like your papa.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Vincenzo spoke in his deep voice. She whirled around and met a pair of hot blue eyes. “Do I get a rose, too?”
He was incredibly handsome. Her mouth went too dry to talk. Instead, she reached for the other rose and walked over to him. Her fingers were all thumbs as she had to try several times to pin it on right. All the time she was fussing, Vincenzo placed little kisses here and there on her face, causing Dino no end of delight.
“Now it’s your turn, Signorina Spiros.” Near the shoulder of her suit jacket he fastened her corsage made of a cluster of cream-colored roses. “You do realize you won’t be called that name much longer.”
How could she possibly forget? Her impulsive trip back to Riomaggiore had come about half in a daze of pain and confusion, half with the ridiculous notion that Vincenzo might have meant what he’d said about the two of them marrying. Now here she was, ready to make promises to love, cherish and honor this man she’d only known for a short time.
Odd that she’d known Andreas for years, yet even after they’d started seeing each other as a couple, she’d never learned to know all the little things about him that she already knew about Vincenzo.
Every day with him, sometimes hourly, brought a new surprise. Part of the time she was breathless. The other part she found herself reeling with new information he fed her.
Feeling flushed and nervous, she turned to Dino. “I think we’re ready.”
“First some pictures.” Vincenzo put his camera on the veranda table.
She caught his arm. “I just phoned my parents and told them we were getting married.”
His eyes held a question. “Should I expect the police to descend on me before I can get you to the church?” he teased.
“No. They’re not like that, but they’ll want to see pictures.”
“So will my father.”
After he set the camera to take some timed shots, the three of them stood together in front of the climbing roses providing the background. After a dozen photos in quick succession, he said, “Let’s go get married.”
Dino led the way out of the apartment. They joined hands with him in the middle and made the same walk they’d done the other day beneath a hot, sun-filled sky. Tourists stopped them every few steps to congratulate them and take pictures. Her breath caught every time she looked at Vincenzo because he was so gorgeous. So was his little lookalike who wore a continual smile.
Soon locals had lined the road, clapping and cheering for them. To walk to the church for your own wedding surrounded by people who threw flowers petals at you was something Irena would never have imagined. But like everything else to do with Vincenzo in this dreamy garden paradise, it just felt right.
By the time they came in sight of the church, the crowd had grown larger. At first she’d thought this was something that happened to every couple who said their vows here, but the deference paid to Vincenzo became too obvious to ignore.
She realized something else was going on. Irena would have asked him about it, but it was too late. He’d opened the doors and she had to let go of Dino’s hand to arrange the mantilla over her head. Vincenzo helped her. “Have I told you yet how squisita you are?” he said in a husky voice.
He led her through the vestibule and down the aisle to the front where they sat on a pew. Soon a man and a woman entered from a side door. They nodded to Vincenzo before taking their places on either side of the aisle. In another minute Father Rinaldo appeared.
When he walked over, the three of them stood up. “You’re late.”
In a spate of Italian words Dino explained their delay.
The priest winked at him and patted him on the head. “Accidents will happen. I understand.” He glanced at Vincenzo. “We’ll do the paperwork after the ceremony.”
“Grazie.”
“Dino? Stand by your papa. Signorina Spiros will stand at his other side. Vincenzo? If you’ll take Irena’s hand, we’ll begin.”
She felt it curl around hers in a familiar hold that warmed her heart. The priest performed the ceremony in English. It was probably the shortest church service ever given. No doubt Vincenzo had everything to do with the choice of language and the length.
They both made their responses at the appropriate time and he eventually said, “I now pronounce you, Vincenzo, and you, Irena, husband and wife. Amen.”
He smiled at Dino and said something in Italian. Irena saw her new stepson grin before he answered, “Sì,” in a spirited voice.
Vincenzo turned to her. “Father Rinaldo just asked Dino if he thought I should kiss my bride now.” On that note he lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss sweeter than anything she’d ever known. Touched beyond words, she scarcely heard the priest say something else to Dino in Italian.
“Papa—” He tugged on his father’s sleeve.
When she looked, he’d handed Vincenzo a gold ring. He turned back to her. “This was my mother’s. She told me to keep it for the woman I would marry.” So saying, he slid it on Irina’s ring finger.
He really couldn’t have loved Mila or he would have given it to her and it would have remained in her possession, but the whole circumstance of his first marriage was still a mystery to her. Vincenzo was his own man. She couldn’t understand him marrying Mila because of pressure.
“Irena?” Her head jerked up. “Father Rinaldo has asked us to follow him to the vestibule so we can sign the marriage certificate.”
“Of course.”
Dino hurried ahead of them. The witnesses signed first, then it was Irena’s turn. She had to fill in Liapis after Spiros.
Vincenzo came last. She waited while he attached his signature. It took so long, she looked down at the paper. Her eyes widened in surprise because his name went on and on with a flourish.
Guilio Fortunato Coletti Vincenzo Antonello Gaspare Valsecchi.
After he’d signed it, the female witness gave Irena a slight curtsey. “Congratulazioni, duchessa,” she muttered.
Irena couldn’t have heard the other woman right, but when she looked around to talk to her, she and the other man had slipped away.
“Vincenzo?” She caught at his arm. He lifted his dark head.
“Sì, Signora Valsecchi? I don’t know about you, but I like the sound of it. Very much in fact.” The smoldering look he gave her melted her bones.
“That woman just called me Duchess.”
He had to sign another form. “Pay no attention,” he muttered. “It’s a defunct title now and has been for years, but some will still insist on using it to feel important.”
She refused to be put off. “You’re a duke?”
“It’s
