Home > The Italian's Stolen Bride(37)

The Italian's Stolen Bride(37)
Author: Emma Darcy

Public acceptance!

Skye breathed a sigh of relief.

Luc’s fingers relaxed.

His father gave them both a cursory glance as he tossed a greeting at them. ‘Happy Christmas! Come and sit down.’ He waved to a sofa, then fastened his attention on Matt again. ‘Underneath that beautiful tree, you might find some gifts for you. Why don’t you go and have a look?’

The next hour passed peaceably enough with all of them focusing more on Matt’s pleasure in his Christmas booty than on each other. Morning tea was served by the butler. Pressed into eating something by Flavia, Skye managed to get through a small mince pie and a sliver of rich fruit cake.

She was very conscious of Luc watching his father like a hawk, ready to pounce on any discourtesy to herself, but Maurizio Peretti skirted carefully around her, not once addressing her directly by name. She wasn’t exactly ignored but there was definitely some resistance to her presence, making her feel very much on edge.

What words were spoken between the men were few and far between, as well. As soon as the butler had cleared away the morning tea, Maurizio Peretti was on his feet, holding out his hand to Matt. ‘Come and have a walk with me around the grounds. I’ll show you the sailing boats in the harbour, and maybe we can find a good place for us to play cricket after lunch.’

A cricket set had been amongst the gifts and Matt was instantly up and grasping his grandfather’s hand, eager to go along with his plan.

Luc rose to his feet, bristling with purpose. ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No, no…’ His father waved him to sit down again. ‘Let me get to know my grandson. Besides, your mother has plans she wants to put to you.’

Skye knew Luc wanted to challenge him over his less than welcoming manner to her but she hoped his father might thaw more over lunch. ‘Let them go, Luc,’ she softly pleaded.

‘Yes, we have much to talk about,’ his mother leapt in anxiously.

Rather than raise an argument in front of Matt, he reluctantly conceded to the arrangement, resuming his seat beside Skye and seething with silent resentment as he watched his father take his son off for their walk. The moment the door was closed behind them he turned to his mother and flatly declared, ‘I won’t have Skye ignored, Mamma.’

‘Your father is feeling awkward, Luciano,’ she quickly excused. ‘Give him time. It is not a feeling he is used to. Perhaps Matteo will ease him out of it.’

Luc shook his head in impatient frustration. ‘Well, what is it you want to talk about, Mamma?’

Their wedding!

Flavia Peretti laid out a plan that had Skye’s mind reeling at its grand scale. Firstly, she wanted Luc to bring Skye and Matt to the New Year’s Day luncheon party which the Perettis held every year—a gathering of all their closest friends and associates. It could serve to introduce Skye as his fiancée and be turned into an engagement party, celebrating their forthcoming marriage.

Then the invitations to the wedding could be sent out—six weeks’ notice was enough—and a suitable marquee could be hired and set up in the grounds to accommodate the hundreds of guests. She went on and on, covering every detail of a production designed to inform the whole Italian community that Luc’s bride was to be acknowledged as a welcome addition to the Peretti family.

‘Has Dad approved of this plan?’ Luc tersely asked.

‘You know it must be so, Luciano,’ his mother pleaded rather than replied.

‘You’ve discussed it with him?’ Luc bored in, refusing to take anything for granted.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Mamma, he stole Skye from me once. If this putting her on public display is meant to make her feel less than she is…if its purpose is to alienate her from me…’

‘I swear it is not, Luciano,’ his mother cried in alarm.

Luc beetled a frown at her. ‘I see no sign of Dad treating Skye with respect.’

‘He will. He will,’ came the insistent reply.

‘This plan may be his way of making amends, Luc,’ Skye murmured, though she quailed at the thought of being put under such a spotlight in front of people whom she didn’t know, people who didn’t know her, people who were bound to look askance at the woman who’d borne a child out of wedlock and was probably forcing this unsuitable marriage because of it.

‘Then why isn’t he offering it himself?’ Luc queried, his eyes searching hers for the truth of how she felt. ‘You can’t want to do this, Skye.’

‘If it means a happier outcome all around…’ She looked to his mother for guidance, believing that Flavia understood the complexities of the situation far better than she did. ‘Is it necessary, Mrs Peretti?’

‘No, it’s not,’ Luc cut in vehemently. ‘We can get married as planned. Privately. No more postponements.’

‘Luciano, please…’ his mother begged. ‘I will help Skye all I can. Do everything. She need only be here for you.’

‘Don’t put this on me!’ he fiercely retorted. ‘I’m not asking it of Skye. And you have asked too much of her already, Mamma.’ He rose to his feet, too pumped up with aggressive energy to remain seated. His hands flew into furious gesticulation as he fired more shots at his mother. ‘All these months ignoring her…and now you expect her to perform for you. It’s too much. We get married how we want to get married.’

Flavia Peretti turned imploring eyes to Skye. ‘Please…it is a matter of family honour.’

‘And where was honour when Matt was born?’ Luc hurled at her. ‘My son!’

‘Luc!’ Skye’s sharp cry switched his attention back to her but his eyes were still blazing with turbulent emotion. She shook her head at him and dredged up the courage to do what had to be done. ‘No more. It has to stop now. Matt loves having his Nonna. He’s taken to your father, too. Let it be, Luc. I’ll do it—’ her smile was meant to appeal to his strong, protective instincts ‘—if you’ll hold my hand.’

A few fast strides and he was back on the sofa with her, holding both her hands. ‘You don’t have to do this.’

‘It doesn’t matter. We’re getting married, aren’t we?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘Your mother said she’d help me.’

‘As I would a daughter,’ Flavia Peretti swiftly promised.

‘You see? It will be all right.’

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