cold with Melita. Comparisons are tasteless but...’
‘So, don’t make them.’ Jemima unzipped her dress and shimmied out of it while he watched.
‘Your parents...’ Luciano began, slightly shocked.
‘I think everyone will mind their own business rather than ours,’ Jemima whispered sagely. ‘But you do realise that you still haven’t told me who told you that I was upset?’
Luciano expelled his breath on a slow hiss. ‘Your father.’
Taken aback, Jemima blinked. ‘Say that again?’
‘He thinks I make you happy and he likes the fact that I’m honest with him,’ Luciano told her guiltily, as if he had been consorting with the enemy. ‘I was grateful that he called me.’
Jemima was secretly pleased that the father she loved so much clearly liked and trusted the man she was about to marry. ‘I’ve got no complaints either. We love each other and that’s special.’
‘Simply finding you was special, piccolo mia,’ Luciano told her as she unbuttoned his shirt, undid his waistband, sent her fingers roaming over the prominent bulge at his groin with a daring new to both of them and even more thrilling. ‘Dio mio, I love you...’
‘Me too...so much,’ she managed to say just before his mouth came crashing down on hers with all the passion she adored.
* * *
Jemima walked down the aisle of the little village church in her lace wedding dress and with her hand on her father’s arm. Off the shoulder and styled with tight sleeves and a fitted bodice, her wedding gown made the most of her hourglass figure and the exquisite lace fell to the floor, showing only the toes of the extravagant shoes she wore.
Luciano was so entranced by the sight of her that he couldn’t look away and play it cool. His son, Nicky, sat on his grandmother’s lap near the front of the church and began to bounce and hold out his arms when he laid eyes on Jemima, the closest thing to a mother he would ever know. Luciano smiled, the happiest he had ever been in his chequered life and far happier than he had ever even hoped to be.
Jemima focused on the man she loved and her heart jumped behind her breastbone. All hers at last, officially, finally, permanently hers. As if a wedding ring were the equivalent of a padlock, she scolded herself. It was the love she saw in his beautiful dark eyes that would hold him and she rejoiced in the thought of the future that awaited them and their son.
‘IL CAPO!’ AGNESE SIGNALLED Jemima from the door of the castle with a beatific smile that said that all was now right with the housekeeper’s world because Luciano was finally home again after a week away on business.
Jemima thought back four years to the days when the elderly Agnese, Luciano’s fiercest admirer, had still been unsure of her former charge’s second wife. She and Agnese had started out being excruciatingly polite to each other while Jemima had become friendlier with the housekeeper’s daughter, Carlotta, whose English had come on as quickly as Jemima’s Italian during the first year of her marriage. And then Concetta, their first child, had been born and Agnese had crumbled like a meringue at first sight of Il Capo’s daughter to reveal the kindly, loving woman she hid behind her tough little image.
After Concetta, the nursery had got even busier and had had to expand because two children had been born to swell the family. Jemima’s second pregnancy had produced twin boys, Marco and Matteo, and she had decided to take a break from the production line for a year or two at least. Three little boys ranging from Nicky, who was almost five, and the twins, who were two years old, had proved quite a handful. Concetta was three, clever and well behaved, certainly easier to control than three rumbustious little boys. Jemima’s daughter was very fond of raising her brows in the boys’ direction and mimicking her father with an air of female superiority.
Jemima’s life had changed so rapidly from the moment she had become a mother for the first time after Nicky that she sometimes could hardly recall the period before she had met Luciano. Real life and fulfilling happiness had begun for her in Sicily at the castello. Occasionally she had thought sadly about the job she had left behind, but caring for Nicky had kept her very busy and Concetta’s arrival had persuaded Jemima that she was perfectly happy shaping her routine round her husband and children. Such an existence might not be perfect for everyone, but it was perfect for her.
She adored Luciano and she adored her kids and her home and the staff who looked after them so well. She never ever forgot either to be grateful for her good fortune. Luciano had bought a comfortable house for her parents back in the UK, but they remained regular visitors to the island, most often staying in the cottage by the beach. Her husband had become almost as fond of his in-laws as his wife. He appreciated the retired couple’s loving interest in their grandchildren and rarely went to the UK without taking them out to dinner. Jemima’s friend, Ellie, was a regular visitor as well, but there had been no further contact from Steven, who had married a couple of years back.
Now awaiting Luciano’s arrival, Jemima smoothed her hands down over the elegant blue dress she wore with the most ridiculously high heels in her wardrobe. He bought her shoes everywhere he went without her because he knew that, even though she preferred to spend most of her time at home rather than shopping or partying as she could have done, she got a kick out of wearing that kind of footwear. It was the type of thoughtfulness and all the little caring touches that accompanied it that made Jemima such an adoring wife.
The shouts of three little boys backed by the far more muted tones of her little daughter warned Jemima that Luciano was in the hall. She grinned as he raised his voice to be heard above the hubbub and then there was silence, the sound of quick steps across the tiles as he made his escape and the door opened.
And there he stood, her beautiful Luciano, who still thrilled her as much at first glance as he had five years earlier. ‘You look very beautiful, Signora Vitale,’ he told her teasingly.
She encountered his stunning dark golden eyes and her heart sang as she surged across the room to throw herself into his arms. ‘I missed you.’
Luciano gazed down at her with smouldering appreciation. ‘The kids are waiting in the hall.’
‘They want to see you too.’
‘Can’t be in two places at once, amata mia,’ he husked, claiming a passionate kiss with raw, hungry enthusiasm.
‘Carlotta will distract them,’ Jemima mumbled.
‘We’re being selfish,’ he groaned, lean brown hands worshipping her generous curves. ‘But I can’t... Bedtime’s hours away,’ he muttered defensively.
‘So it is... I love you,’ Jemima confided, enchanted by the level of passionate appreciation in his smouldering scrutiny, for it was wonderful to feel that desirable to the man she loved.
‘Not one half as much as I love and need you,’ Luciano countered. ‘It isn’t possible, amata mia.’
‘What have I told you about that negative outlook of yours?’ Jemima censured, backing down on the sofa in what was a decidedly inviting way with happiness and amusement and passion all bubbling up together inside her and making her feel distinctly intoxicated on love.
*
