Kitabı oku: «Her Sicilian Baby Revelation», sayfa 2

CHAPTER TWO

THE WEDDING CEREMONY passed Tonino by. He rose and sat when directed, joined in with the hymns, recited the prayers at the appropriate times but it was all noise. He could not switch his attention away from Orla. Or her child.

The child who looked the image of his own childhood photographs.

His eyes flew from mother to child, child to mother, his gaze unable to settle any more than his ragged heartbeats could.

The pounding in his head was too strong for coherent thoughts. He couldn’t breathe properly. He’d only been capable of snatching drags of air into his lungs since he’d seen Orla’s face.

He’d risen from the seat he’d been saving for her and they’d stepped around each other, eyes locked, like two moons orbiting an invisible sun. For the first time in his thirty-four years he’d been struck speechless.

Her green eyes had been wide. Frightened. Her face had been white.

That was the last time their gazes connected.

Not once throughout the ceremony did Orla look at him. While his stare remained resolutely upon her and her child, her attention, when not taken by her son, stayed on the bride and groom.

Gradually, anger and incredulity rose inside him and pushed out the shock. Coherent thinking returned. His wits sharpened.

He began to see more clearly too. And what he saw proved that, despite having had a child, Orla hadn’t changed at all.

She was still beautiful. Slender and elegant. The long, thick dark hair he’d last seen spread over his pillow when he’d kissed her goodbye was coiled into a chic knot on the nape of her neck. The elfin features he’d once thought belonged on the pages of a fairy-tale book had been expertly made-up, smoky eye shadow emphasising the stunning large green eyes he’d once gazed into while buried deep inside her. The long-sleeved dress she wore was far less revealing than usual bridesmaid dresses, the dusky pink silk wrapping around her body to kiss her gentle curves but displaying minimal flesh.

Her beauty had captivated him from the first look.

That first look had been pure chance. A member of his public relations team had found a litany of complaints about one of his Palermo hotels online. Tonino had rearranged his itinerary and headed straight there. The Palermo hotel in question had been part of his uncle’s struggling chain until Tonino had stepped in to save it and save his uncle’s reputation from the shame of bankruptcy. Where Tonino specialised in converting old castles, monasteries, chateaux and the like into luxury spa and golf resorts for the wealthy, his uncle’s hotel chain had been aimed firmly at holidaymakers on a budget.

Tonino had been raised in a wealthy family but his core group of childhood friends had come from diverse economic backgrounds. Gio, the friend Dante had chosen as his best man, came from an exceptionally poor background. In their school days, holidays for Gio’s family had been the result of months of overtime, scrimping and saving. The cost of their holiday had been pocket change compared to the sums spent by visitors to Tonino’s own hotels but in comparison had cost them far more and had meant a hell of a lot more as a result. He always thought of Gio when inspecting his lower-ranked hotels. Why should guests be forced to accept shoddy service, cold food and an unclean swimming pool just because they were poor? It was this exact same argument he’d had with his hotel manager right before he’d fired him. He’d left the meeting room, furious at the fired manager and furious with himself for allowing the situation to get this far. A solitary woman had been waiting at the unattended reception desk.

That woman had been Orla.

His reaction to her had been like a knockout punch to his guts. He’d never had such an immediate reaction to a woman before and it had been the final clarion call needed to know he couldn’t marry Sophia. That reaction had been the unwitting trigger for the rift that still existed between Tonino and his parents. That knockout initial reaction had changed the course of his life.

Orla was thankful for the bossy photographer. He clearly saw himself as an artiste and spent ages framing each shot in the cathedral’s picturesque grounds. This allowed her to hide in plain sight with her family, safe amid their huge numbers. That she had barely spoken to any of them in the last three years was neither here nor there. She felt no animosity towards them. They simply picked up where they’d left off, catching up on their lives in snatches of conversation.

Snatches of conversation were all she could manage. Everything inside her had become so tight it was a struggle to get any words out.

One of the small bridesmaids had taken a shine to Finn and stuck to his side, gabbling away to him in her own language. Finn didn’t have much in the way of a vocabulary but the rapture on his face only proved that language was inconsequential.

Too scared to look at Tonino, Orla kept her gaze far from him but still felt the heat of his stare upon her. It had been hard enough feeling it every second of the wedding ceremony but outside, his solid form a good head taller than most of the other guests, she felt his attention like a malevolent spectre haunting her. She sensed his loathing, which only added to the cold needles digging into her skin.

What had she done to provoke such animosity?

Deep in her bones she knew the moment opportunity presented itself, he would pounce. She had to be ready for it. She had to remember.

Frustration at her Swiss cheese memory made her want to scream.

She’d been waiting for her baby to be born before telling the father. That was something she knew only because Aislin had told her so. Aislin had been unable to tell her the father’s name or Orla’s reasons for waiting until after the birth to tell him because Orla had never disclosed it to her.

Why was that? Orla never kept secrets from her sister so why would she have kept something of such importance to herself?

There were so many things she’d spent three years trying to understand about her own thoughts and actions during the pregnancy, desperately trying to remember, even undergoing hypnosis to unlock the crucial hidden memories.

The most crucial memory of all, the identity of Finn’s father, had now been unlocked but there was still a heap of others to bring to light.

As soon as the photos were done and the bride and groom had ridden off to the hotel on their horse-drawn carriage, Orla latched onto Aislin’s friend Sabine and used her as a shield while she wheeled Finn to their waiting car.

She unstrapped him and carefully lifted him into her arms. He was small for his age and light in weight but it wouldn’t be long before her still-weak muscles would struggle to carry him any distance. She would carry him for as long as she could physically manage. She’d missed out on so much of his short life, days and nights spent aching to hold her baby, days and nights spent hating the body that had entrapped her in a living hell, fighting with every breath to get herself well enough that she could at least live under the same roof as her child.

Once Finn was secured in his car seat, she hurried to the other side and slid in beside him.

Only when the driver pulled away did she turn her head to look out of the window.

Tonino was staring straight at her, not a flicker of emotion on his handsome face.

Mercifully sat at the top table, Orla watched the seven-course wedding meal unfold around her in the hotel’s enormous ballroom decoratively adorned with balloons and glitter. She had been seated on the top table beside Aislin’s father, the man who’d been Orla’s stepfather from the age of three for the grand total of two years. Aislin had so many of Dennis O’Reilly’s characteristics that being in his company was usually a joy. A humble man who’d been treated atrociously by their mother, he’d always treated Orla with great kindness on the occasions she’d seen him after the divorce.

Today though, she couldn’t relax long enough to find the usual enjoyment she would have found being next to him.

This was hands down the most luxuriant and glamorous wedding she’d ever attended. The food was the most delicious she’d ever eaten, the wine in her glass the nicest she’d ever sipped; even the water had a purity to it she’d never tasted before. She could take no pleasure from any of it.

To her misfortune, Tonino had been placed to the left of the top table, facing her. Every time she glanced in his direction, she found his cold stare on her. It never failed to send a shiver up her spine.

Something different raced up her spine whenever she caught sight of the stunningly beautiful blonde woman with eyes like a cat seated to the right of the top table. Orla was certain she wasn’t imagining the death stares being thrown by her, which were far more potent than the daggers she’d received from Aislin’s wedding-dress designer.

She knew this woman. But from where? And why did she want to hide under the table to escape her?

Her torrid thoughts were interrupted when Dennis got to his feet, tapped his glass for attention, and pulled out a sheet of paper.

Much merriment ensued. Even Orla found her lips pulling into an unforced smile to see the Sicilian guests’ bemusement. Dennis’s accent was so thick and he spoke so quickly they probably struggled to understand him. The Irish contingent understood him perfectly and heckled liberally. Only one brave strapping teenager dared heckle Dante when it was his turn to speak, though, and was rewarded with a slap from his pint-sized mother, which had Sicilians and Irish alike laughing.

After the speeches were done and copious toasts had been made, there was an hour of free time. Many of the guests disappeared to their rooms to change for the evening party. Most of Tonino’s table stood too, but the tiny easing in Orla’s chest at the fact that he might leave the ballroom tightened again when, eyes locked, he strode towards her.

Fear scratched at her throat. She wasn’t ready for this. She needed to make sense of the unfolding memories before the confrontation that had to happen occurred.

Fate stepped in in the form of Dante’s glamorous mother, Immacolata, who Aislin had been right in saying held no animosity towards Orla. Immacolata pounced on Tonino when he was barely three feet from the table.

Snatching the opportunity to escape, Orla hurried to her feet and took hold of Finn’s wheelchair. I’m taking him to the suite, she mouthed to Aislin.

Are you okay? Aislin mouthed back.

She nodded vigorously. ‘I need to get his walker.’

Luck shone on her again when a handful of her cousins’ small children bounded over and loudly insisted on accompanying them.

Guarded by an army of children barely out of nappies—the bridesmaids tagged along too—Orla took Finn to their suite.

Leaving Finn’s nurse to keep order over the sugar-loaded kids, she stepped out onto the balcony alone. Familiar scents filled her airwaves and, slowly, the vertigo-like feeling that had cloaked her since she’d heard Tonino’s name that morning lifted.

She gazed out at the Tyrrhenian Sea darkening under the setting sun. The Sicilian aromas weren’t the only things stabbing at her memories.

She craned to her left and squinted, trying to spot the run-down beachside hotel she’d stayed in when she’d met Tonino…

Whether it was seeing Tonino again or being back in Sicily she couldn’t say, but the locked-away memories that had eluded her since she’d woken in hospital were slowly taking substance in her mind, but it was all still a jumble.

Sophia!

That was the cat’s-eyed, dangerous-looking woman’s name. Sophia. She’d confronted Orla…but about what?

Stupid brain, work!

A squeal of laughter from the suite shook her from the reforming jumble of memories. The evening reception was about to start. She had to be there.

She got her army of children together and, the nurse carrying Finn’s walker, they trooped out of the suite and down the corridor.

Into the lift they all piled. Seconds later they reached the ground floor, the doors opened and the excitable kids burst out like a spray of rubber bullets.

Orla’s brief amusement died when she noticed the imposing figure propped against the wall.

Tonino pulled himself away from the wall he’d stood against while waiting for Orla to reappear. All the hotel’s stairs and elevators exited at this corridor. She could not escape without him seeing her.

Or her seeing him.

When she appeared, the little colour she had on her milky-white complexion drained away.

Let her feel fearful. Let her take in her surroundings and know there was no escape from him, not here in his own hotel where he had staff posted on every exit into the grounds, ready to notify him should she decide to escape further than her suite.

He stood right in front of her, but it was not his deceitful ex-lover he addressed.

Crouching down, he held out a hand to the child he strongly suspected was his own, and not only because of the uncanny resemblance between them.

Orla had been a virgin. He remembered the flame of colour that had stained her cheeks when she’d told him that and had to fight back the memory snaking through his blood of the first time he’d made love to her.

‘Hello, Finn. Are you having a good time?’

Finn nodded vigorously. He strained forwards but the straps of his wheelchair stopped him leaning too far.

‘And do you like your suite?’

He was rewarded with a blank stare.

‘Your room,’ Tonino clarified. ‘Do you like your room?’

Another vigorous nod.

‘You’re sharing it with your mummy?’

A less vigorous nod.

‘What about your daddy? Is he sharing it too?’ Having checked the room and suite allocation, he already knew the answer to this, but he wanted to see Finn’s reaction to the word ‘daddy’. Dante had been uncharacteristically evasive on the subject of Finn’s parentage when he’d tried to quiz him a short while ago. Tonino understood. Orla was Dante’s newfound sister. He had a sister himself. Blood protected blood. It had been Aislin’s reaction to his questions that had been the biggest giveaway. She’d reminded him of a cornered rabbit.

The blank stare returned.

A little voice piped up, the Irish brogue strong. ‘Finn doesn’t have a daddy.’

Tonino raised his head to look at Orla. She was clasping the handles of the wheelchair so tightly her knuckles had whitened.

The expression on her face along with the child’s unwitting answer was all the confirmation he needed.

Her green eyes held his, wide and pleading, before she gave a slight shake of her head and mouthed, Later. Please, and expertly pushed the wheelchair around him and aimed it towards the ballroom at a speed that would suggest she was being chased by a pack of rabid dogs.

Suddenly feeling in need of a large drink, he let her go.

The ballroom had been transformed into an even glitzier spectacle by the time Orla hurried through its doors. The main lights had dimmed so the only illumination came from the glittering chandeliers. The DJ had started playing music but the dance floor was empty.

The fear gripping her heart tightened when she saw her sister’s face.

‘Tonino Valente was asking questions about Finn’s father,’ Aislin whispered when she reached her.

Terrified she was going to cry, Orla blinked frantically.

Sympathy and understanding washed over her sister’s face. ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’

All she could do was nod.

‘He knows?’

Pulling her lips in tightly, she nodded again. Tonino had taken one look at Finn and recognised him as his own.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know.’ For three years she’d waited for the memories to return, assuming that, once she had them back, she would enlist her sister’s help and set off to find Finn’s father. She would have had time to prepare herself.

Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined a scenario like this.

Behind Aislin, Dante approached them.

His presence brought some much-needed sanity to Orla’s frazzled nerves.

Whatever happened, she mustn’t lose sight that this was their big day. If Aislin so much as suspected the fear in Orla’s heart then everything would be ruined. She wouldn’t hesitate to cancel the party or the honeymoon.

Flinging her arms around her, Orla held her sister tightly. ‘I need to settle my nerves but I’m going to be fine. I promise. Now stop worrying about me and enjoy your party.’

On cue, the DJ called for the bride and groom to take to the dance floor.

‘Go,’ Orla urged, kissing Aislin’s cheek. She was rewarded with a kiss in return.

While Dante led Aislin onto the dance floor, Orla took Finn out of his wheelchair and put him in his walker, a wonderful device Dante had bought for him that kept him secure and allowed him to use his legs to get himself about. She had to be careful with the amount of time he used it as he tired easily, but she knew he would want to get on the dance floor with the other children.

As soon as he was in it he started bouncing with glee. His ‘girlfriend’ the bridesmaid shot over to admire him in it.

Orla went with them to the edge of the dance floor with the other guests.

Tears she’d been holding back filled her eyes again to see the love shining between the two people she loved so much. She didn’t need to pray for their love to be eternal. Aislin and Dante were made for each other.

As the dance came to an end an arm brushed against hers. Her skin tingled.

A spicy scent filled her nostrils. Her pulses surged. Her lungs tightened. A memory of pressing her nose into a strong neck and inhaling this scent flashed through her.

‘I give them six months.’

She didn’t dare look at him. Somehow she managed to croak, ‘What?’

‘Their marriage. If Aislin has your blood in her veins then it won’t be long before her mask slips and Dante realises that beneath the pretty surface lies a black, deceitful heart.’ A huge hand closed on her wrist. ‘Dance with me.’

She thought her knees were about to collapse beneath her.

‘Dance with me or I make a scene. Do you want to be responsible for ruining your brother and sister’s special day?’

He gave her no further chance to answer. Before she knew it, Orla was being smoothly manhandled onto the dance floor and pulled against the hulking body of the only man she’d ever been intimate with.

CHAPTER THREE

DANCING WITH ORLA was like dancing with a lump of aged clay. Her arms hung limply by her sides; her movements stiff and resistant.

Taking her hands firmly and placing them on his waist, Tonino dipped his head to whisper into her ear. ‘Were you ever going to tell me?’

Somehow she managed to stiffen even further.

A loose strand of her hair brushed against his nose and suddenly he became aware of his sinews tightening and his veins thickening as her scent worked its magic in his senses.

Her magic had once thrilled him. Initially shy, she’d soon revealed herself to be sweet and funny, a woman who wore her intelligence lightly, unaware of her inherent sensual nature until he’d brought it out of her. That was what had made her abrupt disappearance so hard to comprehend. He could have understood if she’d been prickly and had the bitchy streak so many of the women in his world wore like a badge of honour, but she’d been nothing like them.

He could never have imagined she would turn out to be worse than all of them put together.

Disgust that he could still feel such a visceral response to her had him stepping back so their bodies no longer touched.

‘Orla, you have hidden my son from me for three years,’ he said tightly, loathing that he could feel anything other than loathing for this treacherous woman. ‘If you want me to keep hold of my temper and not make a scene, I suggest you answer my question. Were you ever going to tell me I have a child?’

A contortion of emotions crashed over her face. Frightened green eyes flickered. Soft, plump lips tightened.

Tonino’s self-loathing increased at the vivid remembrance of how good it had felt to have those soft lips crushed against his.

Never had he hated anyone as much as he hated Orla right then. That he could still desire her after everything she’d done stretched credulity to a whole new dimension.

He spun her round in his arms so she faced the socialising guests rather than the DJ. Ignoring the malevolent stares being thrown his way by Sophia and the rest of the Messinas, he said, ‘You see the table I was on?’

She gave a tiny nod.

‘That is my family. They have spent the day celebrating your brother and sister’s marriage. My parents are here, my brother and his family, my brother-in-law and my sister’s children… They have all seen Finn, unaware he is their blood.’

Tonino might still feel the residue of anger over the furious arguments that had erupted between him and his parents when he’d ended his engagement to Sophia, but his parents adored their grandchildren. Nothing made them happier than news of another family pregnancy. Babies were celebrated as gifts from God.

‘You have deprived them of a grandson, nephew and cousin. You have deprived Finn of his Sicilian family and heritage.’

The anger in Tonino’s carefully delivered words chilled Orla’s heart. Her brain kept alternating between hot and cold, a vapid mess of confusion, fear and guilt. Being held so close to him only made matters worse. Her heart pounded so hard there was danger it could beat itself out of her constricted chest. Every time she managed to take a breath his spicy scent dived into her airwaves. It shocked and terrified her that her nose seemed to want to bury itself into his neck and breathe his scent in properly, just as it had done all those years ago. It terrified her even more that her hands wanted to wrap fully around his waist and her body strained to press closer against his hard torso.

Being held in his arms had flooded her with more memories.

She remembered taking one look at him and her insides and brain melting into hot goo.

She remembered lying naked in his arms, half awake as the morning sun filtered into the bedroom, and thinking she had never been so happy.

And she remembered learning that everything he’d told her about himself had been a lie.

Orla stared at Tonino’s family, her stomach churning violently. These impossibly glamorous, impossibly wealthy, impossibly powerful people were her baby’s family. How would they react when they learned of Finn? She knew it was her broken brain’s fault that they were not a part of Finn’s life but, even as she breathed relief to remember her intentions had always been to tell Tonino about their child, she still felt wretched for them. All she’d wanted was to get through the pregnancy, have her baby on Irish soil and then seek legal help before telling him…

Suddenly finding herself meeting Sophia’s coldly furious stare, she hastily looked away, straight into Tonino’s equally cold and furious stare.

The churning in her stomach increased as she found herself gazing at the handsome face she remembered sighing with pleasure to wake beside.

He was just so…masculine. Thick, dark stubble was already breaking out over his chiselled jawline and perfectly complemented the thick, dark hair he wore short at the sides and longer at the top. But, for all his sculptural perfection, it was his eyes she’d always found the most arresting. They were like the darkest melted chocolate. They had made her melt.

Their son had his eyes.

Wrenching her stare from Tonino, she found her son bouncing happily in his walker and took a deep breath.

From the moment the pregnancy had been confirmed, her child’s welfare had been the focus of her life. When she’d woken from the coma with all memories of the previous six months lost, she’d known, even while everything else had been a blank, that she’d been carrying a child. She would fight to the last breath to keep him safe.

Suddenly desperate to hold Finn in her arms, she dropped her light touch against Tonino’s waist and took a step back. ‘Please, I don’t want a scene but this is not the time or place for this conversation.’

His features darkened. He snatched at her wrist before she could take another step away from him. ‘Then let’s go somewhere private—this is a conversation we should have had four years ago. You have kept my son in the dark about me for long enough. Finn doesn’t have a daddy? He damn well does and he deserves to know it.’

‘I agree but take a look at him. Look,’ she insisted when his now blazing eyes stayed locked on hers. ‘You must see he’s not a well boy. He’s looked forward to this day for ages and looked forward to dancing and playing with other children. Let him enjoy the party for another hour and then I’ll put him to bed. Give him time to fall asleep and then come to my suite. Please? We can talk then.’

He turned his head to the direction of their son. His chest rose and fell heavily.

Eventually he inclined his head sharply, dropped his loose hold on her wrist and faced her again. ‘Two hours, Orla, and then I come to your suite.’ He bowed his head to whisper in her ear, ‘And if you have thoughts of running away, know I have put measures in place to prevent it. You will never escape from me again.’

The nurse helped Orla get Finn into his pyjamas and put him to bed before Orla told her to go and join the party for a few hours.

Alone, she stripped off her bridesmaid dress, avoiding the reflection of her bare figure in the mirror. Her scars were itching but she didn’t dare apply the topical lotion her doctor had prescribed for it, not when the knock on the suite door could come at any moment. Instead, she dressed hastily, donning a pair of checked trousers and a long-sleeved black top.

When Tonino came she wanted to be ready.

Could she ever be ready for this?

She’d spent three years trying desperately to remember who Finn’s father was and unearth the memories of their time together. Now that many of them had popped out of the box they’d been contained in, part of her wished she could shove them back in and nail the lid back down while, contrarily, her search for the still-hidden memories became more frantic.

Much of the time they’d shared together had come back to her, but she still didn’t remember what had happened with her father. Her return to Ireland was still a blur too.

When the loud rap on her suite’s door finally came, it took more effort than she could believe to drag her legs to it.

Tonino loomed at the threshold looking exactly as she imagined a vampire would in the moments before it swooped to strike its helpless victim.

A vampire should not send her pulses soaring with just one look. That was dangerous by any stretch of the imagination.

Without a word being exchanged, he stepped into the suite and closed the door. Folding his arms across his broad chest, he slowly looked her up and down.

The intensity of his scrutiny sent something thick and warm trickling through her feverish veins. Shaken, Orla hastily sat herself on one of the suite’s plush sofas.

She didn’t want to look at him but found herself helpless to do anything else. Tonino had such presence, a magnetic energy he carried with him. All the words she’d prepared stuck on her tongue as she gazed into the dark brown eyes of the man who’d swept her off her feet and then broken her heart in the space of ten days. That same broken heart thundered in her chest. Its thuds pounded in her head. Her thoughts, like her words and memories, were a messed-up jumble.

She had no idea how to play this. The man she’d had the time of her life with had been a lie, but he was still Finn’s father. He might have all the wealth and power, but he was still Finn’s father. When all was said and done, that was the one inescapable fact. Finn deserved to know his father and Tonino deserved to know his son.

After a long period of charged silence, he dragged his fingers through his hair and headed to the minibar. ‘I don’t know about you but I need a drink. Do you still drink gin?’

Startled that he remembered something so innocuous, she shook her head.

He arched an eyebrow then opened the bar door and pulled out a bottle of red wine.

He took a corkscrew from a drawer and opened the bottle effortlessly. ‘Will you have one?’

This time she managed to croak, ‘No, thank you.’

Since the accident, Orla had lost all tolerance for alcohol, which was a great shame. Before the pregnancy, she’d loved nothing more than going out with her friends, drinking way too much and dancing until the sun came up. She’d been free. No responsibilities, no pain, no dependency on anyone else. No one dependent on her.