Shameful Secret, Shotgun Wedding

‘That’s Gabriella?’ she whispered.

‘The very same.’

‘She’s…she’s very beautiful.’

Giancarlo’s mouth hardened into an odd kind of smile. ‘Isn’t she?’

Cassie felt her heart plummet. Her husband would have been a liar if he’d denied what was a glaring fact—but in that moment of terrible insecurity, what she wanted more than anything was for Giancarlo to tell her that the woman was a hag and he’d never loved her. But there was no time for further conversation, because the petite Italian beauty was upon them with a rush of heady scent and an unmistakable sparkle of her dark eyes as she stared up at her brother-in-law.

‘Giancarlo,’ she said, her hands moving familiarly to his shoulders as she offered him one cool cheek to kiss, followed by another. ‘How good to see you again. It has been too long. Much, much too long. Nearly a year since we met you for dinner in New York!’

‘That long?’

‘I could tell you down to the very second,’ she pouted. ‘And in the meantime, you went and got married without even telling us!’

‘But I thought you liked surprises,’ he said archly. Stepping away from Gabriella’s embrace and the overpowering scent of her perfume, he rested his hand lightly at Cassie’s waist. ‘And besides, I’ve brought my wife to meet you. This is Cassandra.’

‘Your wife!’ exclaimed Gabriella. ‘Sometimes I thought I would never hear you say those two words! How happy I am to meet you, Cassandra.’

Cassie felt a bit like a trump card which had just been produced in a game of cards which had gone on for a long time with no sign of ending. She felt excluded by shared history and the dark undercurrents which flowed between the two of them—and found herself wishing that Giancarlo would do something significant and proprietary. Like planting a possessive kiss on her lips which would leave Gabriella in no doubt that he was completely enraptured by his new wife. But that wouldn’t be true, would it? And perhaps she should be glad that he wasn’t making empty gestures in order to gloat in front of his ex-lover.

‘I’m very pleased to meet you,’ she said politely, swallowing down her nerves. ‘But please call me Cassie—it’s only Giancarlo who uses my full name.’

‘How sweet! Already you have nicknames for each other—because I gather this has all happened very quickly?’ cooed Gabriella, hooking her arm through Cassie’s as if they had been friends for years. ‘So, I am dying to learn how you finally captured the heart of the man for whom all the women go crazy! You must tell me your secret, Cassandra—how you succeeded where so many others have failed.’

Was that remark supposed to remind Cassie about the only person who had really captured the heart of the Italian billionaire? Or to rub in the fact that she was not the kind of bride most people would have been expecting. A young and unsophisticated English shop-girl who felt all wrong, despite her expensive clothes—as if they were wearing her rather than the other way round.

‘You’ll have to ask Giancarlo about that,’ Cassie answered as they passed through a stone arch into a courtyard and then into the vast house itself.

‘Ah, but he is a man of mystery to me now,’ sighed Gabriella. ‘Who never tells me what is on his mind. Indeed, we rarely see him these days. A snatched moment here and there—that is all we must content ourselves with!’

‘My brother is not here to greet me?’ questioned Giancarlo.

‘He has taken Allegra to look at a new horse—and the stables are miles away. He’ll be back soon. But in the meantime, will you take some tea, Cassandra?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Cassie gratefully. ‘I’d love some tea.’

‘Then tea you shall have.’ Gabriella slanted Giancarlo a smile. ‘Do you want to come help me, cara?’

‘As I recall, you used to employ a fleet of servants,’ he observed softly. ‘Which I’m sure you still do.’

‘Ah, I see that your husband has lost nothing of his acid tongue!’ Gabriella gave a graceful little shrug of her narrow shoulders. ‘Very well, I’ll go and organise it. But please do make yourselves at home.’

Cassie wondered if careless comments like that were what kept Giancarlo away. Home. A mocking reminder of what might have been.

She looked around. The room was beautiful in a faded kind of way and everything in it seemed very precious. Exquisite lamps spilled golden light onto the silken rugs which covered the flagged stone floors. There were sofas made from soft, dark velvet and gleaming wood which looked big enough to lose yourself in. Stunning Tuscan landscapes covered the walls and there was a portrait of a man whose proud, patrician features bore an unmistakable resemblance to Giancarlo.