the implied put-down. Why did Alex King’s fiancée feel the need to put her on the spot like this. She was a woman who appeared to have everything other women might envy, including the man whose ring she was wearing.
“It wasn’t the kind of life I wanted,” she answered simply. “As to whether my voice is good enough, I’m here—” she transferred her gaze to Isabella “—for Mrs. King to judge if it meets her requirements.”
“And I’m looking forward to hearing it,” the older woman said, smiling encouragement. “Indeed, if it is true to your performance on tape…” She looked directly at her grandson. “…you may very well want Gina to sing at your wedding, Alessandro.”
Silence. Stillness. For the first time Gina lost her own self-consciousness enough to realise there were tensions at this table that had nothing to do with her. Or perhaps she had become an unwitting focus for them. Very quietly she picked up her glass of water and drank, grateful to be out of the direct firing line.
Michelle Banks glared at Alex, clearly demanding his support. He stirred himself, addressing his grandmother with an air of pained patience.
“Nonna, we have already discussed this. Michelle wants a harpist, not a singer.”
“I heard what Michelle wants, Alessandro,” came the coolly dignified reply. “Did I hear what you want?”
“It is the bride’s day,” he countered with a slight grimace at the contentiousness behind the question.
Isabella regarded his fiancée with an expression of arch curiosity that Gina instantly felt had knives behind it. “Is that what you think, Michelle—that a wedding belongs only to the bride, and the groom must fall in with everything she wishes?”
Michelle gave a smug little smile. “Alex is happy for me to have a harp playing.”
“I’ve never thought a harp—indeed, any musical instrument—can project the warmth and emotion that a human voice can.”
“It’s purely a question of taste,” Michelle argued. “A harp is very elegant.”
“Undoubtedly. However, to my mind, even within a showcase of elegance, room could be made for some spotlight on love at your wedding.” She turned a smile on Gina. “Are you now refreshed enough to sing?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She set her glass down and picked up her handbag. “I did bring a backing tape. Are there facilities for it to be played in the ballroom or…”
“Of course.” She nodded to her grandson. “Alessandro will set it up for you and give you a remote control for pausing between songs.”
Gina’s heart fluttered. Was he going to listen, too? She glimpsed a V of annoyance forming between Michelle Banks’ brows, but said a quick, “Thank you,” to Alex King anyway.
“My pleasure,” he said kindly, though she couldn’t help wondering if he also was annoyed at this manipulation by his grandmother. It didn’t make for a comfortable audience. His fiancée, for one, was bound to be judging very critically.
Isabella stood up—a definitive signal for them all to rise from the table. Gina hastily removed the glass from Marco’s hands and set him on his feet.
“Are we going to see the balls of mirrors now, Mama?” he asked.
“Yes, we are.”
“Come, Marco. Give me your hand,” Isabella commanded. “I will show you everything while your madre is preparing to sing for us.”
He responded without so much as a hesitation, trotting straight over to her and eagerly taking the offered hand, his eyes sparkling with happy anticipation. What was it that made him so pliable to this old woman when he could be quite obstreperous with other virtual strangers? Gina doubted he would have taken Michelle Banks’ hand so readily. But Isabella King…was he instinctively drawn to the power that emanated from her…the power imbued by so many years of being the matriarch of this family?
It was definitely there.
Even Michelle Banks was not about to buck it at this point, although Gina could feel the younger woman’s hostility as they moved as a group to the ballroom. It made Gina wonder if Isabella King was using her as a pawn in a battle she was subtly fighting against her future grand-daughter-in-law.
She hoped it wasn’t so.
She needed this opportunity to be a straight deal between them, one she could count on to lead to a better situation for her and Marco if her singing was approved. It was a big if, given the current tensions that were affecting her. Somehow she had to set them aside, concentrate on her singing.
Apart from everything else, she would hate to fail in front of Alex King, hate to have him feel pity for her, hate to give his fiancée reason to sneer at her performance.
She had to sing well.
Had to.
Or she would die a million humiliating deaths.
CHAPTER THREE
“DO WE have to sit through this?” Michelle hissed at him.
Alex frowned at her. “Yes.”
She rolled her eyes, adopting the air of a martyr as they followed his grandmother and her protégés to the ballroom.
Alex found himself distinctly irked by Michelle’s lack of graciousness, particularly towards Gina Terlizzi. He’d taken an instant liking to the young widow and her little boy. Why couldn’t Michelle simply wish Gina well, instead of measuring her singing talent against her own drive and ambition? It was perfectly understandable why a single mother—tragically so—wouldn’t want to drag her child around the club circuit.
Michelle’s single-mindedness needed to be tempered by an appreciation of where other people were coming from. Apart from anything else, it was a matter of respect for different values, different circumstances. And it wouldn’t hurt her to compromise a bit on her wedding plans. Cutting his grandmother out of all the decisions was not good. Weddings were family affairs to Nonna. That was the Italian way.
Given his grandmother’s none too subtle comments on the harp just now, Alex realised he should start taking a more active role in the arrangements. There were other people to consider besides the bride. He recalled Elizabeth King’s recent visit, and her account of how involved she’d been in the planning of her sons’ weddings. Nonna would certainly be feeling…left out of his. It was not right.
The ballroom was set up in its usual pattern—round tables seating eight forming a horseshoe that faced the stage and enclosed the highly polished parquet dance floor. They’d no sooner entered it than Michelle parked herself at one of back tables, right next to the exit, her unwillingness to be an interested party to this audition all too obvious.
Doubly annoyed now, Alex accompanied his grandmother to the table of her choice, halfway down the ballroom. He saw her and the little boy seated, then escorted Gina Terlizzi up to the stage to familiarise her with the sound system so she could perform at her best.
Her hand was trembling slightly as she held out the backing tape. Nerves? Distress at being virtually snubbed by his fiancée? The unfairness
