performance,’ he drawled. ‘How about you?’
So she hadn’t been imagining it last night. Alannah stiffened. He really was flirting. And she was going to have to put on the performance of a lifetime if she wanted to convince him that it wasn’t working.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘So can I tell Michela that you’re planning to be a good boy today? Do you think you’re a competent enough actor to simulate enjoyment and behave yourself for the duration of the wedding?’
‘I don’t usually have to simulate anything—and I’ve never been called a good boy in my life,’ he answered softly. ‘But if Michela wants reassurance that I’m going to behave myself, then tell her yes. I will be extremely virtuous. And I will be back here at three, to take you both down to the wedding.’
Alannah gave a brief nod and her cool, careful smile didn’t slip until she had shut the door on him, though her pulse was pounding loudly.
At least an air of calm had descended by the time the manicurist arrived to repair the tattered nail and the mood was elevated still further as Alannah helped Michela slide into her delicate white gown. Because this was her territory, she reminded herself fiercely. She was proud of the dress she’d made for the bride and she wasn’t going to let Niccolò da Conti whittle away at her confidence.
Her movements became sure and confident as she smoothed down the fine layers of tulle and soon she felt like herself again—Alannah Collins, who was living life according to her own rules, and ignoring the false perceptions of other people.
But the moment Niccolò arrived all that composure deserted her. She was aware of his piercing gaze as he watched her adjusting the floral circlet which held Michela’s veil in place and it was difficult to keep her fingers steady. She could feel his dark eyes moving over her and the only comfort she got was by reminding herself that after this day was over, she need never see him again.
So why did that make her heart plummet, as if someone had dropped it to the bottom of a lift-shaft?
‘You look beautiful, mia sorella,’ he said, and Michela gave a smile of delight as she did a twirl.
‘Do I?’
‘Indeed you do.’ His voice was indulgent. ‘Lucas is a very lucky man.’
‘Well, I have Alannah to thank for my appearance,’ said Michela brightly. ‘She’s the one who made the dress. It’s gorgeous, isn’t it, Niccolò?’
Alannah wanted to tell her friend to stop trying so hard. To tell her that she and her brother were never going to achieve anything more than a forced civility. But she maintained the fiction necessary to soothe the bride’s frazzled nerves by smiling at him in what she hoped looked like a friendly way.
‘It is indeed a very beautiful dress,’ he agreed softly, his eyes gleaming out a silent message which she didn’t dare analyse.
Alannah tried to relax as she handed Michela her bouquet and the three of them made their way to the Pembroke’s celebrated wedding room, where the assembled guests were waiting. A harpist began to play and Alannah saw the sudden look of tension which hardened Niccolò’s features into a grim mask as he gave his sister away to be married.
Maybe he just didn’t like weddings, she thought.
She tried not to stare at him as the vows were made and to ignore the women who were clearly trying to catch his eye. And after the rings had been exchanged, Alannah tried to be the best guest she possibly could. She chatted to the groom’s sister and offered to suggest some new colour schemes for her house in Gramercy Park. After the wedding breakfast, she took time to play with several of the frilly-dressed little girls from Lucas’s huge extended family. And when they were all worn out, she lined them all up to twist their long hair into intricate styles, which made them squeal with delight.
By the time the tables had been cleared and the band had struck up for the first dance, Alannah felt able to relax at last. Her duties had been performed to everyone’s satisfaction and the wedding had gone off without a hitch. Drink in hand, she stood on the edge of the dance-floor and watched Michela dancing in the arms of Lucas—soft white tulle floating around her slender body and a dreamy smile on her face as she looked up at her new husband.
Alannah felt her heart contract and wished it wouldn’t. She didn’t want to feel wistful, not today—of all days. To wonder why some people found love easy while others seemed to have a perpetual struggle with it. Or to question why all that stuff had never happened to her.
‘How come I always find you standing alone on the dance-floor?’
Alannah’s heart clenched at the sound of Niccolò’s Sicilian accent, but she didn’t turn round. She just carried on standing there until he walked up to stand beside her.
‘I’m just watching the happy couple,’ she said conversationally.
He followed the direction of her gaze and for a moment they stood in silence as Lucas whirled Michela round in his arms.
‘Do you think they’ll stay happy?’ he asked suddenly.
The question surprised her. ‘Don’t you?’
‘If they are contented to work with what they’ve got and to build on it, then, yes, they have a chance. But if they start to believe in all the hype…’ His voice grew hard. ‘If they want stardust and spangles, then they will be disappointed.’
‘You obviously don’t rate marriage very highly.’
‘I don’t. The odds against it are too high. It’s a big gamble—and I am not a gambling man.’
‘And love?’ she questioned as she turned at last to look at him. ‘What about love?’
His mouth hardened and for a moment she thought she saw something bleak flaring at the depths of his black eyes.
‘Love is a weakness,’ he said bitterly, ‘which brings out the worst in people.’
‘That’s a little—’
‘Dance with me,’ he said suddenly, his words cutting over hers, and Alannah tensed as his fingers curled over her bare arm.
They were a variation on the words he’d spoken all those years ago. Words which had once turned her head. But she was older now and hopefully wiser—or maybe she was just disillusioned. She no longer interpreted his imperious command as masterful—but more as an arrogant demonstration of the control which was never far from the surface.
She lifted her face to his. ‘Do I get a choice in the matter?’
‘No.’ Removing the glass from her hand, he placed it on the tray of a passing waitress, before sliding his hand proprietorially around her waist and propelling her towards the dance floor. ‘I’m afraid you don’t.’
She told herself that she didn’t have to do this. She could excuse herself and walk away. Because he was unlikely to start behaving like a cave-man by dragging her onto the dance-floor—not with all his new in-laws around.
Except that she left it a split second too long and suddenly it was too late for objections. Suddenly, she was on the dance-floor and his
