The Valtieri Marriage Deal (10 page)

‘It will be a proper wedding,’ he told her firmly. ‘It will just be quiet. Please,
cara.
Do this for me. Marry me in Tuscany—we can have a quiet wedding there.’

‘Very quiet,’ she insisted.

‘Of course. Just our families and maybe a few close friends.’

She nodded. ‘I’m sorry—I know it’s probably not at all what you had in mind.’

‘Tesoro,
none of this is what I had in mind, but it’s all negotiable, and if this is what you would like, then it’s what we’ll have. We can have a civil wedding in the town hall followed by a church blessing and a small reception. OK?’

‘Won’t your mother mind?’

He laughed softly. ‘It’s not up to my mother. It’s our
wedding, we’ll have what we want. I won’t tell them yet, though. I’ll save it until we get there. And now I’m going to leave you to rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

He stood up, drew her into his arms and kissed her tenderly, then wrapped her firmly against his chest. ‘Just a few more weeks,
cara,’
he murmured, and eased away from her, kissing her fleetingly once more before letting himself out of the house and closing the door, leaving her alone to wonder what on earth she’d talked herself into.

‘You’re doing
what?’

‘Going to Italy with Luca to meet his family, and to plan our wedding.’

‘Ohmigod, you jammy thing!’ Sarah exclaimed, her eyes filling. ‘Oh, that’s fantastic!’

Was it? Fantastic, to be planning a wedding when she was pregnant with his child?

Yes, actually, she realised, it was—not that Sarah knew about that, because they’d agreed not to tell anyone yet, but the baby was getting more real with every hour that passed, and Luca was spoiling her rotten. She still wouldn’t yield on the clothes, though, and so she enlisted Sarah’s help. ‘I need your advice. I’m going to need lots more clothes for when I go to meet them, and I want decent ones, but I won’t let him buy them for me.’

‘You must be mad. I’d let him. Hell, any man that wants to take me shopping can have me. The only place I get to go these days with a man is the supermarket, and that’s only to make sure I buy him enough meat! For heaven’s sake, Izzie, he’s going to be your husband!’

‘Shh!’ Isabelle chuckled and shook her head. ‘Not too
loud, we’re not broadcasting it. Anyway, I’m not letting him do it, so what can I do on a shoestring?’

‘Charity shops. I know just the one,’ Sarah said, her eyes alight. ‘There’s a woman who brings the most gorgeous things in, and they’re too tall and too tight for me, but they’d fit you perfectly, and they’re fabulous. Some of them still have tags on. We’ll go tomorrow.’

So they did, and by a stroke of luck they arrived just a few minutes after another consignment from the mystery lady.

And they were a perfect fit. Half an hour later, Isabelle emerged with three dresses, four tops, a jacket, another pair of trousers—and there were even a pair of Jimmy Choos in her size that looked unworn, and the prices were ridiculous. Even so, she’d still spent part of her re-roofing budget, but not nearly as much as if she’d gone to the designers directly—and the charity would benefit, which was an added bonus.

‘Oh, you’re so lucky, I love those shoes,’ Sarah said wistfully. ‘Oh, you’re going to look fabulous.’

‘I hope so. I really don’t want to let him down.’

‘Don’t be absurd! How on earth could you let him down? Who the hell
is
he? Anyway, you’re wonderful. He should consider himself lucky to have you.’

Isabelle didn’t bother to explain. She wasn’t sure she really knew, anyway, and she just hoped that yesterday’s fashion would be good enough.

He was waiting on her doorstep when she arrived home with a carrier bag in each hand emblazoned with the name of the charity.

‘Where have you been?’ he asked curiously.

‘Shopping,’ she said, cursing her luck that he should have been there so she couldn’t smuggle the things into her house without him knowing.

He frowned at the bags. ‘In a charity shop?’

‘Why not? If I’m having to buy clothes for Italy, I can’t afford to do everything in the high street shops,’ she said, aware of how distinctly frugal she was being with the truth, but he just frowned.

‘You went to a charity shop for clothes to wear to meet my family?’ he said, looking appalled, and she met his eyes defiantly.

‘It’s called recycling. Very environmentally sound.’ And cheaper by miles.

‘But I offered—’

‘I know. And I declined. Besides, it’s pointless spending a fortune because they won’t fit me for long, and I hate waste. Do you have a problem with that?’

His mouth opened, then snapped shut. ‘No. No problem,’ he said through clenched teeth, and she suppressed a smile.

‘Good. Just so we both know where we stand. Don’t worry, it’s all really good stuff, I won’t disgrace you.’

‘I didn’t think you would for a moment.’

‘Good. What’s in your shopping bag?’

‘Food. Some of it could do with going in the freezer. Luckily it’s not warm out here.’

She felt a pang of guilt and quickly suppressed it. She hadn’t been expecting him, hadn’t asked him to shop for her, and it was in no way her fault that he was there mid-way through the afternoon. Then she remembered he’d been on call last night and this was his afternoon off, and then she did feel guilty, because he was probably exhausted.

‘You should have rung me.’

‘I did. You weren’t answering your phone.’

Just then it let out a series of beeps, and she pulled it out and found several messages about missed calls from him. ‘Sorry. I must have been on the Tube. Come on in. I’ll put the kettle on.’

‘I’ll do it. Go and hang up your things.’

He went into the kitchen, inwardly seething, and listened to her pottering upstairs with her charity shop finds—charity shop, of all things!—while he put the shopping away and made them tea, dropping the tea bag in the bin just as she ran back downstairs.

‘Perfect timing. Here—it’s ginger and lemon.’

‘Thanks. So—have you had a nice afternoon?’ she asked brightly.

‘Busy. I’ve booked the flights for Friday morning. We need to be at the airport at six-thirty. I take it your passport’s valid?’

She nodded numbly.

‘Good. We’re going via Pisa because my car’s in Firenze. I’ll get it delivered to the airport ready for us.’

She caught her jaw in time. Get it delivered? It was slowly beginning to dawn on her what she was getting herself into, and she felt a shiver of apprehension. Maybe she should have let him take her to Harrods—or not.

This way, at least, her pride would be intact, and she was reasonably confident she wouldn’t disgrace him, but—Friday? Dear heaven.

T
HEY TOUCHED DOWN
late in the morning on a gloriously sunny day, and Isabelle was never more glad to be back on land in her life.

Her legs were wobbly, her heart was pounding and she’d struggled with nausea for the entire flight. And now they were standing outside the airport in the brilliant early March sunshine, and all she wanted was to go somewhere still and quiet and lie down for a while until the vibrations had gone from her body and her heart had slowed.

Not that that was likely to happen in a hurry. She was on a knife-edge, filled with apprehension over meeting Luca’s family, no matter how wonderful and welcoming and marvellous he said they were.

‘Come on, let’s get you home,’ he said, and she nearly laughed hysterically. Home? Her safe, cosy little house in Herne Hill with its shabby décor and tired furniture that she couldn’t afford to update, with its roof in need of attention and its tiny courtyard garden filled with pots that she would plant up later in the year—that was home.

‘Isabella?
Are you all right,
cara?’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘We’ll take the main road, it’s quicker. They’re expecting us for a late lunch.’

Her stomach turned over at the thought, but she didn’t know if it was lunch or the family which worried her more. She fell into step beside him as he towed the luggage across to the short-stay car park and unlocked his car—the outrageously sexy Italian sports job she’d last been in when he’d brought her here all those weeks before, after the night that had changed both their lives forever.

‘So how did you get your car here?’ she asked, still amazed by that ridiculous detail and trying to focus on something other than the upcoming meeting.

‘I had it dropped off by the garage where I store it if I’m out of the country,’ he said, and stashed their cases in the boot before settling her into the seat. The leather was warm, and she relaxed back against it with a little sigh.

‘All right,
cara?’

‘I will be. The turbulence was a bit much.’

There had hardly been any, he thought, but she’d looked doggedly out of the window for the entire journey, her face chalk white, and he wondered if it had been the turbulence or if she was just nervous. Not that she normally seemed a nervous person. Rather the opposite, but he guessed there was a lot going on today and he already knew she wasn’t a good flyer. Still, the flight was over now, and there was only the drive left. With a quick glance into his mirror, he pulled out into the traffic and set off for home.

His parents were expecting them, but he hadn’t told them anything about Isabelle because he didn’t want them making a great fuss and putting on some massive welcoming committee that would scare her off. He was just happy that she was
here, that he’d got her here at all. She was tense enough as it was without any added fuss.

He put his hand on her leg and gave it a quick squeeze, and she glanced across at him and smiled fleetingly.

It was all she could manage. Her stomach was in knots, and the nearer they got to his home, the worse it became. Thank God the main A1 Rome road was smooth, although it twisted and turned and plunged from time to time into long, dark tunnels as it wove through the Tuscan hills.

Then they turned off onto the twisting little minor road that wriggled its way through the beautiful rolling countryside, the picture-postcard landscape of Tuscany unfolding in front of her, with the avenues of cypress trees like sentries along the roads, the little hilltop towns sprinkled along the way keeping guard against the Florentine invasion.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she said softly, staring out at the scene so familiar from postcards and paintings that it was almost a cliché now, and yet in the flesh she found she loved it, and the tension started to leave her, taking the nausea with it.

‘It’s my favourite place in the world,’ he told her. ‘And not just because it’s home. It’s also very beautiful in a stark, rather severe way, but there are problems here, of course, which the tourists don’t see. It’s hard to keep the young people here in the old towns. There’s nothing for them. Agriculture is dependent on the weather, and not everyone wants to make wine or olive oil or cheese, or act as a guide for the tourists. So they go to the cities—to Siena, to Firenze, to Pisa—or further, maybe, to Roma or Milano, and so the elderly lose their support and the schools lack children.’

‘But your family are still here, and you keep coming back.’

‘We belong here,’ he said simply, and with a sudden shock
she realised it was true, that this was his home, and if she’d imagined that when they got married she could talk him into living a cosy little life in London away from his family, she was almost certainly deluded.

And beautiful though the landscape was, she couldn’t imagine it feeling like home, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

He decided to go straight to the lodge so she could rest and freshen up before going to meet the family, but when he turned onto the drive he could see cars over there clustered in front of the building. Several cars—or vans. Workmen?

Damn. That meant it was out of action, and of course the alternative to being in the lodge was to be in his usual room in the house, with her in the adjoining room. Damn. At least in the lodge they’d have had a bit more privacy, which was why he’d suggested it, and he much preferred the simplicity of the lodge.

Not that the privacy was an issue, and maybe it would be easier in the house to maintain a little more distance. It had been an unwritten rule that whatever any of them did, they would be discreet and not subject the family to their romantic entanglements until they were married. And so far, only Massimo and his sister Carla had tied the knot. The rest of them—Gio, Anna and Serena—were still single. And him, of course, at the moment. But not for much longer.

Beside him, Isabelle sat up a little straighter. ‘Are we nearly there?’

‘Yes, but we can’t stay at the lodge. There are vans outside—it must be being decorated or something.’

She turned her head towards him. ‘So where will we stay?’

‘In my parents’ house.’

She looked ahead along the curving drive lined by an avenue of trademark cypress trees, but the only buildings she could see were a village in the distance and a huge stone edifice, more like a castle than a house. A fortress? Or a fortified hill town, but so small it only had this gravel road to it? That was what it looked like. A little fortified hill town. But of course his parents’ house was also a farm, so perhaps that was the house and the farm buildings and all the offices and workers’ accommodation. That would make sense.

And maybe it would be smaller close up. She’d find out soon enough, she told herself as they drove along the gravel track and up the hill.

‘Massimo will be here—he runs the family business and lives here with his children. He’s a single parent—he lost his wife shortly after their third child was born—she had a brain haemorrhage.’

‘Oh, how dreadful! How old are the children?’

‘Eight, five and three, or something like that. I don’t know. They grow up so fast. They live in a wing of the house.’

A wing? So maybe it wouldn’t be smaller…

‘Gio’s here, too,’ he said, as they went through a great archway into an area at the front of the huge building and pulled up beside a black Ferrari. ‘I thought he might come to check you out. Come on. Let’s go in.’

She opened the door and got out, transfixed by the size of the building. So much for her idea that it might be smaller than it appeared. It was truly huge, even larger close up, great sweeping steps climbing to the huge double doors on the first floor, and as she stared at the forbidding and impressive entrance, the door opened and an elderly man hobbled down the steps towards them, holding out his hands in welcome.

‘Signore!’
he cried, and she realised in shock that this man must be the archetypal ancient retainer, and this enormous edifice, this monumental building, was Luca’s family home.

Luca turned towards him with a smile and took his outstretched hands, touched as ever by the warmth of the old man’s greeting.

‘Roberto! It’s good to see you again. How are you?’

‘I am well,
Signore.
And you?’

‘Very well, thank you. Is my mother inside?’

‘Si, Signore.
And your father. They’re expecting you, and your brothers are with them. Carlotta said to tell you lunch will keep until you’re ready.’

‘Good. Thank you.’ He switched to English for Isabelle’s benefit. ‘Roberto, let me introduce you to a friend of mine, Isabelle Thompson. She’ll be a guest with us for a few days.’

Roberto’s eyes swivelled to her, standing very still a little behind Luca, and he hauled himself up straighter and beamed a welcome.
‘Signorina,’
he said gravely, bowing low, ‘Welcome to the Palazzo Valtieri.’ And then he turned back to Luca, and embraced him. ‘It’s good to see you again,’ he said, reverting to Italian. ‘You’ve been gone too long. Carlotta is very excited. She’s busy cooking for you.’

Luca laughed softly. ‘Thank you.’

‘Now I will take your luggage upstairs.’

‘No. I’ll do it. I’ll take Isabelle up and let her change and freshen up, and then we’ll go and meet my parents. Just tell Carlotta we’re here—oh, and get some Prosecco on ice. We have something to celebrate.’

‘Si, Signore.
At once!’ And he scurried off, shaking his head and grinning from ear to ear.

‘Right. Let’s go and find my parents,’ he said.

‘Do you supply maps?’ she asked a little drily, and he gave a tired laugh.

‘It’s not that big.’

‘Not? Luca, don’t be ridiculous! It’s enormous!’ Isabelle exclaimed, still reeling. ‘I mean, I knew it would be big, but this is crazy! Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because it’s nothing to do with anything.’

She rolled her eyes and glared at him. ‘Luca, you have
servants!
Youliveina
palazzo,
for heaven’s sake! That is not
nothing!’

She climbed the first few steps, staring around her and taking it all in, her heart pounding.

It was stunning. Absolutely stunning. Huge terracotta pots containing what looked like olive trees flanked the broad steps which led to the massive dark wooden doors in the centre of the house, and tall windows were arranged symmetrically in three rows across the front, taking advantage of the spectacular view. At roof level, high up over the front door, was what looked like a massive mantel clock with a fine black iron frame above it supporting a brass bell.

And then she thought of her little house that he’d been so damning about, and the pre-nuptial agreement she’d asked him to sign before their marriage, and she wanted to die of humiliation.

She didn’t feel so much out of her depth as nailed to the bottom of the ocean, and she was furious with him for not warning her. Or with herself for not having worked it out. She felt so ill prepared, so stupid, so totally unready for this whole meeting that she could have wept.

But she wouldn’t. She was made of sterner stuff than that. Instead she tucked her bag under her arm and went down to the
back of the car where Luca had removed the cases from the boot. Thank God for Sarah and her charity shop, she thought, and reached for her case, only to receive a warning growl.

‘I’ll take that. You’re not carrying anything except the baby,’ he said firmly, and she gave in. Let him carry it, if it made him feel good. She didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead she straightened her shoulders and followed him up the steps and through the great heavy entrance doors.

She wasn’t going to cry, and she wasn’t going to waste her energy arguing. She was busy saving it for the coming confrontation, when his parents met her and realised that their son had brought home a plain, very ordinary and slightly pregnant Englishwoman for their inspection.

Oh, well. Look on the bright side. At least the baby didn’t show yet…

‘They’ll be in the salon overlooking the garden,’ he told her. ‘Would you like to take a shower and change into something fresh before we go and join them?’

She was staring around her at the frescoed walls of the colonnaded logia around the central courtyard as he led her through the villa to the main stairs, and she looked utterly overawed. ‘Please,’ she said quietly, and he felt a prickle of guilt for the fact that she’d had to travel when she still wasn’t feeling good—but what was he to have done?

Flying at this stage wouldn’t hurt her or the baby, and he was keen to introduce her to his family and let her see the home that he loved so much—the home he hoped to return to at some point in the future. And he badly wanted her to love it at least a little.

‘Maybe I should let you rest—go and talk to them myself first.’

‘Warn them about me, you mean?’ she said drily, and he grimaced.

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘But it’s what you’ll have to do, Luca. They don’t know anything about me, never mind that I’m pregnant—they’ll be so upset.’

‘No. They’ll love you.’ As I do.

The thought shocked him into immobility for a moment, but she didn’t notice. She was busy studying the frescoes on the stairs, her face growing more and more serious.

‘These are wonderful, Luca. This must be a really important house.’

He pulled himself together. ‘It may have been one of the Medici villas. The provenance is a little uncertain, and it had a chequered history before my ancestors acquired it. It’s been in my family for over three hundred years.’

She was silent then until he led her into the bedroom adjoining his, and again she stared around in shock. As well she might, he thought, because in comparison to the frescoed halls, it was almost monastic in its simplicity, and that was the way he liked it.

There were no plastered ceilings in this part of the house, just terracotta tiles between the beams to match the floors, and the walls were white.