Page 40 of My Fake Italian Marriage

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There were a surprising number of cars parked on the drive in front of the house when they returned to the Fioravanti estate. Luca drove past them, frowning, and parked in the underground garage behind the house. His parents hadn’t told him they would be entertaining.

They headed inside, leaving Cleo’s suitcase in the marble-floored entrance hall to carry upstairs later. Voices drifted out of the Blue Salon. Shrugging in response to Cleo’s enquiring look, he led the way, stepping through the wide double doors to find the greater part of his extended family gathered inside. Aunts, uncles, cousins. Pierina and Stoyan. Even Great Uncle Luciano’s last wife, Birgitta.

“Zio Luca!” A child of about four threw herself at him, clasping onto his leg, while another, smaller toddler waddled closer, trailing a well-loved toy rabbit. Camillo’s children. Camillo lived in Pienza now, and only visited on special occasions. What the hell were they all doing here?

“Surprise!” His mother beamed from the sofa where she held court like a queen among her courtiers.

“What’s the occasion?” Luca eyed the sparkling Lambrusco and glasses waiting ready on a serving tray. The toddler lifted his plump arms, and Luca swung him up onto his hip.

His mother rose and glided to his side, leaning in to kiss him on both cheeks. “You are!”

A few signed distributor deals weren’t worth this much fuss. It happened every year. Confused, he looked to his father, seated in his wheelchair beside the long sofa.

“We heard your news,” his mother said, looking from him to Cleo and back.

“Our news?” Luca asked blankly.

“We never thought to see you married! You have made us so happy!” She swatted his arm playfully. “Even if you have done me out of yet another wedding in this house. But I can live with that disappointment knowing that you have finally found someone to love.”

Cavolo!Beside him, Cleo choked. She’d clearly understood enough of his mother’s speech to get the gist. Her cheeks turned pink, and she glared daggers at him. He didn’t need to be a mind-reader to know she was thinking “I told you so” at him.

“I’m not… We’re…” Luca paused to clear his throat but before he could manage a word, his father spoke from across the room, his voice sounding stronger and more vibrant than it had in weeks.

“We couldn’t be happier to know you have finally found love and settled down, even if you did sneak away to get married.” Then he pushed himself up out of the wheelchair and crossed the room to Luca.

Luca set the toddler back on his own feet, blinking away the sudden burn of tears in his eyes to see his father so much better. Babbo’s cheeks appeared less gaunt, his colour healthier.

His father gripped his arm, and no one but the two of them would know how his father leaned on him, borrowing his strength.

Over his father’s shoulder, he looked at Cleo, who had composed her face into a mask, her narrowed eyes the only sign of displeasure. She arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to correct this terrible assumption.

But he couldn’t. Not yet, not in front of a room full of obviously delighted people, and his father who looked as if the news had breathed fresh life into him. He sent her a pleading look, begging her to understand.

Then his mother, in a rare display of emotion, hugged Cleo, kissing her on both cheeks, and pulled her into the room, no doubt to introduce her to the overwhelming number of relatives gathered to meet her.

Luca laid a hand over his father’s where it lay on his arm. “Babbo, we’ve had a long drive. Cleo and I need a moment to freshen up before we join the party.”

His father smiled and nodded, then faced the room, his presence every bit as commanding as it had ever been. “The newlyweds want a moment alone,” he announced to the room, in Italian. “Pepe, pour the sparkling wine in the meantime.”

Camillo’s partner, Pepe, moved to pop open the bubbly, and Luca held out his hand to Cleo. She jumped to take it, like grabbing at a lifeline, and he pulled her out the room as fast as he could. She didn’t say a word until they reached the entrance hall.

“I could murder Vincenzo,” she hissed. “I told you this would happen! Lies always have a way of catching up.” She blew out a long, steadying breath. “How can they believe we’re married? We’ve barely known each other a couple of weeks!”

“My parents were married just a few weeks after they met,” Luca explained. And it had been love at first sight for his brother too. “It happens.”

She eyed him sceptically. “Well, you can walk right back in there and tell them it was all a big misunderstanding.” She hefted up her suitcase. “I’m going to take a long, hot shower, and hope that by the time I get out you’ve fixed this.”

She began to climb the stairs, and he hurried after her, taking the steps two at a time. “Wait!”

She paused to face him.

“We could use this to our advantage. If my father thinks I’ve married, he’ll be more willing to hand over the business.” He flashed her a grin. “He’ll see you as one of the family and be less likely to fight for control of the vineyard.”

She set her suitcase down. “Are you insane? We can’t pretend to be married. The wine show was one thing, but this affects our real lives. When I go back to London in a few weeks, what are you going to tell everyone? Will you tell them the truth? That this was all a con?”

“I will tell them that you came to your senses and left me. No one who knows me will be surprised.”

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