean on. Someone who would be watching out for her as she would be watching out for him. Someone whom she could love and support in turn. Her partner, in every sense of the term. ‘Oh, yes, please,’ she whispered.
‘Then let’s slip away—without any fuss.’