Italian Prince, Wedlocked Wife

The priest began the ceremony, speaking first in Italian, then in English. Ignoring the man, ignoring the eighty guests watching them, Maximo grabbed his bride’s shoulders. He stared down into her tearstained face. “Lucy.”

Defiantly she looked toward the chapel’s dark windows. He wanted her—not just her body but her soul—in a way that made him catch his breath. He wanted her to look at him as she had just yesterday. He hadn’t realized until now just how truly happy they’d been…

“Lucy, look at me.”

“No.” Candlelight flickered against the cold beauty of her face.

“Look at me!” he thundered.

Lucy turned, and her brown eyes blazed.

“Why?” she cried. “So you can use your charm to make me forget that you kidnapped me as baby? That you murdered my parents?”

The whole chapel was suddenly quiet as a forgotten grave. From a distance, he could hear water dripping from melting icicles outside, hear the cold wind howling across the lake.

Standing behind her, Giuseppe Ferrazzi glared at him with bright, beady eyes. This was his final vengeance. The dying old man didn’t care whose life he ruined, even his granddaughter’s. If he couldn’t have his old life back, with his power and money and family, then he wanted retribution at any price.

Exactly how Maximo had been before he’d fallen in love with Lucy.

“Cara, per favore.” His hand tightened around her shoulder. “If I could speak with you alone—”

“No,” she said in a choked voice. She pulled her arm away. “You lied to me. All this time, I knew—I knew!—that there was some other reason you were being so good and kind.” She shook her head, and tears spilled over her lashes. “It just never occurred to me it was because you were racked with guilt.”

“Let’s go talk—”

“No!” She stepped back as he tried to reach for her. “Here and now, Maximo. Tell me the truth.”

He looked around the chapel, at his friends, his business rivals, people he admired and respected from around the globe. They all watched the scene with fascinated horror. The photographers in the back were wildly snapping pictures. The society wedding of the season had just turned into a garish tragedy that would sell even more papers than before.

The humiliation and shame of this moment washed over him. He wanted to lash out. Shout his frustration. Mostly he wanted to punch the old man in the face.

But he did not.

Because of her. This was his chance. His only precious chance to fight for the only woman he’d ever loved.

If this was to be the place, so be it.

Tightening his hands into fists, he raised his chin.

“I never hurt your parents,” he said quietly. “They were already dead when I found their car at the bottom of the cliff. Your grandfather never believed that, but it is the truth. The truth,” he repeated in a hard voice, looking at Ferrazzi over Lucy’s head. “When your men beat me for two days afterward, you were trying to make me confess to something I didn’t do. They were already dead.”

“You beat him for two days?” Lucy whirled to face the old man. “He was just a child!”

Ferrazzi didn’t even look at her. His lip curled. “My only mistake was in letting you go, D’Aquilla,” he rasped, “so you could grow up and take my company from me. I should have dumped you in the lake in a weighted sack!”

Lucy sucked in her breath, looking between them. “Monsters,” she whispered. “You’re both monsters. And I don’t want any part of you. Either of you!”

She turned to go. Maximo stopped her, blocking her from the aisle.

“Please. Don’t go.”

“Why?”

“You’ve always asked me for the truth. The truth is, Lucy…” He took a deep breath. “I love you.”

“You…you what?”

“I love you,” he said quietly. “Ti amo.”