tiny doorstep later that evening. The stern and serious expression on his face was tempered by the celebratory bottle of champagne he carried and, later, by the captivating quality of his smile.
Cassie felt appalled at just how utterly convincing and ruthless he could be in his pursuit of what he wanted. It was a side of him she had seen only once before—when he had bamboozled Hudson’s into not charging her with theft. She listened as he vowed to her mother that he would look after her and said that they both wanted the wedding to take place as soon as possible—and that he hoped there were no objections to that. Maybe if it had been anyone else her mother might have had a few. But who in their right mind could object to Giancarlo when he was ladling on the charm with a trowel?
And it was only after he’d gone that her mother turned to her, a dreamy kind of smile on her face.
‘Oh, darling,’ she said. ‘Now I can see exactly why you don’t want to wait.’
Cassie managed a bright smile as she met her mother’s eyes—her mother who had enjoyed a strong and loving marriage herself. What could she say? Because the truth of it was that part of her was longing to be Giancarlo’s bride and to wear his ring on her finger—despite knowing how foolish her little dreams were. Was that what people meant when they talked about hope triumphing over experience?
They were married quietly, in London—because that had seemed the most appropriate venue after all. Giancarlo’s offer of a wedding anywhere in the world had seemed like something someone else would do—not Cassie—and she was still smarting from all the accusations of being a gold-digger which he’d hurled at her. And so, despite only ever having been to Paris, she turned down New York and the West Indies and all the other luxury destinations he assured her were there for the taking.
She found herself caught up in a new and very efficient machine—one which was powered by money—and some of her new-found confidence seemed to desert her as a consequence. She would never have to save for anything again, she realised—with an odd little pang of nostalgia. Anything she and her baby wanted would be hers for the taking—and all she had to do was ask.
A hurried shopping trip produced a cream cashmere dress and jacket to protect her from the January chill—but the arum lilies which she carried seemed waxy and unreal. And, in contrast to the paleness of her own wedding outfit, Giancarlo seemed to represent everything that was black—with his jet hair and eyes and the dark, formal suit emphasising every honed fibre of his powerful body.
The wedding was small—Cassie’s mother and Gavin were their witnesses and, although Giancarlo told her to invite anyone she wanted, she couldn’t think of anyone apart from some of her school friends. And somehow it seemed strange to send out invites to a wedding when nobody knew them as a couple.
Because they weren’t really a couple at all, were they? They were never intended to be—and if it weren’t for his seed growing deep in her belly, then they wouldn’t be here at all.
As the car drew up outside the registrar’s office Cassie turned to Giancarlo—nervously fingering the white satin ribbon on her bridal bouquet. She looked up into the gleaming black eyes and longed for him to pull her into his arms, to tell her that it was all going to be fine. But the expression on his face seemed shuttered and tense, as if he couldn’t wait for the whole day to be over. And hadn’t she decided that she was going to be positive—to support him and be as much of a real wife as he would allow her to be?
‘Didn’t you want to invite any of your friends to the ceremony?’ she asked him softly.
‘No, I decided against it—it’s all too much of a rush. Word might get out to the press and I’d prefer for that not to happen. Don’t worry, mia bella piccola—you will be introduced to them all soon enough.’
Cassie stared down at her fancy cream wedding shoes, wondering if he was ashamed of her—or worried that one of them would try to talk him out of it.
‘Now come along,’ he urged softly as the bitter January air blew into the car, and Cassie shivered despite the warm cashmere. ‘Time for you to become Signora Vellutini.’
The wedding band was a sliver of platinum which seemed too big for her frozen finger, and afterwards they ate lunch with her mother and Gavin at a discreet and slick hotel not far from Giancarlo’s house. But despite the obstetrician she’d consulted in his plush Harley Street surgery assuring her that the occasional small glass of wine would be perfectly acceptable, Cassie could take only one sip of the fine champagne before quickly putting down the glass. It tasted sour. Acidic. Did her mother guess why she wasn’t drinking alcohol? she wondered.
But it was clear to Cassie that her mum had a wonderful time—Giancarlo made sure of that. So much so that at times she felt almost like an outsider as she watched him employing more of that careless charm which had her mother laughing softly in response. And wasn’t that what had drawn her to him in the first place—that whole package of charisma and confidence and a determination to get what he wanted? It just seemed like such a long time ago when he had strolled up to her little stand exuding danger and sex appeal and she had melted like candle wax. She felt as if she’d lived a whole lifetime since then.
Her mother left when the meal had ended—driven off in some style all the way back to Cornwall while Cassie and Giancarlo stood waving her off, her new husband’s arm resting lightly around her shoulder.
‘Your mother seemed happy enough,’ he commented.
‘Yes.’
He turned her in his arms to face him. ‘You think she approves of your new husband, Cassandra?’
‘You know she does.’
Giancarlo looked down at her, thinking how fragile and brittle she appeared—almost as if she might break in two. Like a china doll wearing her wedding finery. His eyes narrowed as he realised just how chalk-white her face was and the passion he had always felt for her was now tempered by a need to protect her, and to protect his baby. From now on, she must be cosseted, he realised grimly—for she did not appear to have been looking after herself.
‘I think it’s time to go home,’ he said roughly. ‘Don’t you?’
Cassie touched the petal of a waxy lily and swallowed. ‘Yes.’
But as the car drew to a smooth halt outside the massive town house she felt her stomach perform some kind of somersault. How peculiar it was to stand in front of that same house which had so intimidated her not very long ago. To now be able to call it her home. And to have the door opened by Gina—who surely felt much more comfortable in residence there than the new bride did?
The housekeeper smiled. ‘Welcome home and congratulations, Signora Vellutini,’ she said quietly.
Cassie nodded, feeling faintly ridiculous as she clutched her bouquet and gave Gina an uncertain smile. It was impossible to know what Gina was thinking—what was going on behind her own, rather formal smile. Did the housekeeper resent a new mistress coming into the house she had controlled for so long? she wondered.
‘Thank you so much, Gina,’ she answered quietly.
Once the housekeeper had gone, Cassie turned to Giancarlo and she reached out her hand to touch her fingers to the faint shadowing at his jaw. It seemed a long time since she had touched him—and she felt oddly nervous about doing so again. And maybe it was time to snap out of the strange, dreamlike atmosphere which had been present all day.
‘Perhaps
