Boss Meets Baby: Innocent Secretary...Accidentally Pregnant / The Salvatore Marriage Deal / The Millionaire Boss's Baby. Carol MarinelliЧитать онлайн книгу.
into father-of-the-bride duty and Emma had a little giggle to herself to see the usually unruffled Luca, who could handle the most difficult client or tense boardroom meeting with ease, just a touch frazzled as he dealt not just with his sister’s theatrics but vases and flowers and the hairdresser, who was trying to locate a free power point for heated rollers.
Yes, their bedroom was a nice place to be!
Because she could, Emma spent time on her hair, attempting what a hairdresser had once, when she’d been to her brother Rory’s wedding—taking several curls at a time and wrapping them around her wand till it fell in one thick heavy ringlet. Over and over she did this and for once her hair behaved, for once Emma was pleased with the results.
The hot September weather meant foundation wouldn’t see the service out, so she put just a slip of silver eye shadow on her lids, relying mainly on lashings of mascara, a quick sweep of pink on her cheeks and a shimmer of tinted lip gloss. In her dash to shop and get ready for the trip, Emma had relied heavily on the stylist’s suggestion of a suitable dress, although Emma hadn’t been at all sure that it was right for a wedding when she’d tried it on in the boutique.
The silver-grey dress had looked very plain, if a touch short, in the shop, but the assistant had assured her it would look marvellous with the right shoes and makeup.
It did.
It slipped over her head, the material shimmering more in the natural light and the superb cut of the delicate fabric turned her most loathed bits into voluptuous curves.
Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Emma was slightly taken aback by what she saw. It was as if she’d grown up in these few days—gone from young lady to woman, and Emma knew it had little to do with her birthday and a lot more to do with the man who was now walking into the bedroom.
‘I must get changed…’ His voice trailed off as she turned to face him—and he suddenly felt that walking into his room to find her there was like coming across a haven of tranquility in a madhouse.
He’d appreciated her all morning—so many of his girlfriends would have been demanding their hour with the hairdresser while simultaneously demanding yet more of his time, yet Emma had left him to deal with his family—no sulking, or pouting, just that lovely smile when she’d briefly come down, and now he’d walked into the bedroom to this. Oh, he’d seen her dressed formally on many occasions, only this was different—a wedding, a family affair, his Luca plus one.
His diamonds on her ears were as sparkling as her eyes and there was that glimpse again, that small glimpse of how life could be for him if he hadn’t made the choices that he had.
Of a life he could have with her.
‘We leave in ten minutes,’ he said, his voice gruff with suppressed emotion. He’d already showered and shaved, so he quickly pulled off his casual shirt and trousers and dressed in the dark wedding suit and gunmetal grey tie that had been chosen for the men of the wedding party, or rather that Emma had chosen for them. He had refused, point blank, to consider the burgundy monstrosities his sister had insisted would match the bridesmaids, and Emma had found the perfect one.
Not the one, but the perfect one.
Making a rare effort, he combed some sculpting gel through his thick hair then splashed on cologne. He filled his pockets with various envelopes for the priest and the band and then, when his head was around it, when more rational thought had descended, he spoke.
‘You look lovely.’
‘Thank you.’ She gave a brief smile at his clipped tone, insecure enough to worry that he privately thought she looked awful.
‘I will be busy today, back and forth with relatives. With my father ill, that duty…’
‘It’s no problem.’ Emma smiled, putting some tissues in her bag and then squirting her perfume—just as she always did last thing before they went out. It was these little things he was noticing, Luca realised, these small details that added up to Emma. Her perfume was reaching him and her entire being was too.
Today was a day he had been dreading for months, since— the wedding date had been announced and the preparations had begun. It had hung over him like a black cloud—being with his family, all his family, smiling and joking and keeping up the pretence, the charade, that there was no rotten core to the D’Amatos—yet here in this room he could breathe.
He couldn’t not kiss her.
He lowered his head and his lips gently found hers, just pressing a little into the luscious flesh of her mouth, and he felt a flutter of something sweet and good and right settle.
Only their lips met, gently touching, barely moving, just tiny pulse-like kisses as they breathed each other’s air, and it was a kiss like no other, this rare, weary tenderness from Luca that made her feel beautiful and wanted and somehow sad too.
‘This is so much better with you here.’
There was a sting at the back of her throat and she couldn’t understand why something so nice should make her feel like crying.
‘It could always be.’ She’d crossed the line, she knew she had. She’d taken the present and hinted at a future—there was suddenly no breath on her cheek as Luca stilled, no acknowledgment as to what she had said, but it circled in the air between them.
‘We must go.’ He waited at the bedroom door as with shaking hands she reapplied her lip gloss, catching her eyes in the mirror and giving herself a stern reminder of the terms that she had agreed to.
It was the most gorgeous, moving wedding.
Even if she couldn’t understand much of what was said, even if she was here under false pretences and was supposed to be playing a part, the tears that filled her eyes weren’t manufactured as the proud, frail father of the bride walked his glowing daughter down the aisle.
There were only two dry eyes in the church and they both belonged to Luca.
He stood, taller than the rest, his back ramrod straight, and though he did all the right things, there was a remoteness to him—an irritable edge that Emma couldn’t quite define, an impatience perhaps for the service to be over. For the second it was, the first moment that he could, she felt his hand tighten around hers as he led her swiftly outside.
‘These two will be next!’ Mia teased, holding her husband’s hand, laughing and chatting with her relatives.
‘When?’ Rico’s eyes met his son’s.
‘Leave it, Pa,’ Luca said, but Rico could not.
‘What about the D’Amato name?’ he pressed.
‘Soon, Rico!’ Mia soothed. ‘I’m sure it will happen soon.’
There was an exquisitely uncomfortable moment, because it was clear soon was far too long for Rico, but his brother Rinaldo lightened things. ‘They leave things much longer now.’ He squeezed his young wife’s waist. ‘Not like me…’ He kissed her heavily made-up cheek then murmured, ‘I wasn’t going to let you slip away.’
As Rico greeted other guests and Rinaldo and his wife drifted off, Mia chided Luca for his stern expression, talking in Italian then giving a brief translation for Emma.
‘Luca was close to Zia Maria, Rinaldo’s first wife,’ she explained to Emma, then looked over at Luca. ‘You cannot expect him to be on his own.’
‘He didn’t even wait a year,’ Luca retorted, his voice ice-cold on this warm day.
‘Luca—not here,’ Mia pleaded, then turned to Emma. ‘Come, let me introduce you to my sister.’
Emma lost Luca along the way, chatting to aunts, congratulating Daniela—really, she was doing well. Through her work she knew enough about Luca to answer the most difficult questions, though it would have been far easier if he was by her side.
They were starting to call relatives for more photos