In the Italian's Sights (20 page)

‘I’m perfectly all right where I am, thank you,’ she whispered, resisting the pressure of his hand to draw her forward.

‘Be that as it may, you will sit with Sophia and I and the rest of the immediate family.’

‘I will not.’ She was becoming aware of interested glances in their direction and embarrassment was paramount.

‘
Si
, Cherry, you will.’ If he had noticed the attention they were drawing, he didn’t care.

‘Vittorio, think what people will assume,’ she hissed softly, her cheeks burning. ‘And your grandmother wouldn’t like it. You know she wouldn’t.’ His grandmother had managed to let her know—in spite of not speaking a word of English—exactly what she thought of the little English girl who had taken up residence in the home of her grandson.

‘This is not my grandmother’s wedding,’ he said, none too quietly, stating the obvious, and when her agonised
‘Ssh!’
came, added more softly, ‘It is Sophia’s and Santo’s, and they have both requested your presence with them at the top table, OK? Satisfied? You will spoil their wedding breakfast if you deny them this.’

They were becoming a spectacle, and it was this rather than his argument which forced her to accompany him down the long—endlessly long, it seemed—marquee to her seat between Vittorio and his grandmother. The old lady didn’t acknowledge her arrival by so much as the flicker of an eyelash, and Cherry thought Sophia and Santo looked bemused rather than anything else, but she was here now and that was that.

The meal was long and leisurely, even by Italian standards, and the wine flowed—red wine, white, rosé, sparkling and even dessert—all courtesy of the Puglia region and all superb. The climate meant that most Puglian wines had a high level of alcohol, the baking summer sun encouraging a large amount of sugar in the grapes, and long before the meal was halfway through the level of laughter and conversation had risen as the guests had got merrier. Cherry felt herself begin to relax a little. Everyone was busy having a good time, and although there was the odd speculative glance in her direction they weren’t unfriendly.

Vittorio talked to her mostly, leaning slightly towards her, his arm sliding round the back of her seat now and again, causing her to tense until it was removed again. He spoke to his grandmother a few times and the old lady answered him willingly enough, even unbending enough after three glassfuls of wine to smile and nod at Cherry when Vittorio mentioned her name.

‘What did you just say to her?’ Cherry asked him cautiously after this miraculous event. By now she’d had a couple of glasses of wine herself, which was a double-edged sword—on the one hand the alcohol had helped her to relax and loosen up a little; on the other she was terrified of letting her guard down and losing the control she was desperate to maintain. She was vitally aware of every tiny movement of the big male body next to her, even when Vittorio was speaking to the bridal couple or Santo’s parents and best man. The day had turned into something of a farce, but she was powerless to do anything about it.

‘What did I say to her?’ Vittorio echoed softly. ‘Just that the wind that blew you across our path was a lucky
one for the Carellas. Sophia has had the day she wanted, and a large part of that is due to you.’

‘I think that’s an exaggeration,’ she said stiffly. It wasn’t fair when he said such things or looked at her with that fire in his eyes. If he had any decency he would let her alone after the travesty of last night. If she didn’t love him so much she could hate him, she thought bitterly, and one thing was for sure: today had confirmed that she needed to put as many miles between them as she could. She had no intention of staying around to be toyed with or mocked, if that was what he was doing. Or even flirted with. Flirting was second nature to Italian males, and Vittorio was Italian from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.

She drank half of her third glass of wine for comfort.

It was getting on for six o’clock before the meal was drawing to an end and the speeches began—all in Italian. Most of the children were taking a late siesta before the evening dancing and festivities started, sprawled across their parents’ laps or cuddled up on the knees of relations or friends.

A hot and cold buffet had been organised for seven o’clock, and Cherry was just thinking she would have to have a word with Margherita and make sure the caterers delayed this for an hour or two, in view of the late finish of the wedding breakfast, when she became aware that Vittorio, who was giving his speech as ‘father of the bride,’ had stopped talking and had turned to her, and everyone in the room seemed to be more awake.

She glanced up at him and then became arrested by the look on his face. If this wasn’t Vittorio—if this was anyone else—then she would say the emotion laid bare for everyone to see was sheer unadulterated love, but of course that was impossible.

‘I have a confession to make,’ he said, looking straight into her eyes. His voice loud enough for everyone to hear. ‘I am a stupid man. I say this because when someone is fortunate enough to find something infinitely precious they should treasure it at the cost of everything else.’

After the din of the day you could hear a pin drop.

‘I knew from the first moment I saw you that I loved you,
mia piccola
, but I am stubborn as well as stupid. I have been used to living my life by my own rules, and when you didn’t fall in line I told myself I only had to wait and in time you would come round to my way of thinking, that this feeling I felt would be as easily controlled as everything else in my life. I wanted no permanent attachments, no commitment to any one woman. This is what I told myself. This is how foolish I am. Because I want and need you for ever, Cherry. I will love you for ever. Nothing else will do. I say this now, in front of my family and friends, because it is the truth and I want the world to know it. But the only person who really matters is you.’

Before her mesmerised gaze he went down on one knee. The only sound was a collective gasp from all the women present. ‘Will you marry me,
mia piccola
? Will you love me and let me love you all the days of our life? Will you stand shoulder to shoulder with me against the rest of the world and face the sorrow and joys in the future holding tight to my hand?’

He was repeating the words she had spoken the night before, words that only she knew, and as he did so the last doubt that he loved her melted away. Somehow the unbelievable had happened, she thought, her face becoming radiant with a beauty that made every man in the place envy Vittorio and caused every woman to have a lump in her throat—every women except one. But no one noticed
Caterina flounce out of the marquee, her face as ugly as Cherry’s was beautiful.

Her voice so low only Vittorio could hear, Cherry whispered, ‘Yes, please,’ and as he rose, lifting her into his arms and kissing her as though they were the only two people present, every child in the place was suddenly awoken as their parents went crazy, whooping and cheering and clapping in a thunderous applause that could have been heard miles away. But Cherry and Vittorio were unaware of it, wrapped in each others arms.

They were married six weeks later at the same village church. This time the bride wore a simple but exquisite silk taffeta ivory dress and carried a small posy of English daisies, and the groom a black Nouveau jacket and black trousers with an ivory patterned waistcoat. Cherry wondered if it was proper to stand at the altar on your wedding day with such lustful thoughts, but she couldn’t help it. Vittorio looked so good she had gone weak at the knees when she saw him.

The church was packed to overflowing again. Vittorio had flown her relations and friends out from England two days before the wedding, but Liam hadn’t accompanied Angela and her mother although she had included him in the invitation. Her mother had confided that Angela and Liam were ‘having problems’. From the way Angela had batted her eyelashes at Vittorio and contrived to take him aside when she’d only been at the villa for a few minutes Cherry wasn’t surprised.

She didn’t know what Vittorio had said to her sister, but Angela had emerged from the tête-à-tête flushed and angry and wouldn’t say a word to anyone the rest of the day. However, she did behave herself on the wedding day, keeping a low profile and staying out of Cherry’s
way—which was all Cherry could have asked for. Her mother, openly thrilled that one of her daughters had made such a brilliant match, suddenly seemed to have decided that Cherry was the favourite, twittering around Vittorio and practically falling over her own feet if he so much as looked at her. It was both funny and sad, and Cherry wasn’t sorry that the English contingent were leaving the day after the wedding.

The dancing went on late into the night, and Cherry knew she had died and gone to heaven as she floated in her husband’s arms in the moonlight, the party going on around them but their eyes only for each other.

At last their guests began to leave, and she smiled as she sensed Vittorio’s impatience as the last few lingered. A perfect host normally, he was being tested to the limit.

They walked into the house locked in each other’s arms, and when they reached the master bedroom Vittorio turned her to face him before he opened the door. ‘No other woman but you has come here,’ he said very seriously, his dark eyes stroking her face in a way that made her tremble. ‘I want you to know this,
mia piccola
. I have had many woman, you know that, but I have never brought one into my bed in Casa Carella.’

She touched the silken rasp of his chin where the black stubble made him look even sexier. ‘I’m glad.’

She hadn’t been into his bedroom before. Since he had proposed Vittorio had been very proper. So proper, in fact, that she had felt like ravishing him more times than she could remember. But he had insisted they were going to wait for their wedding night, even though she knew he found it more difficult than she did.

‘You are to be my wife,’ he had said, sounding very Italian. ‘The mother of my children. It is right that it is so.’

And now it
was
their wedding night. She gazed at him
with huge, wondering eyes and he scooped her up in his arms, opening the door and then kicking it shut behind him as he bent his head to hers. She kissed him back with total abandon and touching innocence, wanting him more than she could have thought possible. Simply by looking at her he could fill her with a raging desire; now he was her husband and she didn’t have to dream any more.

He kissed her as he’d never kissed her before, the skill of his mouth and tongue making her realise just how much he’d held back over the last weeks. His tongue teased and caressed, working a magic that had her moaning long before he undid the buttons of her dress. His hands were shaking slightly as he let it pool at her feet, and as she stepped out of it his fingers stroked over her body, lingering on her breasts in their lacy cups. ‘So beautiful,’ he murmured huskily. ‘So perfect.’

He picked her up again, carrying her over to the vast bed and peeling off the rest of her clothes, making small growling sounds in his throat as he let his lips caress and suck her darkened nipples until she cried out in pleasure, unable to contain herself.

She was desperate to feel every part of him against her and tugged at his clothes, helping him undress with fingers that felt clumsy and inexperienced. ‘I—I’m not very good at this—’

‘I am glad that this is so.’ As he kicked off his trousers and joined her again on the bed he cupped her face in his hands, kissing her with a sweet tenderness. ‘I am the first. You have no idea what that feels like to a man, and it is more than I deserve.’

Vittorio was a lot of things, but humble wasn’t one of them, and for a moment Cherry studied him. When she realised he was perfectly serious all her worries about being inexperienced and inadequate melted away and
now it was she who pulled him to her with a fierceness that thrilled him.

When she had thought about their physical union Cherry had always imagined it would be quick, lusty and exciting. It was lusty and exciting, all right, but far from quick. Once he had her in his bed Vittorio became intent on giving her pleasure, touching and tasting and kissing every inch of her feverishly sensitive skin. Hot, sweet sensation had her twisting and turning, digging her nails into his hair-roughened body as she writhed and moaned, and when he found the core of her with his lips and tongue the need to feel him inside her became a mind-consuming craving. But she needed to touch and taste
him
too…

Her love for him delighted in intimacy after intimacy, and as he showed her how to touch and please him she exulted in the pleasure she gave, feeling like a goddess as she let her instinct guide her in a sexuality she’d never imagined she possessed, following him as she’d once done on the dance floor, move for move. But this dance of love was beyond anything imaginable.

It was a long time before he eased himself between her thighs. Her eager wetness accepted him even as he tried to go slowly, aware of her tightness as her body adjusted to its satin invader. ‘Am I hurting you?’ he whispered raggedly, the muscles in his arms bunching as he raised himself slightly to look into her face.

There had been one brief splinter of pain but now her muscles welcomed his thickness, and in answer she arched for deeper penetration, wanting all of him.

His body responded immediately and he moved harder and faster, stretching and filling her until he possessed her to the hilt in a driving rhythm that took them both
into ecstasy and then over the edge, to drown in wave after wave of a pleasure so intense it was almost painful.

She was still trembling and helplessly drugged with pleasure minutes later, when he turned on his side, pulling her against him and kissing her hard. ‘You are perfection,’ he murmured lazily, kissing her eyelids, her nose, her brow, before returning to her mouth, swollen from passion. ‘Utter perfection. How have I lived this long without you? I love you with all my heart,
mia piccola
. You know this?’