The Valtieri Marriage Deal

by Caroline Anderson

  Then Roberto hobbled up with a tray of glasses, and someone appeared with an ice bucket and champagne, and a plump, white-haired woman who looked almost as old as Roberto bustled in with a tray of nibbles and Luca took the tray from her, set it down and swept her up into his arms.

  ‘Carlotta!’ he said, kissing her wrinkled cheek, and she laughed and coloured like a girl and said something in Italian.

  ‘Si. Carlotta, this is Isabelle. Cara, Carlotta knows more about me than anyone in the world. She delivered me, and my father before me, and she is a very important member of the family. She is also the cucinare—the cook—and so even more important. Be nice to her.’

  She laughed and smacked his hand, then turned to Isabelle with a beaming smile. ‘Signorina,’ Carlotta said, taking her hand and clasping it in both of hers, her eyes sparkling with delight. ‘Welcome.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She rattled off something in Italian, and Luca laughed and translated.

  ‘Carlotta’s a superb cook. She says she’s looking forward to cooking for you.’

  Oh, lord. And she’d have to eat all sorts. Well, she was feeling a little better this week, so maybe it would be all right.

  ‘Si. I look after you,’ she said, patting her hand, and for a moment she wondered if Carlotta had realised she was pregnant. No. She couldn’t have done. It didn’t show.

  ‘Grazie,’ she said with a smile.

  Carlotta beamed and said, ‘Prego,’ and waddled away, wheezing slightly.

  Prego? she thought in panic, and then remembered it meant something on the lines of ‘You’re welcome’ and was nothing to do with pregnant.

  But then she forgot Carlotta, because Luca slid his fingers through hers and held her hand firmly against his side, and said, ‘We have something to tell you.’

  The family snapped to attention. Luca’s fingers tightened fractionally, and, turning to her, his eyes smiling reassurance, he went on, ‘Isabelle has done me the honour of agreeing to become my wife.’

  He didn’t get any further, because his mother gave a little cry and threw her arms around them both, then his father was moving her gently out of the way so he could kiss Isabelle on both cheeks, his eyes, so like Luca’s, warm with welcome.

  Then it was Massimo’s turn, at first a formal handshake, then a hug and a smile, and it was down to Gio.

  Gio, who’d warned her not to hurt his brother, who’d told her she’d have him to deal with and that he never lost in a court of law. He walked over to her, took her hand and bent to brush his lips against her cheek.

  ‘Welcome to the clan, Isabelle—but remember what I said and be kind to him,’ he murmured, and stepped back, the smile not really disguising the warning in his eyes.

  But Luca was there, his arm round her again, holding her firmly by his side in a demonstration of possessive affection that nobody could misunderstand, and she met Gio’s eyes and didn’t back down. Why should she? She had no intention of hurting Luca. She just hoped he felt the same way.

  ‘So, we have to plan the wedding!’ Elisa said, clapping her hands. ‘Oh, Luca, we’ll get Anita tomorrow, she’ll be marvellous—and, Massimo, call your sisters, tell them to come, we need to celebrate! Vittorio, open the wine!’

  ‘Mama, slow down, we want a quiet wedding,’ Luca said, laughing softly. ‘A hundred people, max.’

  ‘A hundred!’

  Isabelle and Elisa spoke in unison, but she had the feeling her future mother-in-law was appalled at the small number, whereas she—

  A loud pop interrupted her thoughts, and Vittorio poured the Prosecco into the glasses. ‘Here, cara, welcome to the family,’ he said kindly, handing her a glass, and she had a tiny sip before Elisa came over to her and took her hand and led her to the chairs.

  ‘Come, sit next to me and tell me all about my new daughter-in-law. I can’t tell you how much I’ve looked forward to this day. I was beginning to wonder if Luca would ever find a woman he could love, but he has. I can see it in his eyes, and I’m so happy for you both.’

  She didn’t bother to correct her. How could she? But in the warmth of her welcome, she was able to forget about Gio’s warning for a while, and concentrate on getting to know her future husband’s family.

  They moved inside when the wind picked up, sipping wine and nibbling all sorts of tasty little treats until Roberto called them to the table, and while the conversation ebbed and flowed around her, Isabelle watched them all and wondered what it must be like to grow up in a family. Suffocating? She didn’t think so…

  ‘See? I told you they’d love you.’

  ‘Well, some of them. Gio’s a bit suspicious.’

  ‘Ignore him. My mother thinks you’re wonderful.’

  ‘I think your mother’s wonderful—a really very nice woman, but she doesn’t know about the baby yet,’ she pointed out, and stifled a yawn. It had been a long day, starting before six that morning with the drive to the airport, and it was almost nine at night now.

  Lunch had gone on until almost four, and they’d had a light supper an hour ago. Now, they were strolling hand in hand along the terrace, snuggled up in coats and letting Carlotta’s plain but delicious food settle before they went to bed.

  It was nice to be alone, she thought. His family were lovely, but she was tired, and as they stood there in the cool of the evening she yawned again.

  ‘Come, cara, you’ve had a long day. You need to go to bed,’ he murmured, letting go of her, and she felt a pang of loss.

  They walked back along the terrace, then up the steps to the pergola where they had all sat earlier, and he took her hand again as they went in through the doors into the lovely sitting room. His parents were there, sharing a last cup of coffee before bed, and they looked up and smiled.

  ‘Buonanotte,’ he murmured, and his mother blew him a kiss.

  ‘Don’t hurry in the morning,’ she said, a smile in her voice. ‘Breakfast can wait for you. You are on holiday now, and you both work too hard. Enjoy it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Buonanotte, Isabella—and welcome.’

  As they walked back through the corridors and courtyards, their footsteps echoing quietly in the night, she felt awe again that he lived here, in this spectacular house—that this was his home, his birthright. And it would be her child’s.

  The thought was daunting.

  He opened the bedroom door for her, and she saw that the room had been prepared—the covers turned down, her case emptied and set aside, her clothes presumably hung up in the cupboard. More evidence, as if she needed it, of the gulf between them.

  Her nightdress and dressing gown were laid over one side of the bed, and she turned to him in the doorway. ‘What time do you want me to get up tomorrow?’ she asked, and he shrugged.

  ‘I don’t. Please yourself—I’ll be around. Give me a call on my mobile when you wake up and I’ll get you something light to eat before you get up—and come and ask me if you need anything in the night. I’m going to find my brothers now and have a drink with them, but I won’t be long. Call me if you need anything.’

  Only you, she thought as he bent his head and kissed her. And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him, leaving her alone with her tumbling thoughts and emotions.

  ‘So what’s the story, then?’

  Luca dropped into the battered old leather sofa in Massimo’s apartment in the house and rolled his eyes.

  ‘Gio, shut up,’ Massimo said softly. ‘Luca, what can I get you? I’ve got a nice Pinot Grigio in the fridge, or there’s a lovely Barosa open.’

  ‘No, I’ve drunk enough.’

  ‘Rubbish. Give him the Barosa, loosen his tongue a bit. I want to hear all about his bella regazza. I can see why you’ve fallen for her. She’s gorgeous. I just hope it hasn’t blinded you.’

  ‘Leave her alone, Gio. She’s done nothing to deserve this treatment from you.’

  Gio arched a brow. ‘Let’s just wait and see.
’

  ‘Shut up, Gio. Where did you meet her?’ Massimo asked, butting in.

  ‘Firenze, in a café, in January.’

  Massimo put a glass in his hand. ‘The day of your interview? You dropped off the radar for twenty-four hours. Could this be anything to do with the lady in question?’

  He gave a soft snort and nodded. ‘Dio, does nothing escape you guys? Yes. I spent the day with her.’

  ‘And the night,’ Gio prodded, and he sighed.

  ‘Do you have to be so damn rude?’

  ‘That’s a yes, Massimo, by the way. So how come you’re working with her?’

  ‘It’s just coincidence.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘No, really. I’m helping a friend out with a locum job—’

  ‘Why? You’re right in the middle of your research paper,’ Massimo said, getting to the heart of it. ‘And what happened about the professorship in Firenze?’

  ‘I took a rain check.’

  ‘To follow her back to London,’ Gio said, and Luca realised they were going to drag every last painful millimetre of this out of him.

  ‘Yes, if you must know,’ he confessed, to get it over with. ‘I wanted to find her. And I couldn’t. So I took a job with Richard, and there she was.’

  ‘She seems a little wary,’ Massimo commented, swirling his wine thoughtfully in the glass.

  Luca snorted. ‘Wouldn’t you be? You were watching her like hawks, especially Gio.’

  ‘Mama seems to have taken to her new daughter-in-law, anyway. Does she realise she’s pregnant, I wonder?’

  ‘Is she?’ Massimo asked, looking shocked, and not for the first time that night Luca felt the urge to kill his little brother.

  The silence seemed to stretch on and on, and finally he cracked and broke it. ‘Yes. Yes, she is. The baby’s due in September.’

  He met Massimo’s eyes, and after a second his brother sighed softly.

  ‘Oh, hell, Luca. Are you OK with it? I take it she really is pregnant?’

  ‘Yes, she really is.’

  ‘Don’t sound so indignant. It wouldn’t have been the first mistake of that sort.’

  Luca cut Gio a slashing look. ‘I’m an obstetrician. I think I can tell by now when a woman’s pregnant,’ he said cuttingly.

  ‘Oh, I don’t doubt she’s pregnant,’ Gio said. ‘But are you sure it’s yours?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said tightly.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because—there are sound reasons why that I have no intention of going into with you, and I have no reason to doubt her, because I trust her,’ he told them bluntly, ignoring Gio’s snort of disbelief. ‘As for how I am about it, that rather depends on whether you guys put her off completely before the wedding. That’s why we’re here—so she can learn all about me from you, and see if she feels she can trust me. We don’t exactly know much about each other, but we need to. I thought this would fast-forward it a bit, but I’m relying on you.’

  Gio swore softly, and Luca waited for the mockery that would follow, but there was none. Not this time.

  ‘What do you want us to tell her?’

  ‘That I’m not a lying, cheating bastard like her father and her ex-fiancé would be good.’

  Massimo winced. ‘Ouch. So it’s not just you with a messy past, then. OK. Consider it done.’

  He looked at Gio, who shrugged. ‘OK. But I’ll be watching her.’

  ‘I never doubted it for a moment. There is one thing you’ll like, though. She wants a pre-nup.’

  ‘What?’ Gio started to laugh, then shook his head in disbelief when he realised Luca was serious. ‘Why?’

  ‘She has a house—a two-bedroomed terraced house in Herne Hill. She wants it protected for the baby if anything happens to us.’

  ‘Is that likely? I know what you feel about marriage.’

  ‘No. No, it’s not likely, but it’s what she wants, so she can have it.’

  Gio gave a low laugh. ‘Does the woman have any idea what you’re worth?’

  ‘No—well, she didn’t, not until we got here. And I thought there was something very touching about the way she wanted to protect the baby if anything went wrong.’

  ‘Or could it be the fact that she doesn’t trust you?’

  ‘She’s been hurt. Trust is hard. Anyway, my money’s irrelevant. It’s not who I am, Gio.’

  ‘On the contrary, Luca. It’s very much who you are, and who you are is too damn trusting. I’ll make sure your interests as well as hers are protected. I’ll draw you something up in the morning.’

  ‘She gets half,’ he said firmly. ‘And I want a will, not a pre-nup. The other half goes to the baby.’

  Gio went pale. ‘Hell, Luca. Massimo, give him another drink. He’s lost his mind.’

  ‘No. I think, actually, he might just have found it,’ Massimo said with an understanding smile, and topped up his glass.

  The following day was a whirlwind.

  Massimo was going to take them round the estate in his car after he’d dropped his children at school, but at the last minute something cropped up, so he lent them the off-road car and they set off as soon as they were ready.

  ‘I’m sorry about his wife. He’s a really nice man,’ Isabelle said to Luca as they drove away.

  ‘It was dreadful. I don’t think he’ll ever marry again. He adored her. They were childhood sweethearts. He’s a nice guy. A good friend. He likes you.’

  ‘Gio doesn’t.’

  ‘He doesn’t trust you. He’s got his reasons—it’s not personal.’

  ‘The woman who hurt you ten years ago? Tell me about it, Luca. What happened?’ she said, but he wouldn’t go into it, and then they arrived at the winery for their guided tour with the manager, and the opportunity was gone.

  The rest of the morning was taken up by their tour of the estate—even larger than she’d imagined—then lunch in a trattoria some miles away before the return journey through the arable part of the land. ‘That’s Anita’s family home over there, on the top of that hill,’ Luca said as they paused on a rise. ‘She’s an old friend, more of a sister really, and she’s a wedding planner. We’ll talk to her later. No doubt Mama will be discussing things with her already. She’s dying to meet you.’

  Was she? Really? ‘How good a friend?’ she asked, and Luca shot her a wry smile.

  ‘Not that good. I tried—she slapped my face when I was sixteen, and I haven’t dared to try again. She’s very nice. You’ll like her.’

  She hoped so. A wedding planner? It sounded a bit scary, but she needn’t have worried. Anita was lovely, and hugged her warmly when they met at the end of the afternoon, after their tour was over.

  Then, once the introductions were out of the way, she shooed Luca and his mother away and settled down in the corner of a comfy sofa with a glass of fruit juice on the table beside her, tucked her feet under her bottom and produced a notebook from her bag. ‘I like to talk to the bride on her own,’ she said with a grin. ‘Everybody has so many opinions, but really only one person’s opinion matters. So, talk to me.’

  ‘About what?’ she asked, at a loss. ‘I haven’t really thought about it—not the detail. I’ve done all this before—got right to the wire,’ she admitted reluctantly, because she wanted Anita on her side. ‘Then it all went wrong and it never happened. So I don’t want anything remotely like what I’d planned before, because apart from anything else, none of it was my choice.’

  ‘OK, so tell me about your dream wedding for you and Luca,’ Anita said.

  ‘Oh. Well, we’re not planning my dream wedding, are we? Just something quick and quiet. I’ve got over the dream scenario.’

  Anita tutted. ‘You should never get over your dream wedding.’

  ‘You do, believe me, when you see how easily it all turns into a nightmare.’

  ‘So how was it, while it was still a dream in your head, when you were a little girl? Tell me about your dress—what did you want? Tulle? Satin? Lace?’

&
nbsp; ‘Raw silk. I never really knew what it was, and I’m still not sure I do, but it sounds so lovely!’

  Anita laughed. ‘I agree. So—silk?’

  ‘I think so. But ivory, I think. White’s a bit harsh against my skin.’

  ‘Ivory suits most people better. Or maybe even a pale dove grey, or soft coffee?’

  ‘Coffee might be nice.’

  ‘And what about the style?’

  Isabelle shrugged, not sure quite how to deal with this one, so in her usual way, she met it head-on. ‘I don’t know. When I was a child, I always wanted to be a princess, but most princesses aren’t pregnant when they get married.’

  Anita’s eyes widened, and she clapped her hand over her mouth and gasped. ‘You’re having a baby?’

  She nodded, wondering why Anita was so shocked. And if it was anything to do with Gio’s hostility. Had Luca had a baby in his past? Was that it?

  ‘It’s due in September, so I’d like to get married soon, before it shows. Another eight weeks, maximum. And we don’t want a huge do.’

  ‘But—it’s your wedding! Luca’s family—’

  ‘Will do as they’re told,’ Luca said, coming into the room with a tray of tea and cakes. ‘Here, something to keep you going while you plan. I’m going for a walk with Papa, I’ll see you later. Nita, don’t bully her.’ And stooping down to Isabelle, he kissed her lingeringly on the lips, winked at Anita and walked out.

  Anita shook her head, staring after him with a thoughtful expression. ‘He’ll be a wonderful father. He’s brilliant with children. Have you met Massimo’s tribe yet?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, not yet. They’d gone to school when I got up.’

  ‘They’re lovely. They adore their Uncle Luca. So, while I pour the tea, tell me all about your fairytale princess wedding…’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE WEDDING WAS scheduled for the last Sunday in April—ludicrously quick compared to those of her friends who’d married recently. Their weddings had taken at least a year to plan and cost about half a year’s salary or more.