by Nina Milne
Her breathless laugh was caught with joy, the smile on her face so bright and beautiful his heart flipped.
‘Yes. I will marry you. For real. Because I love you. That’s what I wanted to tell you. That I love you. I didn’t think in a million years that you could possibly love me back, but I wanted to tell you anyway. Heart, body and soul—they are all yours.’
He slipped the ring onto her finger and she lifted her hand in the air, watching the red and aquamarine stones interspersed with diamonds glint in the light of the setting sun.
‘It’s beautiful. Perfect.’
‘I’m sorry about the other ring.’
‘It makes this one all the more special. Did I mention I love it? Did I mention I love you?’
He rose to his feet. ‘You did, but you can say it as many times as you like—those words won’t ever get old.’
‘No. Though Nanni says we have to back the words up. That love isn’t only words—it’s actions.’ She stepped forward and looped her arms round his waist, snuggled in close. ‘You are sure, aren’t you? Sure this is real?’
‘I have never been more sure of anything. I think I loved you from the start—I just couldn’t admit it. Not to you, not to myself. You see, I didn’t feel I deserved this joy.’
Her arms tightened around him. ‘Because of Axel?’
‘Partly. But even before that. I had parents who didn’t give a damn—a mother who sold me for a crock of gold and a father who saw all his children as pawns or possessions. Love wasn’t in the equation. Then I saw how much pain and angst love can cause—saw how losing Stefan tore Eloise apart. It was the same with Nicky, the twins’ mother. My parents, who eschewed love, were happy and everyone else who did love was made miserable through that love. So I never wanted love to hold me hostage. I could see that emotions led to misery—that life was easier to control without emotion.
‘Even two years ago you were different. But then you left, and Axel died, and I froze every emotion in order to cope. When you came back into my life all the emotions I’d bottled up for years kept surging up and I couldn’t seem to shut them down any more. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t succumb to them because that was way too scary and it felt wrong. Axel died because of me. He’ll never have the chance to live and love, have children, so how could it be right for me?’
‘I am so very sorry about Axel, but I am sure he wouldn’t have wanted you to give up on happiness.’
‘I think you’re right. Marcus seems sure of that too. And I know that if anything happened to me I wouldn’t want you to shut your life down. I’d want you to live it to the full.’
‘Nothing will to happen to you.’ Her voice was fierce. ‘And if it did I would never regret loving you.’
Frederick’s heart swelled with the sheer wonder that he would share his life with this wonderful woman—and share it for real. The ups and the downs...everything.
He grinned down at her. ‘I am so happy it doesn’t seem possible. I never believed in my wildest dreams that you would love me too. I was willing to beg, fight—do whatever it took to persuade you to give me a chance to win your love.’
‘You won that long ago but, like you, it took me a long time to admit it. I think deep down I knew the day I left you on the island with Amil. I couldn’t have done that if I didn’t trust you completely. And trust... I always thought that was for mugs and fools. My mother trusted my father once and ended up pregnant and abandoned. She trusted him again and it didn’t end well for me. Fool me once, shame on you—fool me twice, shame on me. I figured it was best never to be fooled at all. Which meant the only way forward was never to trust anyone. But I trusted you. Even two years ago on some level I trusted you, or I would never have slept with you. But even after the island it all seemed so hard—you were so distant. And I felt like I used to—that I didn’t fit. Everywhere I went people compared me to Kaitlin and...’
‘You should have told me.’
‘I couldn’t. After all, you said that Kaitlin was your ideal bride.’
‘I’m an idiot.’ He cupped her face in his hands. ‘I swear to you that you are the only bride I could ever want. Not because of Amil. Not because of Lycander. But because you are you and I love you. You make me whole. And if anyone makes any comparisons you send them to me.’
‘No need. I’ve worked out where I’ve gone wrong—in my assumption that Kaitlin is better than me. She isn’t—she is just different. I need to be a princess my way. Need to be myself.’
‘And I know that means being a model—I will support your career every way I can.’
‘About that... I’d better ’fess up. I’m not enjoying it one bit. I miss you and Amil...I miss Lycander. So I will fulfil this contract, but after that I will put a fashion portfolio together and send it off. And I also want to work for Lycander. I want to make it a fashion mecca—maybe set up a fashion show. One day we could rival Paris and London... There are so many options. But, whatever I decide, as long as you are by my side I know it will be OK.’
‘Ditto.’
As he pulled her into his arms he knew this was the best alliance he could have ever made—because the only thing on the table was love.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this story, check out these
other great reads from
Nina Milne
CLAIMED BY THE WEALTHY MAGNATE
THE EARL’S SNOW-KISSED PROPOSAL
RAFAEL’S CONTRACT BRIDE
CHRISTMAS KISSES WITH HER BOSS
All available now!
Keep reading for an excerpt from WHISKED AWAY BY HER SICILIAN BOSS by Rebecca Winters.
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Whisked Away by Her Sicilian Boss
by Rebecca Winters
CHAPTER ONE
Salon des Reines, Paris, France
THE CHAUFFEUR OF Le Comte Jean-Michel Ardois pulled the limousine up in front of the bridal salon on the Rue de L’Echelle. In the last two weeks Princess Tuccianna Falcone Leonardi of Sicily had been here with her mother three times for the bridal dress fitting. Each time they’d come, she’d made excuses to visit the bathroom in order to study the layout of the exclusive shop.
This morning was her final fitting to make sure everything was perfect for the wedding ceremony tomorrow. Only Tuccia had no intention of showing up for the elaborate nuptials arran
ged by her parents and Comte Ardois ten years ago in a horrifying, ironclad betrothal forced upon her. She’d dreamed of her freedom forever. Now had come the moment for her escape.
Madame Dufy, the owner, welcomed them inside. After fussing over Tuccia and telling her how excited she was for her forthcoming marriage to the comte, she took them back to the dressing room befitting a queen.
“Delphine will be with you in just a moment with your gown. It’s as exquisite as you are, Princess.”
The second she left, Tuccia turned to her mother, the Marchesa di Trabia of Sicily. “I need to go to the restroom.”
“Surely not!”
“I can’t help it. You know how I get when I’m nervous.”
“You are impossible, Tuccia!”
“If I don’t go, it might happen in here.”
Her mother’s hands flew up in the air. “All right! But don’t take too long. We have a long list of things that must be done today.”
“I’ll hurry, Mamma.”
Yes, she’d hurry. Right out of the clutches of the comte!
She knew he planned to assign her a bodyguard the moment they were married and never let her out of his sight for the rest of their lives. After overhearing him discuss it with her parents, who’d said she needed a strong hand, she’d been planning how to disappear.
Tuccia opened the door and walked down the hall to the door of the bathroom. But she only went inside to leave her betrothal ring on the floor near the sink. Whoever found it could think what they wanted. After looking around to make sure no one had seen her, she rushed down another hallway straight out the back door of the shop.
From there it was only a short run down the alley used for delivery trucks to the street where she climbed in a taxi.
“Le Bourget Aeroport, s’il vous plait.”
Her heart refused to stop thudding as they drove off. She looked behind her. No one had come running out of the alley chasing after her yet. Tuccia prayed all the way to the airport where she boarded an Eljet chartered for her under a fake name and paid for her by her aunt Bertina. Once it landed in Palermo, Sicily, she’d take a taxi to her aunt’s palazzo.
Before long Tuccia’s favorite person in the whole world would be offering her sanctuary. Her life would continue to depend on Bertina’s help, or all was lost.
The next day, Milan, Italy
Dinner had concluded in the private dining room of the legendary fourteenth-century castello, the home of the former first Duc di Lombardi in Milan, Italy.
Vincenzo Gagliardi, the present-day duc, lifted his goblet with the insignia of the Gagliardi coat of arms. “Buona fortuna this trip, Cesare. Our business is depending on you. May you return with my wife’s replacement soon. The baby will be here in two months. I want Gemma off her feet ASAP.”
“Amen,” Takis declared, raising his glass. “You’re going to have to be quick, amico.” He touched his goblet to Cesare’s, and they sipped the local vintage Lombardia that Vincenzo had produced from the vast wine cellar for his send-off.
Cesare Donati eyed his two best friends with a smile. They’d been like brothers to him for more than a decade. Together they’d turned the former fortress palace of Vincenzo’s family into the five-star Castello Supremo Hotel and Ristorante di Lombardi, Europe’s most sought-after resort.
“I have a surprise for you. I’ll be back in two days with our new pastry chef. I told Gemma as much this morning.”
“That soon?” they said in unison.
“It’s been arranged for a while, so have no concerns.”
His friends smiled in relief. For Cesare’s contribution to their successful enterprise, he’d already found the perfect person to replace Gemma as the castello’s new executive pastry chef.
But he’d been keeping the identity of his choice a secret until he could present Ciro Fragala in person with one of his many specialties for their delectation.
Vincenzo’s wife had learned to make Florentine pastry from her mother who’d cooked for the last duc. Though her cooking was perfection and drew the elite clientele that came to the castello, in Cesare’s opinion the best cook in the world was his own Sicilian mother.
She’d learned from the nuns who made divine pastries and ran the orphanage where she’d been raised until she turned eighteen. On her say-so—and she would know better than anyone else—Cesare had done the necessary research on Signor Fragala, the pastry cook she’d declared to be the finest in all Sicily. After a visit to the Palermo restaurant with his mother two months ago, he’d agreed totally with her assessment.
Hiring Ciro meant sensational new desserts for their business enterprise in Milan. The two of them had met with the fifty-five-year-old widower several times in the last few weeks. The chef had said he would leap at the chance to work at the famous castello restaurant.
Since he didn’t have children, it wouldn’t be a problem to move. He’d given his notice and Cesare planned to fly him to Milan. The new chef would work well with their executive French chef at the castello. Most of all, the guys would be pleased by the man’s amiable personality.
“We’ll drive you to the airport,” Vincenzo stated.
Cesare shook his head. “Thanks, but you’ve done enough by surprising me with this dinner. You’ve both got pregnant wives who’ve been generous enough to let us have this meal together. By now they’ll be wondering where you are. The limo is waiting as we speak.”
“Then we’ll walk you out,” Vincenzo murmured.
“Grazie.”
He drained the rest of his wine and got to his feet. Reaching for the suitcase he’d left by the double doors, he moved ahead of them to the portrait-lined corridor of the former ducs with their legendary silvery eyes.
“Stay safe,” Takis said as Cesare climbed in the rear of the limo.
“Always.”
Vincenzo smiled. “We can’t wait to meet this mystery paragon of pastry chefs.” He patted Cesare’s shoulder and shut the door before it drove away from the castello.
Two hours later, the Lombardi ducal jet arrived at Palermo International Airport, where another limousine waited for him on the tarmac. Cesare told the driver to take him to the posh Mondello borough. It was there he’d bought a villa in the famed art nouveau style for his mother and sister who was now married and lived in the city with her husband and their toddler.
He’d wanted nothing but the best for his wonderful mamma, Lina Donati.
She would never leave Palermo. After being raised by the nuns and learning how to cook from them, she’d started out working in a local restaurant after leaving the orphanage.
Her subsequent marriage was short-lived. Abandoned by her husband, she’d cooked her way through life to support their little family and had made a name for herself. Cesare believed she made the best food on earth. In her honor he’d had a state-of-the-art kitchen installed because he couldn’t do enough for her.
Thanks to a bad back from being on her feet all the time, she now cooked exclusively for Bertina Spadaro, who wasn’t a demanding employer. Cesare had begged her to retire. He would take care of her forever. But his mother said she couldn’t imagine not having work to do and she loved Bertina. The aristocratic older sister of the Marchesa di Leonardi di Trabia had become her friend.
The Leonardi family descended from the royal Sicilian family of the commune of Trabia, thirty miles from Palermo, and could trace their roots back to the 1400s, when the land and castle were granted them by Frederick III. The present marchese and marchesa had established their own palazzo in the heart of Palermo.
Bertina and Lina had become fast friends over the years and were in each other’s confidence. The rest of the time his mother spent with Cesare’s family, or tended her spectacular herb garden.
The elite area of Mondello had everything: exclusive yachting clubs dot
ting its sandy beach, restaurants, shops and a marina with numerous yachts, including the marchese’s gleaming white royal yacht that stood out from the others.
Before buying the villa for her, Cesare, too, had been captivated as he’d walked through the sand of its private beach front, inhaling the air filled with the heady scent of orange blossoms and jasmine. Whenever he flew to Palermo, Cesare was reminded that with all its rich history, there was nowhere else in the world he found more fascinating.
But tonight as they drove into the ancient, colorful city, he was met with the strong smells of fish and spices that always brought back memories of his youth. There was a hint of the old Arab souks, taking him back to his childhood. As a boy, these streets with their subtle niches and labyrinths had been his backyard.
His father had been in the merchant marines, but ran off before Cesare was a year old, leaving his mother to work in a trattoria and support him and his older sister Isabella. They’d lived in the apartment above it in a rougher neighborhood of Palermo. Cesare’s world had been filled with lots of purse snatchers, few showers that usually didn’t work, grueling heat. Everything had been run-down and chaotic.
Since he’d been too young to remember his father, he didn’t miss him, only the idea of him. Cesare had envied his friends who had fathers and taught them things. Early in life he’d felt embarrassed at times that he was the only one who went to mass unaccompanied while the other boys walked in the church with their own fathers.
As he grew up, the embarrassment went away, but he lacked the confidence he saw in his friends whose sense of belonging seemed to give them an extra layer of it.
Cesare couldn’t comprehend a man abandoning his wife and children, never caring about them again. Sometimes in his teens he’d dreamed about meeting his father, but those dreams were unsatisfactory because his father always turned away from him. The dreams eventually stopped, but not the feeling that there was something lacking in him.
At the age of thirty, Cesare was living a different life. Thanks to the college mentor who’d taught him and his partners how to invest, his worth now figured in the billions. But the past could never be forgotten and had formed him into the man he’d become.
