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?
The housekeeper smiled. ‘Welcome home and congratulations, Signora Vellutini,’ she said quietly.
Cassie nodded, feeling faintly ridiculous as she clutched her bouquet and gave Gina an uncertain smile. It was impossible to know what Gina was thinking—what was going on behind her own, rather formal smile. Did the housekeeper resent a new mistress coming into the house she had controlled for so long? she wondered.
‘Thank you so much, Gina,’ she answered quietly.
Once the housekeeper had gone, Cassie turned to Giancarlo and she reached out her hand to touch her fingers to the faint shadowing at his jaw. It seemed a long time since she had touched him—and she felt oddly nervous about doing so again. And maybe it was time to snap out of the strange, dreamlike atmosphere which had been present all day.
‘Perhaps I put things a little clumsily earlier,’ she said softly. ‘I just wanted you to know that my mother had a wonderful time today, Giancarlo. Thank you.’
He moved her cool fingers from his face and kissed their tips, one by one. ‘That is both my pleasure and my duty as your husband, cara.’
Husband. A little thrill of pride and possession ran through her as she stared up into his formidable features. She still felt disconnected from him—as if they had never been intimate as a couple before, and yet the growing life within her made mockery of that particular thought. Maybe that was what they needed. To become lovers again and to connect at the most fundamental level of all. Wouldn’t that at least block out some of the harsh words they had spoken—and the realisation that he was only here under sufferance?
‘Shall we—go to bed?’ she asked tentatively.
Giancarlo looked at the dark shadows under her eyes and the lines of tension which had pleated her pale brow and at that moment he felt a twist of guilt. She looked so damned young. So impossibly fragile. He thought of the stress she had been under and the new life which was growing within her. Maybe that was why her face looked so strained that she resembled a sacrificial lamb more than a new bride.
‘Bed is exactly what you need,’ he said.
Cassie smiled as he took her upstairs to the master bedroom and stripped the clothes from her body as he had done many times before. But this time was different. This time there was no fire and urgency as he undressed her. His fingers were as light as feathers drifting over her skin. He seemed to be almost restrained as he carried her over to the bed and quickly pulled the silken cover over her—as if he wanted to shield her nakedness from his eyes. Was it possible that Giancarlo’s desire for her had died?
And even as her body sank gratefully into the soft mattress she looked up at him in alarm—thinking how distant he seemed all of a sudden. Was he regretting that he had been forced to marry the mother of his child, or was he simply regretting not having invited his own family today, despite all the bad blood which had flowed between them?
Maybe he was thinking about Gabriella—the woman he should have married. And wishing that it were her who now lay naked and waiting in his bed. Was he? She had to know. She had to.
Some self-destructive urge took over and forced the question out—even though inwardly she prepared herself to be wounded by his answer. ‘And what about your family?’ she ventured