The Italian's Bought Bride

‘And what of Stefano?’ Isabel raised her eyebrows. ‘He would be humiliated.’

Allegra bit her lip. She’d loved him. At least, she’d thought she did. Or had she simply been caught up in the fairy tale, just as her mother said?

Life wasn’t like that. She knew that now.

‘I don’t want to create a spectacle,’ she whispered. ‘I want to go quietly.’ She nibbled her lip, tried not to imagine the future ahead of her, looming large and unknowable. ‘I could write him a letter, explaining. If you tell him tomorrow—tell Papa—’

‘Yes,’ Isabel agreed after a short, telling pause, her face a blank mask, ‘I could do that.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Allegra, can you give this up? Your home, your friends, the life you’ve been groomed to lead? You won’t be allowed back. I won’t risk my own position for you.’

Allegra blinked at her mother’s obvious and cold-hearted warning. She looked around her room. Suddenly everything seemed so beautiful, so precious. So fleeting. She sat hunched on her bed, hugging her old patched, pink teddy bear to her chest. In her mind she heard Stefano’s voice, warm and confident.

Tomorrow is…a new beginning, for both of us.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was overreacting. If she talked to Stefano, asked him…

Asked him what? The answer she’d been hoping for, desperate for, but he’d failed to give. He hadn’t told her he loved her; he’d reprimanded her for asking the question in the first place.

There could be no future with him.

And yet what future was there for her without Stefano?

‘I don’t know what to do,’ she whispered, her voice cracking. ‘Mama, I don’t know.’ She looked up at her mother with wide, tear-filled eyes, expecting even now for Isabel to touch her, comfort her. Yet there was no comfort from her mother, just as there never had been. Her face looked as if it were carved from the coldest, whitest marble. Isabel gave a little impatient shrug. Allegra took a deep breath. ‘What would you have done? If you’d had a choice back then? Would you still have married Papa?’

Her mother’s eyes were hard, her mouth a grim line. ‘No.’

Allegra jerked in surprise. ‘Then it wasn’t worth it, in the end? Even with children…me…’

‘Nothing is worth more than your happiness,’ Isabel stated, and Allegra shook her head in instinctive denial. She’d never heard her mother speak about happiness before. It had always been about duty. Family. Obedience.

‘Do you really care about my happiness?’ she asked, hearing the naked hope in her voice.

Her mother gazed at her steadily, coldly. ‘Of course I do.’

‘And you think…I’ll be happier…’

‘If you want love—’ Isabel cut her off ‘—then yes. Stefano doesn’t love you.’

Allegra recoiled at her mother’s blunt words. Yet it was the truth, she knew, and she needed to hear it. ‘But what will I do?’ she whispered. ‘Where will I go?’

‘Leave that to me.’ Her mother strode to her, took her by the shoulders. ‘It will be difficult,’ she said sternly, her eyes boring into hers, and Allegra, feeling as limp and lifeless as a doll, merely nodded. ‘You would not be welcome in our house any longer. I could send you a little money, that is all.’

Allegra bit her lip, tasted blood, and nodded. Determination to act like a woman—to choose for herself—drove her to reckless agreement.

‘I don’t care.’

‘My driver could take you to Milan,’ Isabel continued, thinking fast. ‘He would do that for me. From there a train to England. My brother George would help you at first, though not for long. After that…’ Isabel spread her hands. Her eyes met Allegra’s with mocking challenge. ‘Can you do it?’

Allegra thought of her life so far, cosseted, protected, decided. She’d never gone anywhere alone, had no prospects, no plans, no abilities.

Slowly she returned the pink teddy bear to her bed, to her girlhood, and lifted her chin. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I can.’

She packed a single bag with trembling hands while her mother watched, stony-faced, urging her on.

She faltered once when she glimpsed on her dressing table the earrings Stefano had given her the day before, to wear with her wedding gown.

They were diamond teardrops, antique and elegant, and he’d told her he couldn’t wait to see her wearing them. Yet now she would never wear them.

‘Am I doing the right thing?’ she whispered, and Isabel leaned over and zipped up her bag.

‘Of course you are,’ she snapped. ‘Allegra, if I thought you could be happy with Stefano, I would say stay. Marry him. See if you can make a good life for yourself. But you’ve never wanted a good life, have you? You want something great.’ Her mother’s smile was sardonic as she finished, ‘The fairy tale.’

Allegra blinked back tears. ‘Is that so wrong?’

Isabel shrugged. ‘Not many people get the fairy tale. Now write something to Stefano, to explain.’

‘I don’t know what to say!’

‘Tell him what you told me. You realized he didn’t love you, and you weren’t prepared to enter a loveless marriage.’ Isabel reached for a pen and some lined notebook paper—childish paper—fromAllegra’s desk. She thrust the items at her daughter.

Dear Stefano, Allegra wrote in her careful, looping cursive. I’m sorry but… She paused. What could she say? How could she explain? She closed her eyes and two tears seeped out. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Allegra, you need to start acting like an adult!’ Isabel plucked the pen from her fingers. ‘Here, I’ll tell you what to write.’

Isabel dictated every soulless word, while Allegra’s tears splashed on to the paper and smeared the ink.

‘Make sure he gets it,’ she said as she handed the letter to her mother, scrubbing the tears from her eyes with one fist. ‘Before the ceremony. So he’s not…not…’

‘I’ll make sure.’ Isabel tucked the letter in the pocket of her dressing gown. ‘Now you should go. You can buy the ticket at the station. There’s money in your handbag. You’ll have to stay at a hotel for a night at least, until George returns.’

Allegra’s eyes widened; she’d forgotten her uncle was staying in the villa. ‘Why can’t I just go with him?’ she asked, only to have her mother tut impatiently.

‘And how would that look? You can manage a hotel. I’ll tell him tomorrow what’s happened. They’ll be back by the next day, no doubt. Now go, before someone sees you.’

Allegra gulped down a sudden howl of panic. She was so afraid. At least marriage to Stefano had seemed familiar, safe. And yet, she asked herself, would it have been? Or would it have become the strangest, most dangerous thing of all—being married to a man who neither loved nor respected her?

Now she would never find out.

Isabel picked up the small bag that held nothing more than a few clothes, toiletries and keepsakes and thrust it at her daughter.

Allegra, now dressed in a pair of jeans and a jumper, clutched it to her chest.

‘My driver is waiting outside. Make sure no one sees you.’ Isabel gave her a little push, the closest she’d probably ever come to an embrace. ‘Go!’

Allegra stumbled back to the door, then inched her way down the hallway. Her heart thudded so loudly she was sure the whole villa could hear it.

What was she doing? She felt like a naughty child sneaking out of bed, but it was so much more than that. So much worse.

She slipped on the stairs and had to grab on to the banister.

Somewhere a floorboard creaked, and she could hear a distant sound of snoring.

She tiptoed down the rest of the stairs, across the slick terracotta tiles of the hall. Her hand was on the knob of the front door and she turned it, only to find it was locked.

Relief poured through her for a strange, split second; she couldn’t get out. She couldn’t go.

So she would go quietly back to bed and forget she’d ever had this mad, mad plan. She’d half-turned back when the door was unlocked from the outside. Alfonso, her mother’s driver, stood there, tall, dark, and expressionless.

‘This way, signorina,’ he whispered.

Allegra glanced back longingly at her home, her life. She didn’t want to leave it, yet she would have been leaving it all tomorrow anyway, and for a fate surely worse than this.

At least now she was in charge of her own destiny.

‘Signorina?’

Allegra nodded, turning back from the warm light of her home. She followed Alfonso into the velvety darkness, her trainers crunching on the gravel drive.

Wordlessly, Alfonso opened the back door and Allegra slipped inside.

As the car pulled away, she gazed at her home one last time, cloaked in darkness. Her eyes roved over the climbing bougainvillea, the painted shutters, everything so wonderfully dear. In the upstairs window Isabel stood, her pale face visible between the gauzy curtains, and Allegra watched as her mother’s mouth curved into a cold, cruel smile of triumph that made her own breath catch in her chest in frightened surprise.

Tears stinging her eyes, her heart bumping against her chest in fear, Allegra pressed back against the seat as the car moved slowly down the drive, away from the only home she’d ever known.

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