The Sicilian's Bought Bride

‘I want to be with her,’ Catherine stated calmly. ‘If you want to go to a hotel—fine. But I’m not leaving.’ Picking up her bag, she headed for the door, but the slow handclap resounding from Rico stilled her. Tossing her head, she turned to face him, her eyes questioning.

‘Bravo,’ he sneered. ‘If I didn’t know you better you’d almost pass for a grief-stricken aunty.’

‘I just want to do the right thing by Lily,’ Catherine responded, utterly bemused, with no idea where this was leading.

‘Of course you do!’ She heard the sarcasm dripping in his voice, but it merely confused her. ‘Possession is nine-tenths of the law and all that.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Whatever Rico’s problem was she didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to do this now. She was exhausted, physically and mentally exhausted, and even though she’d only been promised a roller bed by Lily’s cot the thought of stretching out, of closing her eyes on this vile day, was the only thing keeping her standing. ‘I’ll speak to you in the morning.’

‘You’ll speak to me tonight.’ His voice stayed low but there was a menacing note that had the hairs rising on the back of her neck. ‘You’ll tell me everything that’s happened.’

‘I’ve already told you,’ Catherine responded hotly. ‘What the hell does it matter how it happened, Rico? They’re dead, and going over and over it doesn’t change anything.’

‘Oh, but it does.’ His eyes bored into hers. ‘The fact they’re dead changes everything. Why didn’t you tell me you’d spoken to social workers, Catherine? Why did you omit to mention that you’ve told them you are taking Lily home with you when she’s discharged? That you are applying for guardianship?’

Her mind was working nineteen to the dozen now, realisation dawning as his savage eyes met hers, as she registered just how low he thought she was prepared to stoop.

‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ she insisted. ‘It wasn’t like that. The hospital needed a name, a next of kin, someone to sign a consent form if Lily needed an operation.’

‘And you were only too happy to provide it.’

‘Of course I was,’ Catherine responded hotly. ‘As much as you mightn’t like it, Rico, as much as you might want to wipe me out of your life, I have as much right to be here as you. I am Lily’s aunt just as you are her uncle, and given the fact that her parents have just been killed it makes us her next of kin. I had every right to sign that form and I resent the implication that I had some sort of ulterior motive. She’s seems okay now, but we didn’t know. She has bruises from the car seat and the doctors thought there could be some internal damage. You weren’t here, Rico! What was I supposed to do? Refuse to sign?’

‘Okay,’ he conceded reluctantly. ‘But you told them you are taking Lily home with you when she’s discharged, told them you are prepared to look after her…’

‘And I am,’ Catherine wailed, her patience flying out of the window as she faced this impossible, mistrusting man. ‘She’s my niece and I want to look after her—in the short term at least.’

‘That’s not what you said to the social workers.’

‘Oh, come on, Rico. Janey died this afternoon. I can barely comprehend what’s happened, let alone make long-term plans! As if I know what I’m going to do.’

‘Don’t lie,’ he spat. ‘Poor little Lily. I can just see you laying it on with a trowel to the social workers. I can almost hear the little sob in your voice as you said it!’ His eyes narrowed, his lips contorting as he eyed her distastefully. ‘Only she’s not so poor, is she? As of this evening, Lily’s incredibly rich. You must have been rubbing your hands in glee when the bloody Mancinis couldn’t even be bothered to make it to the hospital—rubbing your hands in glee when no one was there to stop you when you said you’d take care of her.’

‘It wasn’t like that!’ It was Catherine’s voice rising now. ‘How dare you? How dare you accuse me of trying to profit from my sister’s death? How dare you suggest I would use my niece as a pawn? Why would I—’

‘I’ll tell you why.’ His voice was low, a contrast to hers, his eyes forbidding as they stared back at her coldly. ‘Because you hate your life, Catherine. Because you’d go to any lengths to change it.’

‘You’re disgusting.’ Pulling her arms away, she attempted to wrestle it from his hand, but his grip only tightened. ‘Let go of me, Rico. I’m going to my niece.’

‘Over my dead body.’ His face was as white as marble in the fluorescent light, his cheeks jagged, his lips set in grim determination. ‘You’re coming back to the hotel with me, Catherine. Tonight we talk.’

CHAPTER THREE

THEY drove in silence.

Angry denials were bobbing on her tongue, but the set of his jaw, the grip of his hands on the steering wheel told her now wasn’t the time.

They needed to face the situation calmly, talk things through rationally. Lily’s future was too precious to be relegated to a heated row in a hospital corridor, and given the day’s events a high-speed sports car wasn’t exactly the ideal spot either. That was the only reason Catherine had given in and agreed to go back to the hotel, allowed him to lead her through the endless hospital corridors and out to the car park, and she held her tongue now, biting back smart replies, determined to do things properly.

His sleek, low silver car purred through the night streets. The windows thankfully were open, and Catherine welcomed the cool breeze that whipped her cheeks, blowing away the nauseating stench of the hospital. As they slowed at the lights a tram clattered past. A couple of young lovers were kissing in a doorway, and the early editions of tomorrow’s papers were already bundled outside a newsagents’. It was hard to comprehend that the world was carrying on as normal, hard to fathom that those same newspapers probably contained a line or two, maybe even a photo, summarising the tragic end of Janey and Marco for those who wanted to know.

The concierge greeted Rico as if he had been waiting up only for him to arrive, making impatient gestures in Reception to hurry things along.

‘Mr Mancini, this is such an unexpected pleasure. I was just saying that we haven’t seen you or…’ His warm greeting was barely acknowledged and even in her numb state Catherine felt a sting of embarrassment at Rico’s cool treatment of the staff.

‘I would like to go straight up, please.’

‘Your bags are already on their way up, and the housekeeper is turning back the bed as we speak. It will be just a moment—’

‘I don’t have a moment.’ Rico’s voice was pure, unadulterated snobbery. ‘Miss Masters is tired, I am tired, and I’m going to my room!’ Striding to the lift, he beckoned a furiously blushing Catherine to join him, punching the top button and closing the door on the poor concierge.

‘You really think you’re better than everyone, don’t you?’

For once Rico didn’t respond, for once a smart reply seemed to elude him, and Catherine warmed to her subject as the lift door slid open on the heady heights of the penthouse. She watched as he dismissed the frenziedly working staff with one flick of his hand and let out a low snort, shaking her head as he poured himself a drink, not even bothering to offer her one.

‘You haven’t even booked a room here, yet you expect one to be waiting for you—for people to jump just because you deign to grace them with your presence.’

‘What do you expect me to do, Catherine?’ He downed his drink in one, slamming the crystal onto the silver tray, his eyes finally meeting hers. ‘Tell me how you expected me to behave down there.’

‘You could have shown some manners, to start with,’ Catherine replied hotly, and even though the argument was meaningless, even though it was so far removed from all that had happened, she prolonged it. Maybe it was easier than facing the real reason why she was here. ‘The concierge was being nothing but pleasant—’

‘He’s paid to be pleasant,’ Rico broke in. ‘He’s paid to remember my name, to remember that this is where my brother and I come for lunch when my schedule allows, that sometimes I choose to stay here rather than drive home.’

‘Maybe he is paid to remember, but surely you can still be polite when someone greets you!’

‘My brother is dead,’ Rico snapped.

‘So is my sister. But I don’t use it as an excuse to snub people. I didn’t treat the nurses and doctors like dirt on my shoe…’

‘If I hadn’t interrupted him he would have asked about Marco, asked how he was doing, when they could expect to see him again. Did you want me to tell him, Catherine? Did you want me to stand in the foyer and tell the world my brother is dead when any moment now they’re going to find out anyway?’

He looked at her bemused face and shook his head disbelievingly. Picking up a remote control, he flicked on the television, watching her expression as the images shot into focus, hearing the tiny strangled sob as the mangled wreckage of a car filled the screen, then Marco and Janey’s wedding photo, superimposed on the top right corner. The news reader droned on, regaling supposed facts Catherine simply wasn’t ready to hear, and her hand shot to her ears in a childlike gesture, her eyes screwing closed against the horrible images that seemed to be choking her.

‘I asked the hospital not to release their names until we left.’

His explanation wasn’t helping, and she opened her eyes, stared at him, bemused.

‘A Mancini is dead.’

‘Two Mancinis,’ Catherine corrected. ‘My sister counts too.’

‘Your sister counts for nothing,’ Rico sneered. ‘But, yes, I stand corrected. Technically two Mancinis are dead, Catherine, and that is news. No doubt the poor concierge you were so worried about is now either kicking himself for his insensitivity or ringing the press to tell them I am here.’ He gave a small shrug. ‘Frankly, I don’t give a damn which one it is.’

‘But why would the press want to speak to you?’

‘Are you stupid, Catherine? Or just a really good actress?’

His words barely touched the sides. Pain was already layered on top of pain—another dash of scorn, another dose of humiliation from Rico was not much in the scheme of things.