The bright sunshine blinded her—or something did. But she gained the edge of thepiazza, saw her car pulled up against the pavement, one of many parked there by the guests. Urgently she fumbled for her keys, pressing the button to unlock, yanking open the driver’s door.
An oath sounded behind her, running feet. Her arm was seized, her body hauled around.
Luca, his face black with fury, his hand closing over her other arm, was shaking her as if she were a rag held in his iron grip.
‘Howdareyou?’ he snarled. ‘I willdestroyyou for what you did!’
Fury filled him—a rage so black it was flooding his veins, blinding his vision. But it was not obliterating the face of the woman who had done what she had just done.
‘You vicious, jealous, destructivewitch!’
He shook her again, as if he could make her disintegrate before his eyes.
But she was throwing her head back.
‘I tried to talk to you! Itried! You wouldn’t let me! There was nothing else I could do—’
The words were falling from her, defensive, vehement. Her eyes were distending, her face contorted.
He heard her take a ragged breath, plunge on.
‘You wouldn’t let me talk to you—warn you—’
‘Warnme?’
Fury flooded him again. His mouth twisted derisively. He saw her face blench and was glad of it. Savagely glad.
‘Warn me that you were so twisted and vicious that you would think nothing of destroying the wedding day of a completely innocent woman! Hurl at me a monstrouslie!’ His mouth twisted. ‘You’re no more pregnant than a nun! I damn well used protection—’
His hands dropped away. To touch her, even in anger, was to taint him.
His eyes scored hers. ‘Well?’ he demanded, and there was ice in his voice now, not fury. ‘Are you pregnant? Tell me to my face.’
Slowly, he saw her shake her head, and he felt again that fury engorge in his throat. His mouth twisted and he stepped away. It was not safe for him to be this close to her...
‘Get out,’ he said softly. It was a softness that he saw made her blench again. ‘Get out. And if youevercome near my bride again, I’ll—’
She gave a cry, throwing herself into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut, but opening the window. ‘Youcan’tmarry her now! Youcan’t!’
He leant forward, menace in every line of his body. ‘I will do,’ he said, ‘exactly what I wish. I will tell her you were lying through your teeth in your despicable claim!’
‘No! Youwon’t! Because Mia is mycousin—and if youdareto think of marrying her now I will tell her what happened in New York! She willnevermarry you then!Never!’
He heard her fire the ignition, the throaty roar of the powerful engine silencing everything except the shock slicing across his brain. She shot off into the narrow cobbled street and he watched her go.
There was blackness in his soul.
And deadly, deadly rage.
Ariana was in her apartment over her office and showroom in a fashionable street in Lucca. She was staring at the text Mia had sent. It was simple, and brief.
Thank you with all my heart.
She felt sick.
Shakily, she flicked off the screen, dropping the phone on her bedside table. She was in a dressing gown, her hair wet around her shoulders. She’d been in the shower for half an hour, as if she might sluice from her body the memory of what she’d done that day. What she’dhadto do.
Scandal, outrage—lies.