The Sicilian's Stolen Son

‘Why did you have me followed?’

‘My father died when his yacht was blown up in the harbour out there,’ Luciano volunteered. ‘I have lived a very different life but there are still those who hate and fear me because of the blood in my veins. I can’t take the risk of ignoring that.’

Jemima had gone very pale. She brushed his hand soothingly with her fingers. ‘I’m sorry...’

His lush lashes lifted and dark golden eyes scanned her as a glass of water was brought to the table for him. ‘For what? For old history? Nobody grieved for my father, least of all me,’ he admitted bluntly.

‘Was your childhood unhappy?’ she murmured tautly, her eyes on his lean, dark face and the strong tension etched there.

‘Is knowing such things about me important to you?’

Amazed that he should have to ask that, Jemima nodded confirmation.

Luciano drank his water. ‘It was a nightmare,’ he admitted gruffly. ‘That’s why I want a normal family life for Niccolò.’

Jemima wondered what a nightmare entailed and wasn’t sure she could live with further clarification. The haunting darkness in his eyes sent a chill racing down her spine. The old men in the corner were still staring and she glanced away, wondering what it had been like for Luciano to grow up as the son of a man who was loathed and feared and whose reputation for corruption had stretched beyond death to shadow his son’s. Frustrated tenderness laced with intense compassion twisted through Jemima. A normal family life. It was not so much to ask. It was not an impossible dream, was it? In fact it was a modest aspiration for so wealthy and powerful a male and that knowledge touched her heart more deeply than anything else could have done.

Luciano wondered why Jemima appeared to be on the brink of tears. He could see moisture glimmering in her ice-blue eyes. He didn’t want to talk about his dirty past; he didn’t even want to think about such things. It had soiled him for ever—how could it not soil her? Furthermore, he was still reeling from his own behaviour the night before: he had lost control of his temper and acted with dishonour. Even his father had waited to marry his mother before sharing a bed with her. He repressed his troubled thoughts, knowing the futility of regretting what was past.

‘I want to marry you,’ he told her very quietly.

‘I know,’ she whispered, her heart beating so fast it felt as though it were in her throat. ‘But I’m not sure what that means to you.’

‘I wanted you the first moment I saw you,’ Luciano ground out in a driven undertone. ‘Is that what you want to hear? I thought you were your sister then and I couldn’t believe that I could want such a woman, so I fought it. You’re a very loving woman, Jemima, and my son needs that. I don’t think I’m capable of giving that kind of love, but you are.’

Yes, that was what Jemima had needed to hear. A blinding smile curved her lips and lit up her face. ‘OK...you’ve won me over,’ she told him shakily.

Luciano snapped his fingers and the proprietor came running. He spoke in Italian. The waiter scurried around serving everyone in the bar, even Luciano’s protection team. The café owner reappeared with a dusty bottle, which he proffered with pride. The wine was poured and toasts were made.

‘I bought everyone a drink to celebrate our wedding plans with us,’ Luciano explained as her eyes widened.

‘We’re talking weddings now?’ Jemima parroted as he nudged her nerveless fingers with a wine glass. ‘You want me to have a drink? But it’s only ten o’clock in the morning!’

He groaned out loud and raked impatient fingers through his black curls. ‘Santa Madonna! I forgot to give you the ring!’

In a daze, Jemima moistened her dry mouth with the wine. ‘There’s a ring?’

‘Certamente...of course there’s a ring!’ Luciano withdrew a tiny box from his pocket and flipped it open to a spectacular sapphire ring surrounded by diamonds. Removing it from the box, he lifted her hand and slid it onto her engagement finger. ‘If you don’t like it, we can choose something else.’

‘No...it’s beautiful,’ Jemima whispered dizzily. ‘Where did you get it from? I mean, we only arrived...’

‘It belonged to my mother’s family...and no, before you ask, it never belonged to Gigi,’ he assured her.

Smiles had broken out all around them. Several solemn toasts were made. Luciano seemed taken aback by the warmth of the good wishes offered. Jemima drank her wine and watched the sunlight glitter off her amazing ring while wondering with a little frisson of excitement if Luciano would be sharing a bed with her again that night.