Shameful Secret, Shotgun Wedding

Cassie walked up close and peered at it. ‘Who’s that?’ she asked.

‘My great-great-grandfather. He was a great singer and bon viveur as well as being the finest winemaker in the region. He was born here—as were his sons, and their sons.’ He stared into black eyes so like his own. ‘As was I.’

Cassie paused to let the significance of this sink in, hearing the unmistakable note of pride in his voice, and wondered if it hurt for him to have no part in this beautiful place. ‘This house has been in your family for years?’

‘Hundreds of years,’ he agreed softly.

‘Do you…do you feel regret when you look around and see what could have been yours?’

Giancarlo’s mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. ‘I’m over that, Cassandra. I’m not some deranged lunatic who counts all the family gold and secretly covets it. It’s just a pity that my—our child will have no claim on its heritage, that’s all.’

She heard his slip of the tongue. ‘My’ child, he had said, and that was what he had meant. She was simply the incubator. The vessel which carried the baby—not a woman he wanted as an equal. Not even a woman he even desired any more, it would seem.

But the sound of a door slamming and an excited shout woke Cassandra from her gloomy reverie and a young girl came running into the room, all long legs and long hair and muddy riding clothes—before hurling herself into the arms of Giancarlo.

‘Zio Carlo! Zio Carlo!’ she exclaimed, and then said something in a stream of laughing Italian, until Giancarlo shushed her.

‘In English, please,’ he said sternly. ‘For your new aunt speaks no Italian.’

The girl turned. ‘Hello,’ she said shyly.

‘Buona sera, Allegra,’ said Cassie.

‘Ah, so my uncle is wrong—you do speak Italian!’

Cassie placed her thumb and her forefinger together to form a circle. ‘Poco.’ She smiled. ‘So he is nearly right!’

Allegra laughed and so did Giancarlo and for a moment Cassie felt a stupid thrill of pride—as if she had achieved the impossible by making him give that rare, low laugh.

‘What’s your name?’ asked Allegra.

‘Well, I was christened Cassandra—which is what your uncle calls me—though most people know me as Cassie.’

‘It’s a pretty name,’ said the young girl shyly.

‘Yes, it means “she who ensnares men”,’ came a voice from the doorway as Gabriella returned, carrying a teatray, an odd smile curving her coral lips. ‘And that is exactly what has happened to your zio, Allegra—he has been ensnared at long last. Isn’t that right, Giancarlo?’

Cassie felt her cheeks grow pink and wondered how he was going to bluff his way out of that one—but at that moment Giancarlo’s brother appeared and the question was forgotten. At least, she assumed that it must be his brother—for the physical resemblance was strong enough to make her breath still in her throat, and yet…yet…

Surely this could not be Raul?

‘Raul,’ said Giancarlo. The action of rising to his feet to greet his twin gave him a moment to recover his equilibrium—glad to be the owner of a face which gave away none of his feelings. But inside he felt the churning sensation of shock, which he quickly hid behind a bland smile.

Because his brother looked like a different man!

Tension was etched on his face and the black hair was touched with strands of silver. The features which were essentially the same as Giancarlo’s own somehow seemed sharpened and there were deep lines etched into his face. Why, he looked almost a decade older than the last time he’d seen him—what the hell had happened to him?

‘How are you, Giancarlo?’ said Raul. ‘Looking good, I must say. But then I hear congratulations are in order.’

His eyes swept over Cassie and for a moment they gleamed just long enough for her to realise that once this man must have been just as formidable and as gorgeous as his brother. What on earth had happened? she wondered dazedly.

‘And this is your new wife?’

‘Yes, I’m Cassie—and pleased to meet you,’ she said politely.

‘Really?’ Raul’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Then I can only assume that for once my brother has been extraordinarily diplomatic—because he doesn’t usually have a good word to say about me.’

‘Ah, but that is because Giancarlo is floating on the pink cloud inhabited by the newly married!’ said Gabriella brightly. ‘Isn’t that right, Carlo?’

Was it Cassie’s paranoia, or did it sound almost as if Gabriella was goading Giancarlo to contradict her—to hear him denounce his marriage and his bride as necessities rather than choices? And suddenly she saw his determination to keep the pregnancy secret as good sense rather than cynicism. Imagine the field day that Gabriella would have had if she’d known that Giancarlo had been forced to marry her.