A Stormy Spring
Page 26
‘Does she still suspect nothing?’
Lucas eyed his brother. Jacob lounged in a chair looking pretty damn handsome in a cream suit, his silk shirt open at the neck. He was an inch shorter than Lucas, his black hair brushed smoothly back from his high forehead. His dark eyes were sharper, harder than his brother’s. And his mouth in repose had a tendency to look too firm, too demanding.
Lucas wondered who or what had put the cloud in his eyes. Jacob had always thought too much, felt too much, even as a child.
‘She has no idea.’
‘You are a lucky bastard, mi amigo.’
Lucas gave him a wide grin as he tucked his shirt in the cream pants of his suit. Becca and his brother had bonded during Jacob’s visit to London to meet his future sister-in-law. He’d found them with their heads together talking seriously about something. Becca had been holding Jacob’s hand all the while her eyes had stayed on his. Lucas didn’t know what it was about, but Jacob had adored Becca ever since.
‘Si, I know.’
‘Burt has been having fun with Papa,’ Jacob told him with a big grin.
His father and Burt had bonded over a common love of musical theatre.
Lucas shook his head as he fixed a miniature cream lily in his buttonhole. Every guest wore one, including the groom, in honour of Becca’s late daughter.
A brisk knock at the door and Margo popped her dark head in.
She wore an ivory floaty number and she had a spray of lilies in her hair.
Her eyes cast an appreciative glance over them.
‘Are you decent? Ten minutes to lift off. Burt’s with Becca.’
Lucas shrugged on his jacket and slapped his brother on the back.
‘She will kill me if I am late.’
‘Not much chance of that,’ was the deep voiced response as they left to make their way out of the Castilla. ‘You have been desperate for this moment for weeks.’
‘You cannot be serious, Burt. I’m not getting into a golf buggy!’
Becca, dressed in all her finery struggled with the not very bridal urge to scream.
She wore an Elie Saab strapless sheath in ivory silk with gold thread woven through the delicate fabric. The dress was fitted around the bust and fell to her ankles. Standing in the gentle breeze clutching her vast bouquet of ivory freesias, roses and baby’s breath she was not happy.
Her too long veil was driving her nuts, as she’d surely told her mother, but the woman would not be denied. And the four inch bloody heels were going to kill her by the end of the day.
‘Aw, come on, baby. Just do it for me. And it’s a very fine golf buggy. State of the art. Look at all the pretty flowers.’
She was getting married to a man she loved more than life itself. In the grand scheme of things did it really matter how she was driven to the ceremony?
With a look that promised retribution, she sat in the front seat as Burt hopped in and whizzed the buggy over the grass and scooted down a path away from the Castilla.
Clutching the strap hanging from the buggy for dear life Becca eyed him and wondered if he’d been drinking because he seemed terribly excited.
‘We’re going in the wrong direction,’ she told him in a voice of a woman on the edge.
‘We’re taking the scenic route, darlin.’ He wouldn’t meet her eye and was whistling through his teeth in a way that shredded her nerves.
Come to think of it, everyone was acting weird.
Even Bronte hadn’t let her see the Grand Hall where the ceremony was taking place.
And they’d been given a room miles away from all the action. For peace and quiet Lucas had said. Fair enough. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want to see how things were progressing for her big day.
She’d managed to catch a glimpse of florist vans so at least she knew she’d have flowers.
They whizzed around a bend along a path that led to the beach.
And her gasp of shocked surprise made Burt laugh out loud.
The buggy jerked to a stop.
Becca couldn’t believe her eyes.
Oh My God. Lucas had given her a beach wedding.
The huge band of musicians struck up a bongo drummed boogie.
Everyone who mattered to them were there sitting in chairs on the sand protected from the sun under huge tented awnings.
Running up the middle was a long red carpet edged with pots of white roses and at the end standing under a smaller tented shade on an elevated dais was Lucas and his brother Jacob with a priest dressed in full regalia.
Everyone wore white or cream.
Stunned, she blinked at an emotional Bronte who was grinning at her like a lunatic. She took her bouquet and handed her a spray of miniature lilies.
Margo kissed her on the cheek and plucked off the evil veil leaving simple lilies in Becca’s hair.
Then Bronte knelt down and removed Becca’s heels.
It was only then that she realised that no one wore shoes.
The men didn’t wear ties either.
Blinking rapidly she saw her mother barely holding it together with her fingers pressed to her lips and Nico’s arm tight around her shoulders.
His cream trousers rolled up at the ankles, Don Norberto Juan Ortiz Conde Del Garda stepped towards her.
He took her hand and bowed low. ‘It is my great honour to escort you to your future husband, querida. My son grows impatient.’
Becca couldn’t stop laughing as her eyes found her husband-to-be.
What the hell was he like?
Lucas was watching her and laughed out loud at the expression on her face.
Through thunderous applause, on shaky legs, Becca began to make her way up the red carpet.
Jacob smacked Lucas on the back.
She saw it in his eye before he did it.
In bare feet Lucas broke every protocol, every rule in the book as he boogied down the aisle to her in perfect rhythm to the music.
Who knew he could move those hips like that?
When he reached them he muttered something in Spanish to his father and scooped Becca up and spun her round before striding back up the aisle with her in his strong arms.
The guests roared their appreciation in loud cheers.
He placed her on her feet and kissed her long and hard in front of a grinning elderly priest who had a decided twinkle in his eye.
He spoke in heavily accented English,
‘Welcome to your wedding, my dear. As you can see, your groom has requested informality be the theme of the day.’
Margo handed Becca a hanky and Lucas took it to dab at her eyes.
They were married in front of the people who loved and cared for them. And in the service a moment was spared to remember the dead. In that instant their hearts soared as one as they vowed to love each other in sickness and in health until death parted them.
But Lucas added to their vows after he’d kissed her.
His deep voice carried in the soft breeze as he quoted the words of Robert Browning,
‘Grow old along with me. The best is yet to be.’
And there wasn’t a dry eye on the beach.
EPILOGUE
Eighteen months later.
Becca fiddled with a two carat tanzanite stud earring set in white gold, a gift from Lucas.
‘You look stunning, querida. They are the exact colour of your eyes.’ That deep voice shimmied through her blood.
She did a twirl.
The Vera Wang off the shoulder number fell in neutral folds to the floor and made her feel sensational. She held out her hands and Lucas grasped them taking her fingers straight to his mouth. Those dark intense eyes searched hers and he smiled the way he always did these days, as if he couldn’t quite believe his luck.
Stroking a finger down the lapel of his bespoke suit, she adjusted his bow tie and the evening studs in his crisp white shirt.
‘Looking pretty great yourself, Senor.’
Dark eyes met hers. ‘Are you disappointed n
ot to win the Tony?’
‘Nope. Third time lucky, perhaps?’
He growled as he held her close and rested his cheek on her hair, ‘You deserved it.’
She hugged him hard. ‘I’ve never been happier, Lucas.’
‘The boys are out for the count.’
She grinned up into his face. ‘I know. Jacob exhausted them. I saw a totally different side to your brother today.’
‘The last time I saw him he was racing for the shower with chocolate sauce in his hair. Moira is standing guard over the nursery.’
He took her face in his hands and kissed her.
As ever what started out as a smooth easy move turned hot, hard and fast.
The way he dragged his mouth from hers made her smile.
‘Down boy, we have over four hundred guests waiting.’
With a groan Lucas pressed hot lips to her forehead. ‘Who had this great idea again?’
‘You did, to make it up to the people who missed the wedding, remember?’
‘Si, I remember.’
They left their suite in the Castilla, and moved down the long stone corridor and entered the next room to check on their boys.
Moira turned from the TV programme she was watching to eye them.
‘You two clean up well.’ She nodded to the adjoining room. ‘They’re unconscious, probably because Jacob had them for hours in the pool. What with the sun, sea and sand they’ll not stir until morning.’
Becca stepped into the nursery and crept over to the cots. Her boys. They lay on their backs their faces flushed, their black silky hair curled around their ears. Both had the look and colouring of Del Garda’s but their eyes belonged to their mother and caught the unwary by surprise.
Sandro and Pascal Del Garda. Sometimes she still had to pinch herself that the life she had now was real. They were fraternal rather than identical twins. Pascal was the oldest by three minutes. Her pregnancy had proceeded as planned until her blood pressure decided to play havoc with her system in the last month. The boys had been delivered by an elected caesarean. An event Lucas told anyone who would listen had taken ten years off his life.
Lucas’s arms crept around her waist as he nuzzled under her ear and she leaned back to give him better access to that favourite spot.
‘I love you so much, querida.’
‘I love you. Look at what we made, Lucas.’
‘We should start working on a sister. You are outnumbered in our little family.’
Laughing she turned in his arms and wound her arms around his neck.
‘I swear you’re psychic, Senor.’
He blinked down into her face as his brows flew into his hairline.
‘So quickly?’
Her teeth tugged his bottom lip as her eyelashes fluttered. ‘Si, you are so potent, Senor.’
His big rumbling laugh disturbed Sandro and with bated breath they stood absolutely still until he settled.
Becca pulled him out of the room before she burst out laughing.
‘Come on, we have guests waiting.’
He waited until they were in the hallway before hauling her into his arms.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, but there are no guarantees. It might be another boy.’
Lucas heaved a pretend sigh and a big smile lit up his fabulous face.
‘Then I will have no choice but to keep trying, querida.’
He took her hand and together they descended down the main staircase to the Grande Hall and their waiting guests.
The End
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Table of Contents
A Stormy Spring - Introduction
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT