The Sicilian's Marriage Arrangement

Then two things happened.

Martina dropped gracefully on the lounger beside Hope. “Isn’t this great?”

And Marco waved from the other side of the pool, catching Luciano’s attention.

He dropped the sunscreen in Martina’s lap with more speed than finesse. “Put some of this on Hope’s back, sorella picolla, while I go see what it is that Marco wants.”

Hope watched him go with despair. It wasn’t working.

Martina looked at Hope. “Didn’t you slather yourself in this stuff before we left the house?”

Hope frowned. “Yes.”

“Then why does my brother want me to put more on you? Not only are you limber enough to reach your own back, but you bought the lotion that lasts for hours, even in the water.”

Hope hated admitting that she’d tried one of the oldest tricks in the book and it had failed, so she shrugged and reached for the bottle. “Let me put that away.”

Martina was looking quizzically at her, then her expression cleared. “I get it. You—”

“Never mind, just hand me the bottle,” she said shortly, interrupting Martina before she could put voice to Hope’s idiocy.

Martina handed her the lotion, her expression curious. “You know. I noticed that Luciano never touches you.”

“I am aware of that.” Hope sighed and shoved the plastic bottle back in her bag. Short of making a blatant request, she wasn’t going to change that state of affairs either. Even then, she had her doubts.

“That’s weird for a guy who wants to marry you.”

Hope didn’t need the reminder. “I know.” She glowered at Luciano where he stood talking to Marco.

“What’s she doing here?” Martina sounded outraged.

Hope turned her head to look where the younger girl’s gaze was directed and felt her heart skip not one, but two beats. This was just what she needed. Zia Merone. She and Luciano had been photographed together several times for the society columns and scandal rags the year before. Rumors of a relationship between the two of them had been rife. Which was a lot more understandable than his name being linked with Hope’s. Zia was beautiful and blond, even if it came from a bottle. Taller than Hope by at least six inches, she had a body that was centerfold material.

A little too blousy for a Vogue cover, but just what a passionate Sicilian male like Luciano would find attractive.

Hope chewed on her lower lip, tasting blood and her own jealousy. A most unenviable emotion. “I guess Marco invited her.”

“You’re right of course, but you’d think she would have enough tact not to come.” Martina turned to face her, dark brown eyes snapping with indignation. “Everyone knows you’re Luciano’s new girlfriend.”

“Do they? Maybe she’s out of the loop.” Hope was watching Zia’s progress toward their host and Luciano with a sinking feeling in her heart.

Marco greeted Zia with a kiss on each cheek. Luciano started to do the same, but the model turned her head and caught his lips. The kiss didn’t last long and Luciano pulled back with a laugh and said something Hope could not hear from her position on the other side of the pool. The greeting was a throwaway gesture, nothing all that intimate for an Italian male, but after being treated like the untouchable woman for days, it was way too much for Hope.

She jumped up. “I’m going into the house. The sun’s too bright right now.”

Martina followed her. “Don’t worry about it, Hope,” she said as she rushed after her. “It was just a little kiss. Believe me, if Luciano had wanted her, he would have kept on kissing her.” Apparently realizing that that was not the most tactful thing to say, Martina shut up.

Hope ignored her and increased her pace to warp speed. He didn’t kiss her at all.

One of Martina’s friends grabbed the younger girl and dragged her off. Much to Hope’s relief. She liked Luciano’s little sister, but she was afraid she was about to cry and she didn’t want an audience. She was searching for a bathroom when a male voice halted her. He was speaking Italian. She didn’t quite catch the rapidly delivered words and turned.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get that,” she said in English, hoping he spoke it as well. Then, just in case, she told him in Italian that she didn’t speak the language very well.

He smiled. “Ah, you are the American girlfriend.”

“Excuse me?” He made it sound like she was an alien being.

“Luciano has brought you home to meet his Mamma.”

The man speaking was about her age and beautiful. There was no other way to describe him. Curly brown hair fell in boyish appeal over his forehead, but his body was anything but boyishly proportioned. Perfectly bronzed, he had sculpted muscles and the classic beauty of a Greek statue. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Luciano, but he was still taller than Hope and he was smiling at her.