The Sicilian's Bought Cinderella

No, Dante thought. Aislin was the nurturer in the O’Reilly family.

Little wonder she was so fiercely protective of her sister and nephew. For Aislin, her little family meant everything.

A memory came to him, one he hadn’t thought of in a long time, from when a decade ago he’d suffered a nasty bout of flu. For two weeks he’d hardly been able to lift his head up. When his mother had learned of this she had come swanning in to check up on him. She’d stood at the threshold of his bedroom door with a mask covering her fully made-up face and even in his weakened state he’d been disdainful at the distance she’d kept.

For the first time he appreciated that she’d made the effort to see him and satisfy herself that he wasn’t about to die. She’d stayed in his home, uninvited, for five days, never getting any closer to him than the bedroom door, but she had stayed until he was over the worst of it and then flown back to whichever husband she’d been married to.

In her own way she did care for him.

If he were in an accident that left him in a coma he was quite sure she would be at his bedside—no germs to worry about from a car accident—and that she would stay until the danger had passed.

When his father had suffered his fatal heart attack she’d flown straight over to be with Dante.

Had she known about Orla? Had she conspired with his father to keep it secret from him?

The pounding increased, the familiar churning in his guts swirling with the poison of all the secrets and lies.

The congregation rose, again, to its feet. Another hymn was sung and then it was time for the exchange of vows.

The noises in his head were loud enough to block their words out and he was glad of it. Love and fidelity were empty promises. Tying yourself into a union where the only guarantee was disappointment, because that was what family amounted to. Disappointment.

Aislin’s view of the bride and groom was restricted but Alessio’s and Cristina’s unwavering voices rang clear and true through the great walls of the cathedral. The solemnity of the occasion suddenly clutched at her and she felt something move and shift within her. The lump she’d found in her throat that morning when she’d watched Dante sleeping came back and she became aware all over again of his fingers clasped through hers.

A week ago, she would have laughed if anyone had suggested she would feel so moved to witness a couple pledge their lives to each other, but there was something so affirming about the moment, the faith Alessio and Cristina had in each other and the love they shared, that Aislin had to keep her face forward, suddenly afraid to look at Dante.

Would she one day be told by Orla that Dante had surprised even himself by falling in love with someone and that he was going to be married for real?

The slice to her heart at this thought almost made her gasp from the pain.

It took a few moments for her to loosen her grip on Dante’s hand.

She was just being sentimental. Weddings did that to people. It was natural to be caught up in the romance and joy of these occasions. When a new day started the feelings would be nothing but a memory.

In two days, Dante would be nothing but a memory too, albeit a memory that was going to be on the fringe of her life for the rest of her existence.

‘Do you think they’ll last?’ she asked him as they filed out with the rest of the congregation to the cathedral grounds for the photographs.

He nodded. ‘They both come from families where marriage is sacrosanct. Even if they make each other miserable they’ll stay together.’

‘Not all marriages end in misery,’ she said wistfully.

‘No, they all end in death or divorce.’

And then their conversation was cut off as the photographer took control and began ordering everyone into position.

Aislin fixed a smile to her face and joined the heaving crowd.

The happy couple were photographed on their own first, then immediate family were brought in, then extended family. Finally she and Dante were called in with the other friends to take their position.

Dante placed his a

rm around her waist and held her close and, as they all smiled for the camera, all she could think was that this picture would be the only physical evidence left of her time with him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘CAN YOU DO the buttons up for me, please?’

Dante, who’d been trimming his beard, left the bathroom and stood behind her.