Claimed by the Sicilian: Sicilian Husband, Blackmailed Bride / The Sicilian's Red-Hot Revenge / The Sicilian's Wife. Kate WalkerЧитать онлайн книгу.
prefer it if I’d stayed away and let you go ahead with your bigamous, illegal marriage?’ Guido drawled, the gleaming mockery in his eyes only incensing her further.
‘I would have preferred it if you’d stayed away, full stop!’ she flung at him. ‘Because of you, what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life has turned into the worst nightmare I’ve ever had.’
‘And your first wedding day?’ Guido slid the question in like a knife between her ribs. ‘What was that, then? Surely that was supposed to have been the happiest day of your life?’
‘The worst day of my life, more like!’
Amber was past caring what she said. She only knew she was desperate to score some much needed points on her side; to hit back for all the cruel punches he had already landed on her heart—her soul.
‘The worst day—the biggest mistake—the stupidest thing I ever did in my life. If you must know, I hated every minute of it.’
‘OK, I have the message,’ Guido growled.
The car had swung into the long, curving drive up to the hotel door and as soon as it stopped he was out, pushing open the door without waiting for the uniformed commissionaire to step forward and do it. For a moment Amber thought that his black fury was going to drive him to stride straight into the building, not stopping to let her get out of the car to be with him.
But then he apparently rethought his actions, almost skidding to a halt on the gravel drive and turning to hold out a strong, tanned hand to her to help her out.
Amber’s conscience stung her hard at the gesture. It was too late now to wish back the vicious words. She knew she’d lashed out in hurt, wanting to hurt, but that still didn’t make them true. When she’d married him it had been the happiest day of her life. In fact, it hurt so much now to think of just how happy she had been then. It was only later that she had come to realise what a mistake she had made.
‘Amber…’
Her hesitation was making him even more irritable. The hand that was held out to her moved in an imperious gesture, all but commanding her to stop messing about, take hold of it and get out of the car.
Knowing she had no choice but to co-operate—Guido was perfectly capable of reaching into the vehicle and hauling her out bodily if she tried his patience, which was obviously wearing very thin—Amber forced herself to take the help that was offered her, folding her fingers around his and letting him pull her towards the edge of the seat and then support her as she got to her feet.
And it was crazy, it was irrational, it was the most illogical thing in the world, but that simple touch suddenly changed everything. From shivering in the back of the luxurious vehicle, she suddenly felt flooded with courage, with new strength. The warm, hard power of Guido’s touch, the ease with which he took her weight as she stood up, adjusted her balance, seemed to flow into her body too, straightening her spine and stilling the racing panic of her pulse.
And that feeling stabbed even harder at her already uncomfortable conscience.
‘One thing,’ Guido said curtly, his tone brutal, ‘when we go in there, we go in as a team. We are together now and we act together, work on the story we agreed on. The story we have already told the Press. If by so much as a single glance, a single word, you do anything to turn that story into a lie then I will leave you there—alone with that pack of aristocratic vultures. Is that understood?’
‘Perfectly.’
How could it be anything else? Without him she would have no protection, no help. She would be totally at the mercy of the people who had never thought her good enough to marry Rafe, and now would like her even less. Vultures, Guido had said, and ‘vultures’ described them perfectly. They would have no hesitation in attacking a wounded soul as soon as they saw her weakness.
‘I understand.’
She was so close to Guido now that their bodies were almost touching. She could hear his breathing, breathe in the clean male scent of his body, look into the darkness of his eyes.
And when she did that the uneasy stinging of her conscience pushed her into hurried speech.
‘And I’m sorry,’ she said impulsively. ‘Sorry for what I said.’
His carved, impassive expression didn’t alter a bit. Not even a flicker of reaction showed in those deep-set eyes as he looked down into her anxious face.
‘No matter,’ he said dismissively. ‘It is best to be honest. We are way past the time of pretending and saying only what we think the other wants to hear.’
And, turning, he caught her hand in his, holding it firmly so that she was forced to follow after him as he strode towards the huge double doors into the hotel. It was either that or be dragged along unceremoniously in his wake.
And so she followed.
She still didn’t want to go into that hotel. She did not want to face Rafe and his family, possibly even her mother—least of all, her mother. She didn’t see why they had to do it—other than for Guido’s arrogant determination that the St Clairs should see that she was with him now, that she was his wife. That he, Guido Corsentino, had won the girl when their aristocratic candidate for her hand had well and truly lost out. If she could have done, she would have turned and run. Gone anywhere but here. But Guido was not going to let her do that, and right now he was the one in control. The one pulling the strings while she, as his puppet, danced to his demanding tune.
But at least with Guido beside her she was not facing this on her own.
From now on we’re in this together, whether we like it or not, he had said and he was sticking firmly to his side of the bargain. If she agreed to be his wife for as long as he demanded, then he would be there, with her, supporting and protecting her as he had done when they had faced the band of reporters outside the church.
Besides, there were more practical reasons why she needed to go into the reception hotel, she remembered. Apart from the fact that she needed to change her clothes—to get out of this expensive and restricting bridal attire—there were also several things she needed if she was just to get on with her life. The passport Guido had mentioned—though the thought of travelling with him to that home in Sicily he had mentioned made her shiver inside—but also her bag with her purse, and all her money, her credit cards, her phone. That was still locked in the hotel room that had been assigned to her for the end of the reception, so that she could change and dress in her going-away outfit for the honeymoon she now was never going to enjoy.
So she took a deep, calming breath, brought her chin up and marched up the steps behind Guido, walked at his side through the imposing foyer, following the signs that read ‘St Clair-Wellesley wedding reception.’
She only faltered when they reached the doors to the ballroom, where the buzz of conversation was so loud that it reached out into the corridor. Through the gold-decorated glass panels in the top halves of the doors, she could see the crowded room, filled with the people she and Rafe had invited to their wedding. The people who should now have been ready to enjoy the meal they had planned on, after she and her new husband had greeted them in a formal receiving line.
Instead of which she was now standing outside, looking in, an intruder at her own wedding celebration, still in her wedding dress, but with her hand in that of a totally different man—the man who, in the eyes of the law, if not in her heart, was actually her true husband.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind! It’s too late for that.’
For a moment, Amber didn’t realise where the words had come from. She only registered the cold fury in them, the way they were hissed at her in a dark undertone from behind, making her jump like a nervous cat. But even as she spun round she recognised the voice with a sinking heart. ‘Mother…’
But Pamela Wellesley wasn’t listening. Instead, her face drawn into a pale, tight mask of cold fury, she waved an elegantly manicured hand in the direction