Delucca's Marriage Contract

He put up a hand. ‘Basta. I don’t want to hear it, Keelin. I’ve had enough of your lies and playacting. Just go to bed. Damn you.’

And then he turned around and walked out, the door closing with incongruous softness behind him. Keelin looked at it in the gloom for a long time before reaction set in and she started to shake. The slivers of lace on the floor mocking her.

Her mind mercifully went to some numb place, induced by shock, fatigue and an overload of emotion. Vaguely aware of what she was doing, she kicked off her shoes and found the zip at the back of the dress, yanking it down. She stepped out of it and went to the bed, and climbed into it, pulling the luxurious covers over her body. And then she weakly shut out all of the voices and recriminations and slept.

* * *

When Keelin woke in the morning it took her long minutes to figure out where she was and why she was in her underwear in the most sumptuously soft bed she’d ever lain in.

Then she opened her eyes and took in the room and it all came flooding back, along with the reality of opulent dark red furnishings and antique furniture.

She came up on her elbows and looked around. The curtains hadn’t been drawn so she pushed back the covers and got out, squinting a little at the daylight outside. A robe was behind the bathroom door, so after splashing some water on her face she pulled it on.

There were French doors and a balcony so she opened the doors and stepped out. The view took her breath away. Undulating green hills as far as the eye could see. For a moment she felt absurdly homesick as it reminded her of Ireland.

And then a low but powerful noise impacted—and she realised that that must have woken her up. And just as she thought that, she saw the helicopter rise up from the back of the property and bank to the left before disappearing off into the horizon, quickly becoming a small black dot. She hadn’t been able to see who was in it but she assumed the pilot was taking it back to Rome.

Something skated over Keelin’s skin to think of Gianni and how angry he’d been last night. And of facing him this morning. Recalling the events of the previous day felt a little dreamlike. Had it really happened?She looked down and saw the enormous diamond of her engagement ring and the slim wedding band.

Oh, yes, it had happened. She’d exchanged vows with the man in front of witnesses. And even now she could recall the strange kind of paralysis that had gripped her.

Knowing she’d have to face him sooner or later, Keelin went back inside and found that her things that had been sent on ahead were hanging up or in drawers. Along with a lot of clothes that looked brand-new. Her blood boiled slightly to think of him instructing someone anonymous to pick things out for her.

After a quick shower she dressed in worn jeans and one of her favourite plaid shirts and thought to herself that if Gianni didn’t like it, then he’d have to get used to it because this was the real her.

But as she found her way downstairs she had the uncanny sensation that Gianni wasn’t here. And until now she hadn’t even realised she’d been so aware of his whereabouts at any given time.

Lucia the housekeeper appeared as Keelin got to the bottom of the stairs looking a little worried. She spoke fast and made some kind of gesture with her hands, as if something was flying away. It was the unmistakable concern mixed with pity in her kind brown eyes that sent the knowledge into Keelin’s gut.

Gianni had been in the helicopter. He’d gone somewhere and left her here. For a second she almost couldn’t breathe. Her belly lurched. Lucia was taking her by the arm, still speaking unintelligible Italian, guiding Keelin to a gorgeous outdoor terrace where a table was set for breakfast.

Lucia fussed around her but Keelin was struggling to compute what that might mean, if Gianni had left. Mechanically she ate what was put in front of her and drank hot strong coffee.

She didn’t like the awful creeping sensation of isolation, of being somehow powerless. She was in a villa in the middle of nowhere—it seemed—with not a word of Italian and no idea why Gianni had left or when he’d be back.

She tried to ask Lucia if he’d left a note but Lucia just shook her head, clearly not understanding. Smiling at Keelin apologetically, she seemed to make some more motions as if to say that Gianni would return.

When she’d bustled off again, Keelin decided to try his office in case he’d left a note there, but there was nothing but blank paper.

She sank down into his chair. Maybe this was it? She’d pushed him so far that he’d just left her here? So why didn’t that evoke some sense of satisfaction or triumph? A kind of hysteria bubbled up but she pushed it back down. But she couldn’t stop the edges of panic from gathering in the wings, ready to pounce and drag her back to her childhood.

Telling herself that he must have left momentarily and that there had to be some explanation, Keelin got up and forced herself to explore the villa. It was only when she returned about an hour later after having seen not another soul that the panic started to grip her in earnest.

Lucia couldn’t be found now. It didn’t even occur to Keelin to try and phone Gianni. He’d given her that card with his numbers when they’d met but she had no idea where it was now. And in any case her mobile phone battery was dead and she couldn’t find her charger.

She was entirely alone in this vast villa somewhere south of Perugia and as the day wore on with no sign of Gianni returning, Keelin wasn’t in Italy any more. She wasn’t twenty-three. She was back in her past, at some indeterminate age, and she knew that there was not one person in the world who cared remotely where she was. Or that she was alone.

And slowly, the walls that she’d so painstakingly built over the years started to crumble, because she’d sworn she’d never allow this to happen again.

* * *

As Gianni drove back to the villa late that night the anger he’d been feeling all day was still there. His eyes were gritty from fatigue, and frustration pounded like a pulse in his blood.

Damn her. His wife, who he should have bedded last night. His wife. He’d almost been tempted to stay in Rome for the night but some very unwelcome sense of guilt had stopped him. Even though he shouldn’t be feeling guilt.

When he thought of Keelin now though, all he could see in his mind’s eye were the lurid images from last night, and how feral he’d felt as he stood in front of her. How badly he’d wanted to just rip that dress apart completely, baring her to his gaze.

And then Keelin had spouted the latest lie from her pretty mouth. A virgin. Ha! Virgins were as extinct as the dodo as far as Gianni was concerned. He’d stopped believing in virgins right about the time that the sixteen-year-old girl he’d been in love with had said to him patronisingly, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. It’s your first time, isn’t it?’