Kitabı oku: «Her Sicilian Baby Revelation / The Greek's One-Night Heir»

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.