“They’ll hate leaving New York.”
“I know.”
Sarah’s joy in her special day dimmed. She’d had several conversations with the duchess about a possible move. None of them had ended satisfactorily. As an alternative, Dev had offered to temporarily move his base of operations to New York and commute to L.A.
“I just can’t bear to think of Grandmama alone in that huge apartment.”
“Well...” Gina hesitated, indecision written all over her face. “I know I just made a big speech about standing on my own two feet, but I hate the thought of her being alone, too. I could...I could move in with her until I land a job. Or maybe until the baby’s born. If she’ll have me, that is, which isn’t a sure thing after the scathing lecture she delivered when I got back from Switzerland.”
“Oh, Gina, she’ll have you! You know she will. She loves you.” Sarah’s eyes misted. “Almost as much as I do.”
“Stop,” Gina pleaded, her own tears spouting. “You can’t walk down the aisle with your eyes all swollen and red. Dev’ll strangle me.”
* * *
As Dev took his place under the arch of gauzy netting lit by a thousand tiny, sparkling lights, strangling his soon-to-be sister-in-law was the furthest thing from his mind. He was as surprised as Sarah and the duchess at the way Gina had pulled everything together. So when the maid of honor followed two giggling flower girls down the aisle, he gave Gina a warm smile.
She returned it, but Dev could tell the sight of the unexpected, uninvited guest at the back of the room had shaken her. Mason stood with his arms folded and an expression on his face that suggested he didn’t intend to return to Washington until he’d sorted some things out with the mother of his child.
Then the music swelled and Dev’s gaze locked on the two women coming down the aisle arm in arm. Sarah matched her step to that of the duchess, who’d stated bluntly she did not require a cane to walk a few yards and give her granddaughter away. Spine straight, chin high, eyes glowing with pride, she did just that.
“I hope you understand what a gift I’m giving you, Devon.”
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
With a small harrumph, the duchess kissed her granddaughter’s cheek and took her seat. Then Sarah turned to Dev, and he felt himself fall into her smile. She was so luminous, so elegant. So gut-wrenchingly beautiful.
He still couldn’t claim to know anything about haute couture, but she’d told him she would be wearing a Dior gown her grandmother had bought in Paris in the ’60s. The body-clinging sheath of cream-colored satin gave Dev a whole new appreciation of what Sarah termed vintage. The neckline fell in a soft drape and was caught at each shoulder by a clasp adorned with soft, floating feathers. The same downy feathers circled her tiny pillbox cap with its short veil.
Taking the hand she held out to him, he tucked it close to his heart and grinned down at her.
“Are you ready for phase three, Lady Sarah?”
“I am,” she laughed. “So very, very ready.”
I must admit I approve of Sarah’s choice of husband. I should, since I decided Devon Hunter was right for her even before he blackmailed her into posing as his fiancée. How absurd that they still think I don’t know about the deception.
Almost as absurd as Eugenia’s stubborn refusal to marry the father of her child. I would respect her decision except, to borrow the Bard’s immortal words, the lady doth protest too much. I do so dislike the sordid, steaming cauldron of modern politics, but I shall have to learn more about this Jack Mason. In the meantime, I’ll have the inestimable joy of watching Eugenia mature into motherhood—hopefully!
From the diary of Charlotte,
Grand Duchess of Karlenburgh
* * * * *
From Venice with Love
Secrets of Castillo del Arco
Trish Morey
From Venice with Love
Alison Roberts
Pregnant by Morning
Kat Cantrell
Trish Morey
He appeared out of the fog, tall, broad and dark as night as he moved stealthily between the funeral sculptures, and a shiver of recognition washed through her.
Raoul.
She had seen him at the service, and her heart had lifted at the prospect of seeing him again after so many years.
Raoul who, with his intense black eyes and passionate mouth, had been her every adolescent fantasy. Dark fantasies she’d had no right to imagine. Wicked fantasies that brought a blush to her cheeks just thinking about them.
And the air shifted and parted before him, and then he was there, standing before her, so tall that she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. He didn’t smile. She didn’t expect him to—not really, not this day.
‘Gabriella,’ he said, in a way that seemed to cherish every syllable.
And then he leaned down to kiss first one cheek and then the other. She breathed him in, taken by the way he smelled so familiar, and yet there was so much more besides—as if what she’d remembered had been but a shadow of his essence.
TRISH MOREY always fancied herself a writer—so why she became a chartered accountant is anyone’s guess! But once she’d found her true calling there was no turning back. Mother of four budding heroines and wife to one true-life hero, Trish lives in an idyllic region of South Australia. Is it any wonder she believes in happy-ever-afters?
Find her at www.trishmorey.com or https://www.facebook.com/trish.morey
With grateful thanks to Ellen, Charlie and Claire for being my captive carpool brainstormers. Thank you so much for your interest and your input and energy and most of all thank you for Venice. You guys rock!
And with thanks, as ever, to my fabulous Maytoners, for Coogee Beach and fish and chips, for making me laugh and cry and commiserate and celebrate, but with thanks, most of all, for once again making magic happen in the shape of words.
For it must be a kind of magic.
Thank you!
TrishXxx
Paris