Ariana’s frown deepened.
Luca eased the gears of his car, a top-of-the-range sleek, silver-grey saloon, and moved off along the long gravel drive away from Tomaso’spalazzo. Satisfaction filled him. And much more than that.
Relief—was that what he was feeling? Relief that he had finally achieved what he had longed for all his life?
Ahead, the wrought-iron gates, electronically controlled, started to open. But it wasn’t because he was leaving. A car was turning into the drive, an open-topped sports car of a type popular with female drivers, in an eye-catching royal blue. It threw up gravel as it made the turn, accelerating forward to pass his car by. The driver was, as he’d expected, a woman, wearing a bright red suit, her head covered by a matching scarf. She had on huge sunglasses, her hands on the wheel in red leather gloves. She drove fast and purposefully, ignoring his presence.
He slowed to let her by, then found his eyes going to his rear-view mirror as she disappeared towards thepalazzo. He frowned. Had there been something familiar about her?
He dismissed the thought, turning on to the highway and thinking no more about it. Dwelling, instead, on the woman from whom he’d just taken his leave.
His brand-new, absolutely perfect fiancée.
His ideal woman.
‘What haveyoucome here for?’
Ariana’s grandfather’s voice was harsh, his demand far from welcoming her arrival. Ariana shrugged, ignoring his reproof—because what else could she do?—peeling off her red driving gloves and removing her dark glasses.
‘Mia asked me,’ she replied, keeping her tone equable.
She tried not to rile her grandfather, though she knew that her very presence—her very existence—did so. She was after all, she thought, with a mingled stab of bitterness and pain, living proof of his errant daughter’s unforgivable folly in not doing what he’d wanted her to do—making a suitable and well-bred match of his choosing. She had run away with a feckless wastrel instead.
Her grandfather’s expression changed. Became pleased instead of disapproving. ‘Hah! So she has told you her news? Well, go and congratulate her!’
Ariana halted in mid-removal of her headscarf. ‘Congratulate her?’ she echoed in a hollow voice.
‘Of course! She is to be married!’
Her grandfather’s voice was rich with approval. With satisfaction.
‘Married?’Ariana felt shock reverberate through her. ‘I had no idea...’ she said limply.
Was this why she texted me? It must be—but she gave no hint of it!
Mixed emotions jarred within her. If Mia was getting married, that would explain why she longed to see her, as she’d put in her email. Ariana frowned. But then why would she have addedI feel very alone just now?
‘Where is she?’ she asked her grandfather.
‘Out in the garden—the gazebo,’ her grandfather replied. Adding, ‘The ideal place for a girl to receive a proposal!’ he added, still in that voice registering strong approval.
Ariana’s eyes widened. ‘She’s just got engagednow?’ she asked.
‘Yes, yes!’ Her grandfather nodded irritably. His expression tightened. ‘And it is as well you did not come any earlier. I would not have had her fiancé set eyes onyou! He left just in time.’
Refusing to feel stung by her grandfather’s criticism of her—when had she ever pleased him?—Ariana made the connection his words had instigated. That car she’d passed on her way in—sleek, black, with tinted windows. Her cousin’s fiancé...
So, who?
Well, she wouldn’t ask her grandfather.
Telling him she’d go and find Mia, she headed through the series of wide French windows opening off the grandsalonito theterrazzobeyond. The gazebo was situated on the edge of the huge stone pond, overlooking the regimented gardens with their straight pathways, severely clipped topiary and classical statues—not a garden for running about in or playing. But then her grandfather had considered any outdoor activity to be unfeminine, other than sedate walks up and down the gravelled paths.
The gazebo, at least, had been regarded as an acceptable destination, provided she and Mia had taken a suitable book with them to read there. Sometimes, when he had been particularly pleased with Mia, she’d been allowed to take her dolls and have a pretend tea party. Only when Mia had begged—prettily and gratefully—had Ariana been allowed to share in such a treat.
Ariana’s expression was poignant. Mia had always been a sweet, sensitive soul. And she still was, Ariana knew only too well.
Please, please, let this engagement be welcome to her! Please let her text have been so agitated simply because she’s feeling emotionally overwhelmed!