The Italian's Bride

Her ears straining, she waited to hear Lorna tell the older woman not to be a fool, that Lucenzo would never do

something so callous and cruel.

But Lorna merely laughed.

And that cold, tinkling sound echoed in her ears as she turned back the way she had come.

Assunta glanced up from her knitting. ‘You’ve come back for your beautiful ring—didn’t I tell you not to forget it!’

‘No.’ Portia was trying to hold herself together. All her insides were shaking and her legs would barely hold her upright. She tugged in a ragged breath. ‘Perhaps you’d let them know I won’t be joining them for dinner. I’ve developed a migraine and—’

‘You poor child!’ Assunta was on her feet, her knitting cast aside, peering at her. ‘You don’t look at all well. What can I get you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Pills? A glass of water?’

‘No. Really.’ Portia would have liked to tell her to go away, but she couldn’t be that unkind when the older woman was so genuinely concerned about her. ‘I just need to lie down quietly for a little while and then it will pass. Truly.’

‘Then I will sit here while you rest. To look after the little one should he wake.’

Portia closed her eyes, fighting for control. She was nearing the end of her tether; she could feel it! She had to be alone to do what was necessary. She said as calmly as she could, ‘Please, Assunta. He won’t wake for a while, and when he does I can manage. Just pass my message on. Please.’

For a few agonising moments she thought the older woman was going to argue, but thankfully at last she left, and Portia methodically changed out of her dress and into her cotton robe.

She couldn’t stay. Not if there was the tiniest risk that what Donatella had said was true. She would get over her love for Lucenzo in time, but she would never survive if he married her, cast her aside and took her baby from her.

There was no sign of the battered suitcase she had arrived with. Paolina had probably burned it. But there were still two of the classy carriers left over from her shopping trip tucked away at the bottom of the hanging cupboard. It took only moments to fill one of them with the things she’d need for Sam on the journey back to England tomorrow.

Their passports and her UK currency were still in the drawer where she’d put them for safe-keeping all those weeks ago. Not letting herself think about anything but the task in hand, she transferred them to her old handbag and started to push the clothes she’d brought with her into the other carrier, leaving out a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt to wear in the morning.

She draped them over the back of a chair to put on as soon as she woke in the morning. If she ever slept. But she wouldn’t let herself think about the long, empty hours of the night. She just had to carry on with what she was doing. She couldn’t afford to let go.

But she almost did just that when Lucenzo walked into the room. Her breath locked in her throat and she started to shake, raw sobs building up a terrible pressure inside her. The carriers dropped from her nerveless fingers. So tall, so dark, so outrageously attractive, how was she going to stop loving him, needing him?

‘Assunta said you were unwell.’

How could he look so concerned when he really didn’t give a damn? When he only wanted custodial rights over her son?

‘What are you doing?’ Narrowed eyes fastened on the carriers, his frown deepening. A sleeve of that awful home-made dress, the one he’d made her wear for that first dinner with the family, was hanging out of one of them. He could hardly miss the connection.

In any case, she had to tell him.

‘There will be no marriage, Lucenzo. Sam and I will be leaving in the morning. If you can spare Alfredo, could he drive us to the airport?’ A sudden feeling of guilt swamped her. A lot of time, trouble and money had been spent on the wedding arrangements. And all those lovely clothes everyone had insisted she have. Thinking of the waste made her feel dizzy.

Lucenzo’s strong face clenched. He asked tightly, ‘What is all this about?’

‘It’s about the way everyone knows—except Eduardo, because he’s far too nice to go along with it—that you’re going to adopt Sam when we’re married. Well, I knew that, of course, but I didn’t know you planned on throwing me out and keeping him!’

She had blurted it out without thinking, and immediately wished she’d kept her mouth shut when he countered with a decisive bite, ‘Who is “everyone”?’

Portia kept her mouth tightly shut this time. Though it was a bit like shutting the stable door after the horse had gone, she thought miserably, visibly shaking now.

She didn’t want to cause bad feeling between members of the family. Donatella couldn’t help disliking her and taking comfort from the thought of her coming downfall. Lucenzo’s aunt was a dreadful snob, but that would be down to the way she’d been brought up and not really her fault.

‘Sit down before you fall down.’ He helped her into a chair, the one she’d draped her old jeans on. He was quite gentle about it—probably because her teeth were chattering now and he feared a noisy descent into hysterics—but he looked blackly furious.

Because she’d learned of his intentions before it was too late?