Shameful Secret, Shotgun Wedding

by Sharon Kendrick

But through her anger and indignation that her hostess should have been so unforgivably rude came a terrible twisting of pain in her heart. Because what if Gabriella was speaking the truth? What if this was a terrible case of bad timing—with both Giancarlo and Gabriella having married the wrong people?

  Raised voices heralded the return of the two men and Cassie lifted her head to look at them. Giancarlo’s expression was a shuttered mask which gave nothing away—but she thought that Raul looked curiously at peace. As if some sort of weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  Giancarlo looked across the room at her and his eyes narrowed. ‘Are you okay?’

  From somewhere, Cassie summoned up a smile. ‘Yes, fine—just a bit tired. I’d quite like to go back, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Oh, stay!’ said Gabriella brightly. ‘There are plenty of beds.’

  ‘Thanks for the offer, but we have a car waiting,’ said Giancarlo, and turned to his brother. ‘I meant what I said. Come and see me in London. Any time.’

  ‘Grazie, Carlo.’ Raul nodded. ‘I will.’

  Cassie was aware of the suspicion in Gabriella’s eyes as they said their goodbyes and it wasn’t until they were back in the car and headed out on the road to Rome that Giancarlo spoke.

  ‘Well, that was an enlightening experience.’

  Cassie hesitated, thinking how shadowed his face looked. ‘In what way?’

  He shook his head as he pulled a pulsating cell-phone from his pocket and began to read the screen. ‘Just let me deal with this first.’

  Cassie swallowed. Don’t get irate. Don’t tell him how rude he can be. It must have been a weird evening for him and she needed to be understanding. She waited until he had finished before clearing her throat. ‘I thought Allegra was lovely.’

  ‘She is. The one good thing to come out of that marriage.’ Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Did Gabriella treat you properly?’

  ‘She…well, actually, she guessed I was pregnant.’

  He glanced down at her belly. ‘That’s not something we’re going to be able to keep secret for much longer. But apart from that?’

  She wondered whether to burden him with a word-for-word transcript of Gabriella’s bitchiness but some instinct stopped her. Because what if everything her sister-in-law had said was true? Suppose she was holding Giancarlo back from what he had always really wanted? Wouldn’t that force the subject out into the open? And then what? Questions like that required answers she might not want to hear.

  ‘She was okay,’ she said, with a shrug. ‘Not really a woman’s woman, I guess. But what about Raul? He…well, he looked much older than I expected. I could hardly believe he was the same age as you. Was everything all right with him?’

  Was everything all right with Raul? Giancarlo’s mouth tightened with irony as he recalled the demons which had flown from his twin brother’s lips during their talk in the library, and he shook his head.

  ‘No, things are anything but all right with Raul,’ he said slowly, turning his head a little to watch the dark Tuscan landscape speeding by. From here he could see the indistinct outline of the countryside where he’d played as a boy. Played with his twin brother before ambition and money and a woman had driven a wedge between them.

  ‘The marriage is on the rocks,’ he continued. ‘It has been for some time, apparently. I told him it was clearly damaging to Allegra as well as to each other—and if it can’t be made better, then he should get out of it.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, I see.’ So he knew anyway. Raul had told him. A terrible fear began to prickle at Cassie’s skin. Did Giancarlo see what Gabriella saw—an opportunity for him to step in and take what should have always been his? And was he, like his sister-in-law, kicking himself because the timing was all wrong? That he had married his pregnant mistress at precisely the wrong moment. ‘That’s a pity.’

  ‘Yes.’ But he heard the odd catch in her voice and he looked at her more closely. ‘You’re trembling, Cassandra,’ he said softly. ‘Are you cold?’

  Couldn’t he see how his words now hung like the sword of Damocles over her head? She was nothing like Gabriella—and yet Gabriella had been the woman that he’d loved. Had he looked at the two of them tonight and compared them? One so sleek and dark and sophisticated—and the other a young, pale foreigner who could never compete, not on any level. ‘A…little.’

  ‘Then let’s get you back.’ Leaning forward, he rapped sharply at the glass partition which separated them from the driver. ‘Piu velocemente!’ he ordered, his voice suddenly urgent.

  The car drew up as close as it could get to their hotel, and they walked a little way in the crisp night air, back to their penthouse suite which overlooked the city’s famous Spanish Steps. In the mirrored confines of the elevator Cassie could see Giancarlo’s gaze raking over her assessingly and she wondered if he was thinking about the beautiful brunette they had just left. But then he placed his arm about her shoulder and drew her close to his powerful frame.

  ‘Tired?’ he questioned.

  She shook her head. Her head was spinning from all that she’d seen and heard during dinner and the thought of sleep seemed impossible. ‘No. Actually, I’m wide awake.’

  ‘Me, too.’ He thought how clear her skin looked and how bright her violet eyes. He thought of the pain and the bitterness on his twin brother’s face as he had poured his heart out—and suddenly he wanted to blot it all out with Cassandra’s sweet kiss.

  ‘You know, you are really very beautiful,’ he said softly. ‘Sei molto bella,’ he repeated in Italian and began to kiss her—her stifled little cry of surprise sounding on his lips. For a split second she seemed to hesitate—as if the chemistry which had once burned between them were no more. And then she melted against him, opened her mouth beneath his as naturally as breathing and gave a little moan. He slid his arms around her waist and then brought her even closer, revelling in the sensation of her soft curves and the silken spill of her hair. How long had it been? he wondered hungrily—as his body gave a sudden urgent jerk of desire. Not since the night before she’d left London at Christmas…

  ‘Giancarlo—’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘I want to make love to you, bella. I want to make love to you so badly.’

  Why now? she wondered desperately. Why now? She opened her mouth to ask him but once again his powerful kiss silenced her.

  Flagrantly, he rubbed his arousal against her belly—leaving her in no doubt about how much he wanted her. The loud ping of the elevator did nothing but temporarily interrupt his deepening passion as, with a low growl, he led her into their suite. Kicking shut the door behind them, he pushed her coat impatiently from her shoulders, let it slither to the floor before lifting her up in his arms and carrying her along the corridor towards the vast master bedroom.

  ‘Put me down,’ she protested. ‘I’m too heavy.’

  ‘You’re as light as a feather,’ he contested as he lay her down on the bed. ‘Despite the fact that you carry my child inside you.’ But the reminder of that made his fingers halt in the trembling process of unbuttoning her dress—despite the desire which burned inside him. He thought of the tiny life inside her and he swallowed down the hot cocktail of lust which was heating his blood. ‘In fact, maybe this is not such a good idea after all,’ he said unsteadily. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

  Ironically, his momentary wavering killed her own uncertainty and she shook her head, her fingers clamping around his stilled hand. ‘You won’t. There’s nothing in the rule-book which says that pregnant women can’t have sex,’ she whispered, moving him back in the direction of her aching nipples and closing her eyes with pleasure as he began to touch them.

  ‘Isn’t there?’ he questioned unevenly. He bared her creamy breasts—fuller than he remembered them, and showcased perfectly in a filmy lace brassiere. Unsteadily, his fingers trailed over the outline of a tight, rosy nub and felt it pucker up beneath them, like a crushed petal. ‘Are you sure abo
ut that?’

  ‘Qu-quite sure.’

  He peeled away her dress and slid off her stockings, bra and panties and then took off his own clothes—for he did not trust himself to wait while her trembling fingers tried to accomplish the task. And then, pulling her into his arms at long last, he groaned as their naked bodies made contact. She was all soft and giving flesh and he ran his fingers keenly over her skin, feeling the urgent jerk of his body in response.

  ‘You feel amazing.’

  ‘So do you.’

  ‘It’s been too long since I have felt your exquisite body in my arms,’ he asserted hungrily. ‘And I had forgotten just how good you feel.’ Momentarily, he let his hand linger on the still-flat plane of her stomach before letting it drift down over the curving swell of her hips. And then down still further, so that she moaned softly into his ear as his fingers skated over the silk of her inner thigh.

  ‘Our first time as man and wife,’ she whispered. Yet momentarily the thought of that disturbed her, even as his hands began to work their magic—his fingers sliding between her thighs and finding her honeyed heat. Helplessly, she bucked beneath their questing touch, her lips brushing against his neck. She wanted to ask him why he had not touched her before tonight and what had provoked this sudden storm of passion. ‘Giancarlo.’

  ‘It’s good?’

  ‘It’s…’ But her question remained unasked. There was no need for words—nor any time for them—for Giancarlo was parting her thighs with the urgency of a man who could wait no longer. And she didn’t want him to wait—she wanted him to heal her frayed nerves with the power of his body.

  It was easy to urge him on with the helpless thrust of her hips—the silent plea for him to take her. Wordlessly, he interpreted her invitation and accepted it, entering her with one masterly stroke, and she gasped out loud as he filled her with his hard, hot heat. ‘Oh, Giancarlo!’ she cried. ‘It’s…’

  ‘It’s what, cara?’

  It was pleasure so perfect that it dissolved all her fears as he moved inside her. It felt like a discovery—or a rediscovery—as if she had forgotten just how incredible it could be with each slow, high thrust. Wrapping her legs around his warm back, she tipped her head back to give him greater access to her eager flesh. His tongue rasped greedily over each breast and, with trembling fingers, she could feel the powerful tension in his buttocks as he spurred her on.

  She thought that he had never been quite so passionate with her before—as if he could barely contain himself, saying things to her in fervent and breathless Italian. What did those words mean? she wondered fleetingly. But then it was too late to wonder anything—for the waves began with a sweet inevitability as her body began to shudder helplessly around him.

  For a moment he stilled and just watched her—saw the uninhibited arching of her back and heard the little gasps which were torn from between her parted lips. And as the first flowering flush began to appear above her breast he drove into her once more—felt the heated welcome of her still-quivering body.

  His own orgasm came upon him with unexpected intensity—it seemed to empty him of more than just his seed. And afterwards, he cradled her in his arms—felt the sheen of sweat on her soft skin and his finger found the pulse which skittered so frenetically at her temple. Her heart was beating so fast—and suddenly reality hit him with a cold fist.

  Protectively, his hand splayed over her belly. ‘I haven’t hurt you?’

  With a sinking heart, Cassie heard the concern in his voice as she realised that his bedside manner was back again—and the insecurities which making love had suppressed came flooding back with a vengeance. Had he hurt her? Yes, many times—but never physically. The powerful thrusting of his body did not bring the pain that his emotional distance did.

  Through the muted light of the room, she stared into the dark gleam of his eyes. Was it simply coincidence that he had chosen tonight to make love to her for the first time since their wedding? And why had he spoken to her in that unaccustomed Italian in the middle of it all?

  Was he imagining that it was Gabriella in his arms? Gabriella he was thrusting into? Was that what had inspired such a show of passion tonight of all nights—when he hadn’t touched her since they’d said their goodbyes before Christmas?

  Drawing in a deep breath, she looked at the shadowed perfection of his face, forcing herself to ask the question—because weren’t married couples supposed to be able to communicate with each other? ‘Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if you’d married Gabriella?’

  The subject of his sister-in-law shattered his warm contentment like a bucket of ice-water and, silently, Giancarlo cursed his wife for bringing it up. For a moment he didn’t answer, even though a thousand responses leapt to his tongue. But he could see from the sudden trembling of her lips that she was determined to have an answer. ‘But what would be the point of that?’ he said slowly. ‘Conjecture is a pointless exercise, Cassandra—I learnt that a long time ago.’

  Cassie’s gaze didn’t waver. Was that about the same time he learned never to trust women? ‘You should have been a politician,’ she said lightly, even though her heart was thudding painfully in her chest. ‘I’ve never heard such an evasive answer.’

  ‘Is that a criticism?’

  ‘Just an observation.’

  His face darkened. ‘And why the hell are you bringing up a subject like that at a time like this?’

  Because she needed to know—and how could she possibly know if he never told her anything, if he kept everything so buttoned-up and close to his chest? She thought of Gabriella’s bitterness about marrying the wrong man—which could have been provoked by regret and jealousy. But her sister-in-law had said something else, too…something which had also hurt. Something which could easily be proved.

  Have you met any of his other friends? No? Well, I can assure you that I am only voicing what they will all be thinking.

  Was Gabriella right? Hadn’t Giancarlo deliberately kept her away from his friends before the wedding—and then neglected to ask a single one to the ceremony itself? As his mistress she hadn’t been good enough to meet them—and it seemed that even as his wife she did not qualify either. Maybe he didn’t intend for her to get to know them at all. Perhaps that was to be the way of it—with her increasingly being marginalised. The unsuitable bride who needed to be kept away from his powerful peers.

  ‘You know, I still haven’t met any of your friends, Giancarlo.’

  ‘And?’

  Fractionally, Cassie moved away from the distraction of his naked body and the warmth of his embrace, which did not match the sudden cold gleam in his black eyes. She drew a deep breath. ‘And I’d like us to throw a dinner party when we get back to London.’

  His eyes narrowed and then he shrugged before moving away from her. ‘So do it.’

  But just before he turned over—as if to halt any further conversation on the subject—Cassie saw the unmistakable tautening of his face.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE small blonde whirlwind which was his wife flew at him as soon as he had let himself in and Giancarlo stared down into her flushed face and listened to the words which were tumbling over themselves in their hurry to be heard. Lifting his hand as if he were quelling dissent at a board meeting, he shook his head. ‘Enough.’

  ‘But—”

  ‘I said enough, Cassandra,’ he reiterated softly. ‘Because I don’t give a damn if the trifle won’t set! And neither am I interested in the consistency of the gravy. That’s why I employ a housekeeper! Why the hell won’t you let Gina do it all—the way she always does?’

  Cassie bit her wobbling lip. Why couldn’t he understand? Didn’t he realise that sometimes she felt useless—like some little child who needed to have everything done for her? ‘Because…because I want to do some of it myself—otherwise how can we possibly say that it’s our dinner party?’

  Giancarlo looked at her anxious face with mounting frustration. He’d agreed to a d
inner party so that she could meet some of his friends—yes. What had not been part of the deal had been a near-hysterical pregnant wife who was taking on an unnecessary amount of work and appeared to be failing spectacularly to complete any of it. Picking things up and then putting them down somewhere completely different. Changing her mind and then changing it back again.

  But then, she’d been positively mercurial ever since they’d returned from their honeymoon—her moods varying wildly from sweet to tearful with a hundred variations in between. His online pregnancy guide had informed him that women were victims of their hormones during this trimester—and that he must be patient. Patience wasn’t an attribute with which he was particularly familiar, but he was trying. He had even drawn a veil over her prying persistence and the intrusive questions she had flung at him in Rome. His mouth hardened. Once things had calmed down she was going to have to learn he simply would not tolerate her raking up the past. But in the meantime he would humour her.

  He studied her frozen little figure, his hands reaching out to massage away some of the tension in her shoulders. ‘Listen to me, Cassandra—I’ve told you a hundred times that you don’t have to prove yourself.’

  ‘But, I do! They’re your friends and they don’t know anything about me—and I want…I want to make a good impression.’ Shaking herself free, Cassie walked over to one of the vases which stood on the hall table and gave a piece of foliage an unnecessary tug. She had been gearing up to this dinner for days now and sometimes it felt as if she were taking an exam in social etiquette as she prepared to meet some of her husband’s buddies. Hadn’t she been reading all the broadsheet newspapers for days in preparation—stuffing her head with facts so they wouldn’t think she was just some vacuous shop assistant?

  Yet deep down she knew that much of her behaviour was because she wanted to prove to herself that Gabriella was wrong. That Giancarlo’s friends wouldn’t all be wondering why he had married her. That even when they found out about the pregnancy—which might very well be tonight, judging by her oddly distended stomach—they would still like her and think her the sort of person who was worthy of him. She turned away from the vase to face him. ‘The meal will probably be a complete disaster,’ she moaned.