Never Underestimate a Caffarelli (Those Scandalous Caffarellis 2)

‘Why?’ She felt her heart contract again. ‘So you can show everyone you’ve moved on from Clarissa?’

‘It has nothing to do with Clarissa.’

‘It has everything to do with her. You’re not ready for a relationship.’

His jaw went down like a clamp.

‘I’ve already made the arrangements. You can’t not come.’

‘I haven’t got anything to wear.’

‘I’ve got that covered.’

‘You bought me clothes?’ Lily glared at him. ‘Is that what you did? How could you? How could you make me feel like some sort of tawdry kept mistress?’

His eyes hardened like diamonds. ‘You’re not my mistress.’

‘No, of course not.’ She gave him a testy look. ‘I’m just your physical therapist with benefits.’

His mouth was pulled so tight it looked white around the edges. ‘I don’t want to have this conversation now.’

‘Fine.’ She tossed her head and went in hunt of another rose to pick. ‘Don’t have it, then.’

He blew out an audible breath. ‘What is wrong with you? Why are you being so...so antagonistic all of a sudden? You knew how it was going to be. I didn’t make any promises to you.’

Lily put the rose in her basket. The velvet petals and the savage thorns were a poignant reminder of what love was like: beautiful but excruciatingly painful.

No, he hadn’t made any promises.

She was the one with the serious case of wishful thinking. A couple of times she’d caught him watching her when he had thought she was still asleep. He’d had a look of such tenderness and longing in his eyes it had made her wonder if he would open his heart to her. She was wrong. Clearly. ‘No, that’s right. You didn’t.’

‘Let’s not fight now, Lily.’ His jaw was set in an uncompromising line. ‘Please...’ His voice lost its harsh edge, showing a tiny glimpse of how vulnerable he was feeling, ‘Not now.’

Lily felt herself caving in. What was she doing ruining their last few hours arguing with him? He had made up his mind.

She had better get used to it.

* * *

The Oxfordshire church was full of fragrant flowers. Raoul had to steel himself as he wheeled up the aisle. It reminded him of his parents’ funeral. The cloying scent was overpowering. Sickening. Thank God there wasn’t a choir.

He caught a glimpse of Lily sitting in one of the pews. She gave him a shy smile that tugged on his heart like stitches being pulled. She was wearing the designer outfit he had bought her. He couldn’t make up his mind whether it suited her or not. Personally, he preferred her without clothes, but that was just his opinion. The slim-fitting, shell-pink suit clung to her neat figure like a glove. Her hair was swept up in an elegant twist on top of her head and she had put on a modest amount of make-up that highlighted her creamy complexion, regally high cheekbones and the deep blue of her eyes.

Rafe was standing at the altar, looking dashing if not a little nervous. Remy hadn’t yet arrived, and no one was entirely sure if he would, but that was Remy for you.

‘How’re you doing?’ Rafe asked as Raoul parked his chair alongside.

‘I think that

’s supposed to be my line.’

‘You made it.’

‘I made it.’

Rafe swallowed a couple of times and then turned to face the front of the church. ‘I feel a bit nervous.’

‘I can tell.’