She moved her lips but there was no way he could call it a smile.
‘Your mother chose the dress,’ she said.
‘I like the veil.’
‘It keeps the flies off.’
He smiled and gave her hands a little squeeze as the priest moved forward to address the congregation. He felt her fingers tremble against his, and for the briefest moment she clung to him, as if looking for support. But then her fingers became still and lifeless in the cage of his hands.
‘Dearly beloved,’ the priest began.
‘… and now you may kiss the bride.’
Natalie held her breath as Angelo slowly raised her veil. She blinked away an unexpected tear. She had been determined not to be moved by the simple service, but somehow the words had struck a chord deep inside her. The promises had reminded her of all she secretly longed for: lifelong love, being cherished, protected, honoured, worshipped … accepted.
Angelo’s mouth came down and gently pressed against hers in a kiss that contained a hint of reverence—or maybe that was just wishful thinking on her part. Halfway through the service she had started wishing it was for real. That he really did love her. That he really did want to spend the rest of his life with her in spite of her ‘attitude problem’.
The thought of her father’s hateful words made her pull out of the kiss. If Angelo was annoyed at her breaking away he showed no sign of it on his face. He simply looped her arm through his and led her out of the chapel to greet their guests.
The reception was held in the lush, fragrant gardens at his elderly grandparents’s spectacular villa, under a beautifully decorated marquee. The champagne flowed and scrumptious food was served, but very little made it past Natalie’s lips. She watched as her father charmed everyone with his smooth urbanity. She watched in dread as her mother downed glass after glass of champagne and talked too long and too loudly.
‘Your mother looks like she’s having a good time,’ Angelo remarked as he came back to her side after talking with his grandfather.
Natalie chewed at her lip as she saw her mother doing a tango with one of Angelo’s uncles. ‘Deep down she’s really very shy, but she tries to compensate by drinking,’ she said. ‘I wish she wouldn’t. She doesn’t know when to stop.’
He took her by the elbow and led her to a wistaria-covered terrace away from the noise and music of the reception. Bees buzzed in the scented arras above them. ‘You look exhausted,’ he said. ‘Has it all been too much for you?’
‘I never thought smiling could be so tiring,’ she said with a wry grimace.
‘I should imagine it would be when you’re not used to doing it.’
She looked away from his all-seeing gaze. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel as if he sensed her deep unhappiness. He’d used to tease her about taking life so seriously. She had tried—she had really tried—to enjoy life, but hardly a day passed without her thinking of all the days her baby brother had missed out on because of her.
‘I like your grandparents,’ she said, stepping on tiptoe to smell a purple bloom of wistaria. ‘They’re so devoted to each other even after all this time.’
‘Are yours still alive?’ he asked. ‘You didn’t put them on the list so I assumed they’d passed on.’
‘They’re still alive.’
‘Why didn’t you invite them?’
‘We’re not really a close family,’ she said, thinking of all the stiff and awkward don’t-mention-what-happened-in-Spain visits she had endured over the years.
Everything had changed after Liam had died.
She had lost not just her younger brother but also her entire family. One by one they had pulled back from her. There had been no more seaside holidays with Granny and Grandad. After a couple of years the beautiful handmade birthday presents had stopped, and then a year or two later the birthday cards had gone too.
A small silence passed.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t arrange for Lachlan to be here,’ he said. ‘It’s against regulations.’
She looked up at him, shielding her eyes against the bright sun with one of her hands. ‘Where is he?’
‘He’s in a private clinic in Portugal,’ he said. ‘He’ll be there for a month at the minimum.’
Natalie felt a surge of relief so overwhelming it almost took her breath away. She dropped her hand from her eyes and opened and closed her mouth, not able to speak for a full thirty seconds. She had been so terrified he would self-destruct before he got the help he so desperately needed. She had suggested a clinic a couple of times, but he had never listened to her. She had felt so impotent, so helpless watching him destroy his life so recklessly.
‘I don’t know how to thank you … I’ve been so terribly worried about him.’
‘He has a long way to go,’ he said. ‘He wants help, but he sabotages it when it’s given to him.’
‘I know …’ she said on a sigh. ‘He has issues with self-esteem. Deep down he hates himself. It doesn’t matter what he does, or what he achieves, he never feels good enough.’
‘For your parents?’
She shifted her gaze. ‘For my father, mostly …’
‘The father-son relationship can be a tricky one,’ he said. ‘I had my own issues with my father. That’s one of the reasons I came to London.’
Natalie walked with him towards a fountain that was surrounded by sun-warmed cobblestones. She could feel the heat coming up through her thinly soled high-heeled shoes. The fine misty spray of the fountain delicately pricked her face and arms like a refreshing atomiser.
‘You’ve obviously sorted those issues out,’ she said. ‘Your father adores you, and you clearly adore and respect him.’
‘He’s a good man,’ he said. ‘I’m probably more like him that I’m prepared to admit.’
She looked at the water splashing over the marble dolphins in the fountain and wondered what Angelo would think if she told him what her father was really like. Would he believe her?
Probably not, she thought with a plummeting of her spirits. Her father had got in first and swung the jury. He had done it all her life—telling everyone how incredibly difficult she was, how headstrong and wilful, how cold and ungrateful. The one time she had dared to tell a family friend about her father’s treatment of her it had backfired spectacularly. The knock-on effect on her mother had made Natalie suffer far more than any physical or verbal punishment her father could dish out.
It had silenced her ever since.
‘I guess we should get back to the guests,’ she said.
‘It will soon be time to leave,’ he said, and began walking back with her to the marquee. ‘I’d like us to get to Sorrento before midnight.’
Natalie’s stomach quivered at the thought of spending a few days alone with him at his villa. Would he expect her to sleep with him? How long would she be able to say no? She was aching for him, and had been since she had walked into his office that day. Her body tingled when she was with him. It was tingling now just from walking beside him. Every now and again her bare arm would brush against his jacket sleeve. Even through the barrier of the expensive fabric she could feel the electric energy of his body. It shot sharp arrows of awareness through her skin and straight to her core. She wanted him as she had always wanted him.
Feverishly, wantonly, urgently.
She was the moth and he was the flame