Shameful Secret, Shotgun Wedding

She found herself caught up in a new and very efficient machine—one which was powered by money—and some of her new-found confidence seemed to desert her as a consequence. She would never have to save for anything again, she realised—with an odd little pang of nostalgia. Anything she and her baby wanted would be hers for the taking—and all she had to do was ask.

A hurried shopping trip produced a cream cashmere dress and jacket to protect her from the January chill—but the arum lilies which she carried seemed waxy and unreal. And, in contrast to the paleness of her own wedding outfit, Giancarlo seemed to represent everything that was black—with his jet hair and eyes and the dark, formal suit emphasising every honed fibre of his powerful body.

The wedding was small—Cassie’s mother and Gavin were their witnesses and, although Giancarlo told her to invite anyone she wanted, she couldn’t think of anyone apart from some of her school friends. And somehow it seemed strange to send out invites to a wedding when nobody knew them as a couple.

Because they weren’t really a couple at all, were they? They were never intended to be—and if it weren’t for his seed growing deep in her belly, then they wouldn’t be here at all.

As the car drew up outside the registrar’s office Cassie turned to Giancarlo—nervously fingering the white satin ribbon on her bridal bouquet. She looked up into the gleaming black eyes and longed for him to pull her into his arms, to tell her that it was all going to be fine. But the expression on his face seemed shuttered and tense, as if he couldn’t wait for the whole day to be over. And hadn’t she decided that she was going to be positive—to support him and be as much of a real wife as he would allow her to be?

‘Didn’t you want to invite any of your friends to the ceremony?’ she asked him softly.

‘No, I decided against it—it’s all too much of a rush. Word might get out to the press and I’d prefer for that not to happen. Don’t worry, mia bella piccola—you will be introduced to them all soon enough.’

Cassie stared down at her fancy cream wedding shoes, wondering if he was ashamed of her—or worried that one of them would try to talk him out of it.

‘Now come along,’ he urged softly as the bitter January air blew into the car, and Cassie shivered despite the warm cashmere. ‘Time for you to become Signora Vellutini.’

The wedding band was a sliver of platinum which seemed too big for her frozen finger, and afterwards they ate lunch with her mother and Gavin at a discreet and slick hotel not far from Giancarlo’s house. But despite the obstetrician she’d consulted in his plush Harley Street surgery assuring her that the occasional small glass of wine would be perfectly acceptable, Cassie could take only one sip of the fine champagne before quickly putting down the glass. It tasted sour. Acidic. Did her mother guess why she wasn’t drinking alcohol? she wondered.

But it was clear to Cassie that her mum had a wonderful time—Giancarlo made sure of that. So much so that at times she felt almost like an outsider as she watched him employing more of that careless charm which had her mother laughing softly in response. And wasn’t that what had drawn her to him in the first place—that whole package of charisma and confidence and a determination to get what he wanted? It just seemed like such a long time ago when he had strolled up to her little stand exuding danger and sex appeal and she had melted like candle wax. She felt as if she’d lived a whole lifetime since then.

Her mother left when the meal had ended—driven off in some style all the way back to Cornwall while Cassie and Giancarlo stood waving her off, her new husband’s arm resting lightly around her shoulder.

‘Your mother seemed happy enough,’ he commented.

‘Yes.’

He turned her in his arms to face him. ‘You think she approves of your new husband, Cassandra?’

‘You know she does.’

Giancarlo looked down at her, thinking how fragile and brittle she appeared—almost as if she might break in two. Like a china doll wearing her wedding finery. His eyes narrowed as he realised just how chalk-white her face was and the passion he had always felt for her was now tempered by a need to protect her, and to protect his baby. From now on, she must be cosseted, he realised grimly—for she did not appear to have been looking after herself.

‘I think it’s time to go home,’ he said roughly. ‘Don’t you?’

Cassie touched the petal of a waxy lily and swallowed. ‘Yes.’

But as the car drew to a smooth halt outside the massive town house she felt her stomach perform some kind of somersault. How peculiar it was to stand in front of that same house which had so intimidated her not very long ago. To now be able to call it her home. And to have the door opened by Gina—who surely felt much more comfortable in residence there than the new bride did?