The Italian Billionaire's Pregnant Bride

Maribel took a picture of Kathy with her phone. Kathy’s new turquoise dress was a fabulous foil for her colouring and very long legs. ‘One for the album, I think.’

Within five minutes of that picture being taken, Kathy’s mobile phone rang. It was Sergio. ‘I couldn’t believe it when Ella arrived without you. Where are you?’

‘Enjoying dinner. I’m having a hen-night,’ Kathy told him chirpily.

‘It feels like you’ve been kidnapped. I don’t know what Maribel and Tilda are playing at, but it’s inappropriate to stage that kind of event this close to our wedding,’ Sergio informed her with censorious cool.

Chagrined colour surged into Kathy’s cheeks and she excused herself from her companions to move to a more private area where she could speak without being overheard. ‘I wasn’t aware that I asked for your opinion!’

‘My opinion comes free of charge. You have to be exhausted; you’ve only just recovered from your delivery. Just tell me where you are. I’ll come and collect you,’ Sergio responded, his hard shell of self-assurance impervious to her furious response.

‘Forget it! Wouldn’t that be a great way to thank Maribel for her kindness in organising entertainment for me?’

‘Is that why Maribel sent me a photo of you in a very short dress? And told me not to wait up for you because you were going clubbing?’ Sergio queried, unimpressed. ‘My take on this would be that this is payback time for the stag cruise I organised for Leonidas—’

‘Well, even if it is, you can be sure that we’ll be doing something more fun and more intelligent than getting off our faces on booze and carousing with half-naked dancers!’ Kathy blazed down the phone in an incandescent rage before she cut the connection. ‘You know why? We’ve got more class and imagination!’

As Kathy stalked back across the restaurant her phone pulsed and lit up. She switched it off quickly and thrust it into her bag. He was so incredibly bossy. Did he think she was a feckless teenager in need of a curfew?

‘Was that Sergio on the phone?’ Bridget enquired.

‘He wants us to have a brilliant time!’ Kathy fibbed with a set smile.

The women entered the nightclub by a rear entrance where they were welcomed by the management team. Flanked by a platoon of security guards, they were swept into an interior extravagantly modelled on a Moroccan Kasbah with exotic lights and very private seating areas embellished by colourful silks and fat cushioned divans.

Kathy was coming off the dance floor with Nola when a tiny curvaceous blonde in an eye catching white short suit intercepted her. ‘I’m Grazia Torrente,’ she announced. ‘Abramo’s wife.’

A bemused smile crossed Kathy’s expressive mouth, because she had not appreciated that Grazia would be so much smaller than she was. Nola excused herself and returned to their party.

‘I’ve been dying to meet you ever since I heard about you. Come and sit down with me.’ Grazia linked arms with Kathy in an intimate fashion and made it quite impossible for her to walk away again without administering a pointed snub.

Kathy disliked the lack of choice extended to her, but natural curiosity about Sergio’s former fiancée won. ‘How did you know who I was?’

Languorous turquoise-blue eyes rested on her and the chill there sent a frisson of unease darting through Kathy. ‘You’re out on the town with an army of bodyguards in the company of Maribel Pallis and the Crown Princess of Bakhar? Who else could you be but Sergio’s bride? As to how I found you, I have connections.’

‘I’m sure you do and it would be lovely to sit and chat, but I can’t leave my party for long. We’re leaving soon,’ Kathy responded.

‘Sergio is only using you to punish me, Kathy.’ The tiny blonde’s turquoise eyes were bold and sharp as knives, her voice full of soft scorn. ‘He’s not a forgiving man. I let him down when I married his loser brother and now I have to pay the price and watch him marry you. It really is that simple—an almost biblical act of revenge. Only when Sergio decides that I’ve suffered enough will he snap his fingers and allow me back into his life on a permanent basis.’

Flushed and taut, Kathy studied Grazia, whose perfect features were framed by silken wings of silvery blonde hair. The other woman was even more beautiful than she had looked in pictures. ‘I think you’re the one with the problem. Maybe you never got over Sergio—’

Grazia vented a sarcastic laugh. ‘I’m warning you. You’re way out of your comfort zone—a clueless little English girl with no idea how a complex man like Sergio operates. You’re caught up in something that has nothing to do with you and you can’t win because I will always be the girl he idolised at eighteen.’

‘For goodness’ sake, you’re married to his brother!’ Kathy breathed in reproof, losing patience with the blonde’s drama and standing up to leave.

‘I’m in the process of divorcing Abramo—as Sergio told me to do,’ Grazia declared with a pitying smile. ‘Don’t be fooled. Sergio may act like he despises me, but he is still determined to have me. So, he’s marrying you to give his daughter his name, just like his father did a generation ago for Abramo. But what’s a ring on those terms worth? A comfortable divorce settlement? Sergio can afford it.’

Kathy walked away feeling hollow with uncertainty and angry that she had even listened. But the news that Grazia and Abramo were divorcing had come as a shock. Even so, she reasoned, that did not necessarily mean that there was an ongoing connection of any kind between Grazia and Sergio. Her temples were tight with tension. She lifted her hand to massage the taut skin. Maribel suggested that perhaps it was time to call it a night. Bridget asked Kathy if she was tired and she admitted that she was.

Grazia told a good story, Kathy acknowledged unhappily. Sergio had enough powerful pride, ferocious strength of will and a dark, deep secretive nature to nourish the concept of revenge. He kept his emotions in a private place. And nobody knew better than Kathy how closely love, hate and sexual hunger could interconnect until it was impossible to define the boundaries. Grazia did indeed have terrific connections, since not only had she known where to find Kathy that evening, but she was also one of the select few who knew about Ella’s existence.

Leonidas and Maribel Pallis owned a huge country house outside Siena. Kathy scrambled out of the car, eager to see Sergio even if it meant a confrontation. But there was no sign of the men. Maribel took Kathy to the nursery to see Ella, who was sleeping soundly in her cradle. Kathy was then shown into the superb private suite set aside for the bride’s use and left alone. Feeling incredibly weary and free to finally show it, Kathy simply sagged like a worn rag doll. Even the thought of getting undressed was a challenge.

The door opened and she jumped. A tall dark male appeared on the threshold and her heart pounded like a road drill in an instant leap of pleasure and relief.

‘I won’t say I told you so,’ Sergio murmured lazily.

Her attention closed in and clung to him. He was the image of natural elegance in a well-cut jacket and designer jeans. She stamped down hard on an anxious thought about Grazia, determined not to panic into asking stupid questions that would only create friction. ‘About what?