The Sicilian's Stolen Son

‘Will you come for a walk with me?’ he intoned in a roughened undertone. ‘We have a visit to make.’

Her brow furrowed as he deftly walked her away from the breakfast table. ‘A visit?’

‘I believe you had tea with Sancia yesterday—’

‘My goodness, the grapevine around here is positively supersonic!’ Jemima countered while she thought fast.

‘I like to keep an eye on events when I’m unable to be present in person,’ Luciano assured her with a perfectly straight face.

Controlling...much? But Jemima said nothing because she knew that he was upset and she couldn’t bear that. Glancing up at him, she could see the haunted look she had seen before was back in his eyes and she could see that, for all that he looked spectacular, he must have been travelling all night and lines of strain were etched between his classic nose and even more perfect mouth. Of course, if he wanted to cancel the wedding, he would be feeling awfully guilty about it, she thought painfully.

‘What did you think of Sancia?’

‘We don’t have much in common,’ Jemima replied mildly.

‘She was a bitch to you, wasn’t she?’ Luciano growled within sight of the guest cottage above the beach.

Taken aback, Jemima came to a halt and stared up at him. ‘I—’

‘I can be selfish but I’m not stupid...most of the time,’ Luciano tacked on, compressing his hard mouth. ‘I’ve been foolish—’

‘It’s all right...whatever you decide to do, it’s all right. Just don’t be upset about it,’ Jemima mumbled helplessly, resisting the urge to wrap both arms around him and offer him comfort. Even in the overly emotional mood she was in, she knew that was not the normal way to behave when a man dumped you and that the very last thing she should be worrying about was how he felt. And yet that urge was engrained in her when he was around, she thought painfully as he closed his hand firmly round hers and urged her on towards the cottage.

‘Why are we going to see Sancia?’ she prompted uncomprehendingly. ‘I admit she wasn’t the kindest hostess but I have nothing more to say to her.’

‘But I have plenty to say,’ Luciano incised, banging on the door with his fist.

Sancia opened the door little more than three seconds later. It was barely nine in the morning but she was wearing a pristine white sundress and had a full face of make-up on, so she had evidently been expecting visitors. ‘Luciano...’ she said, wreathed with welcoming smiles.

‘Sancia...’ he grated, moving past her to stare in shock at the array of photographs and paintings decorating the cottage living room. ‘What is all this?’ he breathed.

‘Well, you should know,’ the blonde said archly. ‘You insisted on giving it to me.’

‘You asked me for it—you wanted it for your book,’ Luciano reminded her.

Only moments into their visit and Jemima was already feeling better, for she could already see that Luciano had had no part in creating the shrine in the room to his late wife. That, it seemed, had been solely Sancia’s doing.

‘It’s been like this ever since the year she died,’ the blonde fielded, playing it for all she was worth.

‘You’re the only person who has ever used this place.’ Luciano released Jemima’s hand and swept up a book from the coffee table. ‘Wasn’t the book enough for you?’

‘I don’t know what you mean?’

‘Sancia, I was married to Gigi for five years. This isn’t a biography, it’s a work of fiction. You gave her fans what they wanted to read, not the truth. The truth would have been too ugly,’ he breathed, his deep, dark drawl roughening along the edges.

Sancia switched to Italian and spoke at length.

‘No, we will discuss this in English so that Jemima understands,’ Luciano decreed grimly. ‘I want to know what Sancia told you yesterday.’

‘Nothing that was untrue,’ Sancia trilled, sweetly saccharine. ‘That you don’t like to talk about Gigi and that you said you’d never love a woman again.’

Luciano grimaced. ‘Sancia! Where is your compassion? Your sister almost destroyed me!’

‘There is no need for you to tell—’ Sancia began urgently.

‘A couple who are about to marry should have no secrets from each other,’ Luciano declared, and as Jemima stiffened in surprise he smiled ruefully. ‘A very wise woman once told me that but I wasn’t listening.’

‘But you have never wanted the truth to come out!’ Sancia was still arguing. ‘You were happy for me to write a whitewash!’