Bride By Choice Read online

  ‘We may have a problem here,’ Lorenzo said at last, speaking with caution.

  ‘Not-necessarily,’ she replied, trying to sound firm.

  ‘Oh!’ He sounded deflated. ‘I thought maybe you-sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.’

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Of course I-it doesn’t have to be a problem unless we let it. It’s really only what happened this afternoon, me thinking you might be dead-’

  ‘And me thinking I’d never see you again-’

  ‘Exactly. That sort of thing makes people emotional, but only for a while. It doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘Of course it doesn’t,’ he said resolutely.

  ‘So if we’re sensible, and don’t get it out of proportion-not let it spoil things-’

  ‘Fine. Ah, here’s the first course. Looks good.’

  After that no more was said on the dangerous subject. Helen didn’t feel she’d handled it very well, and half hoped he’d bring it up again. When he didn’t she felt depressed. But he didn’t notice. He seemed rather depressed himself.

  Three precious days in New York, so eagerly anticipated, seemed to shrink to nothing. There was a working lunch with Erik, at which Lorenzo was at his best, realising that he’d always misjudged this splendid man. There was a stream of visits to customers old and new. His mobile was never silent.

  On the last night there was the unavoidable supper with the Angolinis, suffering under the broad hints of Mamma and Poppa and the impatient touchiness of Giorgio.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Helen said in the cab on the way home. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Families are a fact of life. But the least you can do is buy me a drink.’

  Say no, warned her inner voice. You’re in a mood to be sentimental.

  ‘Anything,’ she said. ‘I think you’re a positive saint.’

  Elroys had its own nightclub, and a reputation for its music. Tonight there was a traditional jazz band, and they arrived to find the place loud and merry. They found a table in a corner, but it was too noisy to talk, so they took the floor and danced energetically for half an hour.

  ‘I needed that,’ Lorenzo said when they sat down. He fanned himself, breathing hard, and she did the same. The blood was still pounding through her veins in a wild, stomping rhythm, and she felt good.

  The lights were low, and in the pink and blue shadows she could just make out his face, and the gleam in his eyes. She looked at him, storing up memories for the weeks alone. The last three days had tired her in every way. Three days of denying what they’d discovered at the airport, of pretending it wasn’t true, of looking to the future with sad eyes.

  He was regarding her wistfully and she knew his thoughts were the same, although she tried not to know it.

  ‘I’m leaving early tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I’ll be gone before you reach work.’

  ‘I know. So we’ll say goodbye now.’

  ‘Yes…’ A surge of longing had taken possession of her, making her heart ache. When he seized her hand and pressed it urgently against his lips she felt her control slipping. It was easy in the darkness to lean close to him so that when he raised his head his lips brushed hers, almost by accident.

  ‘Elena…’ he whispered, using the name he never used. ‘Elena…’

  ‘Don’t,’ she whispered urgently.

  ‘But you know…’

  ‘Yes, I do. But there are some things it’s best not to know. If we forget that-we could lose everything.’

  ‘Or gain everything?’ he asked softly.

  She shook her head, and he sighed.

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said reluctantly. ‘I just thought I’d ask my friend’s advice.’

  ‘Your friend,’ she managed to say, ‘doesn’t want anything to spoil your friendship, the most precious she’s ever known.’

  If only he hadn’t kissed her that first night. She felt she might just about cope without the memory of his lips scorching hers in a way no other man’s had ever done. But her body had reacted instinctively, yearning towards him, wanting more, wanting him.

  ‘I think it’s time to say goodbye,’ she said in a strained voice. ‘You have to be up early. I don’t want you to miss your plane because of me.’ She barely knew what she was saying.

  ‘I guess you’re right,’ he said reluctantly. He knew why she was running away.

  They took the elevator up from the club to the hotel entrance. There was nobody else in it, and as soon as the doors closed he took her face between his hands and kissed her on the lips.

  ‘I can’t do that in the lobby,’ he said. ‘And I’ve wanted to kiss you so badly. We don’t have to say goodbye-not just this minute-’

  She tried to answer but he was occupying her lips again with a kiss that tantalised her with thoughts of what might be. They were friends, she thought wildly, just friends. But desire was flowing through her, making a mockery of friendship. She wanted him to touch her everywhere, and to touch him everywhere. The craving for that was so urgent that she could almost feel his hands caressing her intimately, seeking her response. The sensation almost broke her control, and she clung to him, praying for common sense.

  But common sense retreated in the face of her need to be naked with him, and to let him see her own nakedness. She knew she was beautiful, and what use was beauty unless the man you wanted could see it, and revel in it? In another moment…

  They stopped. The doors opened. People were waiting to get in. They pulled apart hastily and hurried out. The moment was gone.

  In the brilliant light of the reception area they parted.

  ‘Goodbye, Signor Martelli,’ she said, politely offering him her hand.

  ‘Goodbye, Miss Angolini. I’ve really appreciated your help.’

  ‘Please contact me if you need anything.’

  ‘I’ll be sure to do so.’

  He was gone. She’d looked forward to this trip so much, but after a few packed days he was leaving for weeks, with perhaps the hope of another few days at the end of it. Then he would be gone again. For good.

  She’d done the right thing. There was no doubt of it. When Lorenzo returned to Sicily there was no way she could go with him. Even if he’d asked her. Which he hadn’t.

  So she could congratulate herself on the wisdom that had saved her from making a dreadful mistake.

  But why was it, she wondered forlornly, that the right thing felt so terribly, terribly wrong?

  CHAPTER SIX

  T HERE was a queue at the desk of the New Orleans Elroy. Helen, shifting from one foot to the other, fanned herself against the heat and looked around the reception area, wondering if she’d been wise to arrive without warning.

  She’d endured six weeks without Lorenzo, her loneliness broken only by his lively emails and a call when he could tear himself away from business. Again she was seeing the hard-working man who lived beneath the merry surface. She admired him for that, except when he had to hang up on her because a customer was trying to get through.

  As he crossed the country she thought of him in city after city. When he reached Los Angeles she pictured him on the beach, his broad shoulders and handsome face drawing admiring female glances. There must have been plenty of those wherever he went, and the fact that he never mentioned women was somehow ominous. The truth was clear. He was enjoying a frenzied orgy of decadence, and the sooner she found out the sooner she could recover her sense of proportion about him.

  That was how she was explaining things to herself these days.

  Now here she was in New Orleans. The idea had been taking up space in her mind for some days, and yesterday she had abruptly told Erik she needed some leave, and caught the first flight out. And as the queue shuffled forward she desperately wished she hadn’t.

  Then she saw Lorenzo.

  The reality was so much like her imaginings that she briefly thought she was still dreaming. He was emerging from the interior of the hotel, his skin
more tanned than ever, his look of vivid masculinity sharply emphasised.

  With him was a young girl, of about eighteen. She was blazingly beautiful in a brash, flaunting manner. Her lush red hair hung to her waist, her hips wiggled, her young breasts were high and perky. Helen, who had slept on the plane in sensible travelling clothes, felt crumpled, rumpled and a hundred years old.

  They looked as though they had come from the hotel pool. Lorenzo wore trunks and a short-sleeved shirt, open to the waist. The girl was dressed-sort of-in a wraparound garment transparent enough to reveal the mini bikini beneath. And she was clinging onto to Lorenzo’s arm as though planning to claim it as a souvenir.

  Helen looked around wildly for somewhere to hide. He mustn’t know that she’d turned up and discovered the truth like this. She couldn’t bear him to know that she’d been such a fool. But he was so close now that any movement would attract his attention.

  A middle-aged couple, immediately behind Lorenzo, were talking to him.

  ‘Hey, Lorenzo,’ yelled the man, ‘we old folk are going to put our feet up. Why don’t you and Calypso take that little shopping trip?’

  And now Helen noticed that Lorenzo looked uncomfortable. ‘I really have to be working, Mr Baxter,’ he said, trying to disentangle himself from Calypso without actually pushing her away. He failed.

  ‘I’ve told you, call me Dagwood.’

  ‘I have to work, Dagwood.’

  ‘Hey, what the hell! You’ve already taken a million off me. Relax. Have fun.’

  ‘My girlfriend will be arriving any minute.’ There was a desperate edge on Lorenzo’s voice that made the sun come out for Helen.

  ‘I don’t believe you have a girlfriend,’ Calypso teased. ‘You’re just playing hard to get.’ She giggled. ‘I like that in a man.’

  ‘I promise,’ Lorenzo said, ‘Helen is real. And she’ll be here.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Dagwood bellowed cheerfully. ‘Anyway, who needs her? A young guy should know how to enjoy himself, know what I mean?’ He gave an ugly wink. ‘Call her and put her off.’

  ‘I think I will just-make a call.’ Lorenzo freed his arm at last, and turned away from them into a corner, frantically pulling his mobile from his bag. Calypso shrugged and sauntered to the bar.

  Helen inched close enough to Lorenzo hear the ensuing conversation.

  ‘Elroys? Is Miss Angolini back yet?-You said that last time-but she hasn’t called me-no, no, you don’t understand, she can’t be on leave-Why? Because I have to talk to her. It’s a matter of life and death-no, it’s more important than that-’

  ‘Then you’d better tell me now,’ Helen said, amused.

  He nearly fainted.

  ‘How did you get there?’ he whispered, looking as though he’d seen a ghost.

  Helen put her palms together, genie style. ‘You rubbed the lamp, master, and here I am.’ She became herself again. ‘What is it that’s more important than life and death or-’ she cast a speaking glance at the Baxters ‘-can I guess?’

  ‘Helen, you’ve got to save me. That girl’s a piranha and she’s got me lined as the next meal. I can’t just tell her to get lost because her father is Dagwood Baxter of Baxter Consumables, and he’s given me a huge order. So I have to evade her subtly.’

  ‘Subtly? You?’

  ‘All right. Save the funnies! I have an order that’s going to make me look awfully good to Renato, but my virtue is under threat. I’m trying to protect them both.’

  ‘Which one is more important?’

  He gave her a baleful look.

  Helen was enjoying this more every minute, but she concealed her amusement to say, ‘She’s little more than a child. What’s her father doing?’

  ‘Everything he can to push us together. She’s the oldest eighteen you ever saw. She already has one divorce behind her. But to Dagwood Baxter she’s still his “little girl”. What Calypso wants, Calypso gets.’

  ‘And Calypso wants you, hmm?’

  ‘I’ve been dropping broad hints about my girlfriend, and calling you since last night, but you weren’t there.’ He sounded ill used.

  ‘I wasn’t there because I was on my way here,’ Helen pointed out.

  ‘You knew I needed you,’ he said, deeply moved. ‘And you came.’

  ‘I didn’t know, I-something made me come.’ The air seemed to be singing in her ears. It was coincidence, of course.

  Then irresistible temptation made her say, ‘I just can’t see you as a blushing violet. She’s a beautiful girl. Why not enjoy the situation?’

  For the first time she saw him angry. ‘That’s a stupid question,’ he flashed. ‘A really stupid, stupid question.’

  They regarded each other.

  ‘I guess it was,’ she said at last.

  ‘I’m glad we got that clear.’ He was still offended.

  ‘He’s coming over.’ Helen had seen Dagwood Baxter from the corner of her eye.

  ‘Then it’s time for action,’ Lorenzo muttered, and the next moment she was being enveloped in a crushing embrace. ‘Darling, how wonderful to see you.’

  His lips against hers made it impossible to answer. It was a practical kiss, given in answer to a desperate situation, and deliberately theatrical, to make a point. But underlying the theatrics was a serious intent that it would interesting to pursue later.

  He released her slowly, muttered, ‘Play up,’ and immediately switched on a brilliant smile. ‘Darling, let me introduce you to Dagwood Baxter, his wife Margaret and his daughter Calypso.’

  Helen mechanically made a suitable response, aware that she was being looked over by the Baxter family. Calypso greeted her sulkily, while her father seemed taken by surprise. Margaret Baxter’s manner was one of weary tolerance, as though her husband and daughter had become too much for her.

  It was she who, seeing the storm on Calypso’s face, suggested that the five of them have dinner together that evening.

  ‘I’d have preferred to be alone with you,’ Lorenzo confessed as they escaped afterwards, ‘but at least it’s better than being alone with that budding vampire.’

  ‘You’re scared,’ Helen chuckled.

  ‘You bet I am. I’m just a sweet old-fashioned boy. Mamma never taught me about girls like that.’

  ‘I’ll bet you found out for yourself, though.’

  ‘I’m going to rely on your protection,’ he said, sidestepping this.

  ‘She won’t be impressed by me.’

  ‘She will if you do it right. At dinner tonight, can you manage “clinging and possessive”?’

  ‘With an effort.’

  ‘Don’t take your eyes off me except to look daggers at your rival. Act like I’m a lord of creation.’

  ‘You’re pushing your luck,’ she told him frostily. ‘I’ll try, but frankly you don’t convince me as a lord of creation.’

  ‘That’s right. Kick a man when he’s down.’

  ‘Don’t tempt me. Anything else?’

  ‘Yes. Dress sexy.’

  ‘What kind of sexy?’

  ‘Sexy sexy. So that she’ll get the message and realise it’s hopeless.’

  ‘You conceited jerk,’ she exploded. ‘You impossible, self-centred, big-headed, puffed up, full of yourself-’

  ‘Will you do it?’

  ‘Yes!’

  She had a lot of fun picking out her dress from the hotel’s boutique. Her taste was excellent but tonight taste was out, and ‘blatant’ was in, so she chose a neckline that plunged in a deep V between her breasts and made a bra impossible.

  It was cream silk with a skirt that came to just above her knees, showing her long, elegant legs. Gold belt, gold earrings and matching gilt sandals completed the ensemble. She knew a brief qualm as she saw herself in the mirror, but what the heck!

  Lorenzo wanted sexy. She’d give him sexy.

  She was braced for his reaction when he saw her, but not for her own reaction at the sight of him in casual evening gear. Lorenzo liked to live well
and dress well, and he too had been exploring the hotel boutiques. Now he wore a beautiful white silk, embroidered evening shirt, open at the throat, just far enough to reveal a hint of smooth brown chest. It wouldn’t be hard to see him as a lord of creation, she thought. But hell would freeze over before she let him suspect that.

  ‘Will I do?’ she asked lightly.

  He drew a deep breath. ‘I think-you’ll do.’

  She was glad now that she’d taken the chance. It was worth anything to see the awed look in his eyes as he regarded her.

  ‘Then let’s go into action, O lord of creation.’

  Hand in hand they strolled through the hotel and out to the poolside restaurant where they were to eat. Their hosts were already there, and Dagwood immediately rose and took firm hold of Helen’s hand, declaring that she must sit with him. As there was only one chair beside him this left Lorenzo no choice but to sit beside Calypso.

  Helen had no problem sizing up Dagwood. He’d started with a small fortune and he’d built it up to a huge one, as he lost no time in telling her, then telling her again, and again. He was used to being able to buy anything and he expected things to continue that way.

  His wife was more interesting. With no influence on either her husband or daughter she centred her life on her hobby, which was words. The precise definition of words, and the proper use of apostrophes, occupied her whole attention, and she had been known to stop a conversation dead in its tracks by expatiating on the subject. Her husband habitually bullied her to conceal his awe of her.

  Helen had thought her own dress daring until she saw Calypso’s which plunged low at the top and high at the hem, until the two plunges came perilously close to meeting in the middle. Lorenzo, she was glad to note, was conscientiously averting his eyes, despite Calypso’s attempts to make this impossible.

  Dagwood worked hard to divert Helen’s attention from Lorenzo. He talked about himself, he made her talk about herself, he made her talk about Elroys, which she did dutifully until Maggie asked her whether that was Elroys with or without an apostrophe. After that it took a while for the talk to get started again. Lorenzo addressed a remark to Helen and Dagwood promptly demanded how long they’d known each other.