“Hey, hey, what’s this?”
Leo took her tearstained face in his hands.
She couldn’t say a word. How could you do this to me? she wanted to wail at him. I gave you everything!
He stroked her hair and, speaking softly, gently, said, “I know I haven’t been much of a husband lately, but the past three weeks have been…difficult. My brother’s death has caused all sorts of problems, problems too complex and numerous to explain. Suffice to say I’ve sorted them out now.”
Brooke listened to this subtly worded confession without a shred of reassurance or forgiveness. How smooth he was, she realized. How clever. How patronizing! “I probably haven’t told you this often enough,” he went on, bending to press his lips into her hair, “but I do love you, Brooke….”
Brooke stopped breathing. How could words so longed for strike like daggers into her heart? For she knew who her husband really loved….
Mamma Mia!
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They’re tall, dark—and ready to marry!
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The Sicilian’s Wife
by Kate Walker
On sale August, #2339
Miranda Lee
Marriage in Peril
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
BROOKE steeled herself for her mother’s reaction to her news. It wouldn’t be good. But there again, she reminded herself ruefully, her mother never approved of any of her decisions.
Not that Brooke was in the habit of being all that assertive. She’d only crossed her mother’s will a few times in her twenty-two years, and most of those had been secret transgressions, like reading with a torch under the bedclothes at night. And putting on lipstick the moment she turned the corner on her way to school.
Her only major openly defiant decisions had been taking an apprenticeship in the hospitality industry with a large Sydney hotel rather than doing law at university, followed by her move out of home last year to live by herself in a small bedsit at Bondi.
But neither of those decisions had been as mammoth as planning to marry at a register office ceremony tomorrow morning, without breathing a word to her mother about either her husband-to-be or the marriage till this very moment.
Tension built within Brooke while she waited for her mother to say something. But Phyllis Freeman just sat there at the green garden table, smoking. Silent.
The silent treatment was not a tactic her mother adopted very often. She was a highly intelligent and assertive woman, with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue, who used argument and ruthless logic to get her way. She had definite ideas about everything, but especially the role and rights of the modern woman.
A lawyer who specialised in discrimination cases, Phyllis was an expert in arguing the feminist cause. At forty-two, and with two divorces behind her, she had become a dedicated man-hater, plus the most difficult of mothers.
Brooke had no idea why she loved her. The woman was impossible. She’d driven away two good husbands, and driven Brooke herself to distraction ever since she’d started dating. No boyfriend had ever found favour with Phyllis Freeman. There’d always been something wrong with them.
No wonder when Brooke had met Leo she’d never brought him home to meet her mother. Brooke hadn’t wanted to risk spoiling what she knew was the greatest love of her life.
But things had progressed beyond that now—now her mother had to be acquainted with the facts. Her marriage to Leo was about to become a fait accompli.
Brook had toyed with the idea of not telling her mother till after the event, but had decided that would be too cruel. At the moment, however, she thought it might have been the lesser of two evils.
Brooke’s stomach tightened as she watched her mother finally stab out her cigarette in the ceramic ashtray and look up at her with icy blue eyes.
‘Was marriage your idea, Brooke?’ she asked coldly. ‘Or his?’
‘His, actually,’ Brooke took pleasure in announcing. She’d been over the moon when Leo had proposed straight away on knowing about the baby. Because then she’d known he really loved her, and wasn’t just out for a good time.
Her mother had always said actions spoke louder than words. Well, marriage equated with love and commitment in Brooke’s mind. It wasn’t just her so-called beautiful face and body Leo wanted—something her mother had always gone to great pains to point out about her previous boyfriends.
Brooke wondered if that was what her mother had believed about herself in the past. That the men in her life had been blinded by her looks, that none had ever really loved Phyllis the person. As a young woman Phyllis had been a stunner, with long blonde hair, creamy skin, big blue eyes, full, pouty lips and a body just made for sin. Brooke was often told she was the spitting image of her mother at the same age.
The years, however, had wrought many changes in Phyllis Freeman. Chain-smoking had aged her skin and bitterness had thinned her mouth. Her once lovely long blonde hair was now cut ruthlessly short and going grey at the roots. A dedicated feminist, Brooke’s mother never went to the hairdresser’s, or wore make-up. She was too thin as well, in Brooke’s opinion, living on cigarettes and coffee.
Brooke worried about her mother’s health.
‘I suppose you refused to consider an abortion,’ Phyllis scorned, ‘being the hopeless romantic you are.’
Brooke
