CHAPTER ONE
THEFAMILIARMUSICbegan and behind him Cesare heard a hush descend on the packed church. Not a complete silence, for even over the triumphant swell of music came the sound of hundreds of whispers and the rustle of designer dresses as people turned towards the entrance.
Cesare waited, eyes straight ahead, as if taking in the gilded pomp of the renaissance interior.
But his thoughts were elsewhere. On the events which had culminated in today’s ceremony. The circumstances, some predictable, others unforeseen, all compelling. All pushing him to this moment.
A collective sigh gathered behind him, and it felt as if the air in the vast space thickened. The scent from the elaborate floral arrangements grew more intense and the bone-white candles flickered in their silver candelabras.
The priest flicked him a look and Cesare knew it was time to turn.
Finally he swung around, his eyes going unerringly to the figure halfway up the aisle.
Now he understood the sighs.
Ida Montrose looked ethereal, floating down the aisle in a long, gauzy dress that looked held together by wisps of lace.
There was lace too on the veil that covered her face and draped her shoulders. But through it he saw the golden-red gleam of her hair and the huge pools of her eyes.
He hadn’t meant to, but he couldn’t stop his gaze dropping. Pausing at the sweet swell of her breasts, barely covered by white lace, down to a waist so narrow his fingers twitched at the thought of spanning it.
The dress clung to her neat hips then fell in folds of transparent fabric and lace that made her look like a cross between a flower fairy and a lingerie model.
Cesare’s body responded accordingly. With a thudding pulse of heat that plunged from his chest to his suddenly aching groin.
His lungs stopped as he imagined his hands on her. Big hands ruthlessly parting those insubstantial layers to reveal satiny skin. Eager hands palming her pale body and preparing her for his possession.
Heat shot through him like flames through a petrol-soaked bonfire. Moisture beaded his hairline and nape while a jab of pain told him he was clenching his jaw in the effort of control.
This wouldn’t do. He had a solemn ceremony to get through under the watchful gaze of Europe’s oldest families and monied elite.
He yanked his gaze away from his bride to the man walking down the aisle beside her. White-haired, wearing a satisfied grin. Fausto Calogero.
It might be years since the man had frequented Rome, but he nodded and smiled as if he knew half the high-born guests, his chest thrust out in pride.
Cesare took a slow breath and schooled his features.
He didn’t fool himself that after today he’d be able to ignore the man. But as of today, things would change. Cesare would make sure of that.
The pair paused at the bottom of the steps and Cesare’s attention snapped back to his bride-to-be. She was so close he saw the puff of movement as her breath stirred the veil, and the way the pure white lilies and orange blossom trembled in her hands.
But her chin was high, and he felt her gaze on him.
She wanted this wedding and so did he.
Cesare let his expression ease into a smile of pure anticipation.
Soon he’d have exactly what he wanted.
Ida should be exhausted.
She’d barely slept the night before and today’s formalities had gone on for ever.
First, she’d had to run the gauntlet of her grandfather’s eagle-eyed inspection. He’d paid for her to be turned out in style and that gave him the right to bark orders at the coterie of dressers, make-up artists, hairstylists and even the poor florists who’d attended her.
It hadn’t occurred to Ida to suggest howshe’dlike to look on her wedding day. Or object that the flesh-coloured backing in her diaphanous gown made her look like a raunchy parody of the virginal bride her grandfather had intended.
You didn’t argue with Fausto Calogero.