Page 11 of Innocent's Wedding Day with the Italian

‘Yourmother?’

Another, terser nod.

‘But...’ She swallowed and shook her head. ‘She helped choose the design for my wedding dress. She helped plan the menu. She chose the wines to pair with each course.’ Rebecca was aware of an hysterical tinge coming into her voice but could do nothing to stop it. ‘She lent me her grandmother’s wedding tiara for my something borrowed! Why would she do all that and then sabotage everything at the last minute? It makes no sense. Why would she do all that if she didn’t want me to marry you?’

‘You misunderstand her motives,’ he said emotionlessly. ‘She had no objection to you marrying me. She objected to me marryingyouunder what she considered to be a falsehood.’

‘Why?She must have known what would happen.’ She slammed her hand to her chest in a futile attempt to control a heart that had lost the ability to thump rhythmically. If it had been anyone else but his mother she’d be cheering them to the rafters and planning the delivery of a crate of champagne as a thank you. But his mother? His ownmother?

His nod that time was so sharp it could slice butter.

‘She knew I wouldn’t go through with the wedding?’

‘She never does anything without considering every eventuality. In that respect, I am my mother’s son.’

‘But...’ But Rebecca’s overloaded mind had gone blank. Legs feeling like noodles, she dropped onto the egg chair and tried to make sense of her thoughts.

Enzo’s deep, velvet voice laced with bitterness broke the silence. ‘Telling her was a mistake on my part.’

‘Then why did you?’ she whispered.

His gaze searched hers through the violet sky. ‘Guilt.’

Her laughter was unbidden and tart. ‘Guilt? You? Now I’ve heard everything.’

He was on his feet and standing in front of her before she could even blink.

The emerging moonlight made the bronze of his skin more marble-like than ever, his beautiful bone structure carved slashes by the sculptor who’d created him... But the hand that clasped hers was warm flesh and the blaze in his eyes a reminder of the passion that lurked beneath that sculpted surface.

Leaning his face into hers, his taut features became darkly animated. ‘Look into my eyes and tell me I am lying.’

The heat from Enzo’s breath matched the look in his eyes, and for an impossibly long moment Rebecca found herself caught in the magnetism that had ensnared her all those months ago from the very first glance. Ensnared her completely. Her pulses jumping, the ache deep in her pelvis that had started when he’d entered her life flared with brilliant, needy colour but as her gaze drifted down to his mouth, a sharpness tightened in her chest and she snatched her hand away.

Turning her face away too, she said with as much strength as she could muster, ‘I thought we’d already established that your Pinocchio skills are top-notch.’

A finger brushed her cheek bone. An involuntary shiver laced her spine, and she had to clench her hands into fists to stop them reaching to wrap around him, and tighten her core to stop herself leaning forwards to press her cheek against the comfort of his solid chest. So many evenings spent wrapped in his arms, her body fizzing with unfulfilled desire but the strong, rhythmic thuds of his heart against her ear making the heat of it bearable. In his arms, Rebecca had felt a sense of safety that had been missing since her parents’ deaths. Enzo had unshackled the chains of her grief and given her the tools to see beyond the day to tomorrow. He’d given her an anchor to the world she hadn’t known she’d become unmoored from.

And now she was rudderless again. The anchor had been nothing but an illusion.

He stepped away from her. From the corner of her eye she saw him sit on the lawn facing her.

When she finally dared to look at him, the expression on his face turned the tightness in her chest into a physical pain.

Long legs stretched out before him, he’d propped himself semi-upright with his hands flat on the ground behind him, his black T-shirt straining over his muscular torso. Gazing at her, he quietly said, ‘If I could do it all again I would do it differently. There would be no lies.’

Her chest hurt too much for the retort she wanted to throw at him to form.

His lips twitched then twisted into a grim smile. ‘I told my mother the truth the night before you moved here.’

‘You mean the night before I quit my career and the only home I’ve known so I could move to a country whose language I don’t speak.’

He inclined his head slowly. ‘Sì. I knew what you were giving up. The closer the day got, the more I felt it.’

‘Felt what?’ She wanted him to spell out exactly how his guilt had felt to him. Maybe he could spell it sufficiently well that she actually believed it.

‘The...’ He grasped for the right word. ‘Magnitude?’

Enzo’s T-shirt had risen up, exposing his naked navel. Thick dark hair arrowed down to the belt of his jeans. A rush of heated awareness flooding her, Rebecca hastily averted her eyes.

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