One Night In…

CHAPTER NINE

THE wedding was a blur.

Meghan understood the words, but the Italian washed over her in a soothing, melodious tide of language.

She wore the dress—Gabriella’s timelessly elegant ivory gown—altered to fit her own more generous curves.

She saw the guests, a handful of discreet friends and business associates who watched the strange, sudden ceremony with carefully blank faces.

She had the bridesmaids—Alessandro’s younger sister, Chiara, sleek and quiet, having flown in that morning from London. She was flying out immediately after the reception, and from the way she stood next to Meghan, her body tense and straining as the priest rambled on, Meghan guessed she couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Alessandro’s best man, Stefano Lucrezi, was watchful and alert, his attention solely on the priest. Meghan had the sense that he was aware in some way of Chiara, though he never looked at her.

And Alessandro? He stood there, calm, urbane, implacable. In a few minutes—seconds, perhaps—he would be her husband.

He hadn’t spoken one word to her since she’d entered the church, walked down the ancient stone aisle alone amidst a sea of frighteningly neutral faces.

This was her life now.

Now, now it was too late to back out.

And still she didn’t want to.

Silly, naïve her.

After that shattered evening when they’d almost made love— passionate, desperate, on the floor—Alessandro had reverted to his old self: charming, urbane, amusing.

A fake.

Meghan saw it now—saw how the mask dropped into place, saw how he protected himself, kept anyone from guessing, knowing who he really was.

She still didn’t.

And yet she was here, marrying him, because she wanted to know.

It wasn’t just about the power any more.

It was about the need.

The priest stopped talking, and Meghan saw that the guests had all stood. Waiting.

She was married.

Alessandro took her cold hand in his, and together they walked out of the church into the pale sunshine of the early spring day.

Everyone else followed them out before either of them had exchanged a word. Stefano clapped Alessandro on the shoulder, and Meghan recognised the various phrases of congratulation, though she felt numb to the emotions.

Someone brought forward a beribboned box, gesturing excitedly for Meghan to open it.

She looked uncertainly from the box on the steps of the church to Alessandro, whose expression was inscrutable.

‘They want you to open it,’ he explained, with a slight smile, and Meghan moved forward. Was it a present? A custom? She wished Alessandro would explain, but he’d only folded his arms over his chest, his eyes glinting with cool amusement.

‘You could help me a little,’ she said under her breath, and Alessandro smiled.

‘But I’m enjoying the view from here.’

Meghan gritted her teeth. Charming, aloof, distant. This was the man he chose to be now, and she would have to accept it.

She couldn’t make him bare his true self. Wasn’t sure she was ready for it. The glimpse she’d had so far had shot her to pieces.

She pulled on the ribbons and tentatively opened the lid of the box.

There was a loud cooing sound, the rushing of wings, and she stumbled back in surprise, her arms thrown over her face, as two doves soared into the sky amid many exclamations and cheers.

‘An Italian tradition,’ Alessandro informed her dryly as she lowered her arms and gazed upwards at the birds, now circling the church spire. ‘To symbolise the happiness and unity of the married couple. My mother arranged it, no doubt. Reading things into this marriage that are not there.’

Meghan was struck to her soul, but she mustered enough spirit to reply in kind. ‘What? You don’t want happiness? Surely that’s a reasonable expectation for both of us, Alessandro?’

‘Is it?’ There was no mistaking the sardonic doubt in his voice.

‘Yes,’ Meghan said firmly, daring him to believe, wanting to believe herself. ‘It is.’

He gazed down at her, and a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. ‘As long as you realise what makes us happy.’

What made him happy. More warnings. Meghan was tired of it. ‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she hissed under her breath. ‘I’m not in that much danger of falling in love with you!’

Alessandro’s face relaxed and he gave a little chuckle. ‘I’m glad to hear it. I like your claws, gattina. And perhaps we shall both be happy.’

He took her elbow, steering her through the crowd into the waiting limo that would take them to the reception.

‘Who are all those people?’ Meghan asked as she craned backwards to look at the milling crowd.

‘Mostly business associates, friends of my mother’s.’ He shrugged in dismissal.

‘What about your friends?’

He smiled, but his voice was hard. ‘My friends were not invited.’

What on earth did that mean? Meghan leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. ‘But you have friends,’ she said after a moment. ‘Will I meet them?’

‘No.’

End of discussion. Right now Meghan was too tired to press, too weary to hear his warnings, his rebukes.

‘What a pair we are,’ she said, trying to make her voice light. ‘Friendless and alone.’

‘That’s why I married you, isn’t it?’ Alessandro returned silkily. ‘Now we’re not alone. Now we have each other.’

Somehow his lethal, mocking tone robbed the words of any comfort.

The reception was in a private room at the Principe di Savoia, one of Milan’s most elegant hotels. Meghan sat down, ate the delicious food, drank the exquisite wine, and accepted the embraces and congratulations from a crowd that had become loosened and relaxed, ready to celebrate.

Alessandro sat in the middle of it all, dark and forebidding. When he greeted someone his voice was polished and smooth; he laughed at the jokes and participated in the customary dances, even La Tarantella, the circle dance that Meghan stumbled through, uncertain of the steps, distant from the jollity.

Yet there was no mistaking his dark preoccupation. Almost, Meghan thought sadly, as if he wanted to be somewhere else.

Be someone else.

Her stomach churned. Her heart twisted. Doubt washed over her, yet she couldn’t regret. She’d made this decision. She’d wanted to be here.

Only she hadn’t realised just how very hard it would be. How very hard Alessandro would be, his mouth a grim line, his eyes flinty, every taut line of his body making him guarded, unapproachable.

Unlovable.

How many secrets, dark and treacherous, churned and seethed in the space between them, creating an impossible chasm?

And they weren’t even her secrets.

They were his.

When she was alone for a moment, scraping her sanity together as she stood by a pillar at the side of the dance floor, Stefano Lucrezi approached her.

‘Congratulations, Signora di Agnio.’ His voice was smooth and pleasant, yet the title jolted her.

‘Thank you, Signor Lucrezi.’

‘Please, call me Stefano. So, this was quite the love match?’ He raised his eyebrows, smiling at her. ‘I’ve never known Alessandro to move so quickly with a woman before.’

‘Is that so?’ Meghan’s own smile turned brittle. ‘He has taken care to warn me that he has moved quite quickly with plenty of women in the past.’

Stefano’s gaze did not falter. ‘Ah, so you know of his reputation?’

His reputation? It sounded bad. Still, if the secret that rode Alessandro, drove him to despair, was simply having had too many affairs, Meghan thought she could accept it. She didn’t like it, but if it was the reality she would learn to deal with it.

‘No one’s told me much of anything,’ she said frankly. She looked at Stefano. He seemed friendly, open, and she wanted answers. ‘Do you know Alessandro well?’

‘As well as anybody does. He keeps to himself.’

‘Sometimes,’ Meghan said quietly, her voice an ache, ‘I think I know him quite well. And at other times not at all.’

‘He is, perhaps, two different people,’ Stefano said after a moment. ‘The man he was, and the man he is now.’

And the man he meant to be. ‘What do you mean, exactly? What happened to change him?’

Stefano shook his head. ‘It is not for me to say.’ He patted her hand gently. ‘Perhaps he will tell you, signora, in time.’

Sketching a slight bow, Stefano left her.

Meghan sagged against the pillar behind her. She’d been given clues to this impossible, unfathomable man, but she didn’t understand what they meant.

Didn’t know if she could keep digging for answers.

Wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

Across the room Alessandro watched his bride with a cold detachment he was far from feeling. Encasing himself in ice was the only way to get through this event, when every pair of eyes watched him speculatively, hungrily, waiting for disaster, shame.

His own.

They all wanted him to fail—expected it. He’d lived with that for two years, and it should mean nothing to him now.

It did mean nothing to him—except for the one person in the room who didn’t understand.

The one person he couldn’t bear to see him fail.

And yet he would fail. Not with business, because he was good at that. He’d surprised everyone, especially himself, when he’d taken the reins of his father’s company and found that he held them with natural ease.

He would fail her. He already had, in so many ways, and he saw it in the stark confusion in her eyes—the way she turned towards and away from him at the same time, because she didn’t know what he would do, who he was.

What he was.

‘I just spoke to your bride.’ Stefano stood by Alessandro’s chair, smiling faintly. ‘She seems quite fond of you, my friend.’

‘She’ll learn better.’

‘Do you love her?’

Alessandro laughed shortly. ‘No. Of course not.’

Stefano nodded musingly, although his voice sounded regretful. ‘It’s easier that way, I suppose.’

Alessandro turned to him, raised one eyebrow in mocking incredulity. ‘You’re not going to tell me you believe in true love?’

‘Of course not.’ Stefano smiled tightly. ‘You know as well as I do that such a thing is a fairytale. We’re wise men, Alessandro.’

‘Yes,’ he replied flatly, his eyes fastened on Meghan’s slight form. ‘We are.’

It was time to end this torture. He could not take any more speculation, whispered gossip. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be with Meghan.

It was time to claim his bride.

She felt someone’s gaze on her, and before she turned, before she saw who it was, she knew.

The heat and the desire turned her limbs weak, her mind blank and yet flooded with feeling.

Alessandro.

Meghan turned, saw him watching her, a possessive smile quirking his lips.

He moved towards her, lithe and loose-limbed, an elegant stalking that she surrendered to completely.

‘It is time to go.’

‘Already?’

‘The bride and groom must leave first. It is tradition.’ His arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her to his side. ‘And I can wait no longer. You look beautiful in that dress, cara.’

‘It’s your mother’s. She was very generous to offer it.’

‘Yes, I can see how she wants to make amends.’ He brushed her hair with his lips. ‘But I do not want to talk of her. There is a suite upstairs, waiting for us.’

Meghan’s stomach plunged with nerves. She wanted this, she reminded herself. She wanted this so very much.

It didn’t stop her from being scared.

‘All right. Do we say goodbye?’

‘Not unless you want lots of bawdy jokes and knowing looks.’

Meghan shuddered. ‘I couldn’t stand that.’

‘Then we slip out now, quietly, when no one is looking.’

‘What will people think?’

‘That we can’t wait to be alone with each other. And it’s true … isn’t it?’

She nodded shakily. ‘Yes, it’s true.’

Even if I’m terrified.

They were silent as they slipped from the reception, silent as they rode in the elevator to the top floor. Silent as Alessandro swiped the electronic key card and ushered her into a sumptuous suite of rooms.

Silent—yet the tension, the expectation, the desire, thrummed to life between them, more potent than any words or looks. It was a physical presence, a separate entity, and it filled the space with silent, urgent demand.

Meghan glanced around at the elegant chairs and sofas, the double doors that led into the bedroom. Her mind was blank and buzzing. ‘This is very nice.’

‘Do you want a bath? I’ve had your clothes brought from the town house.’

Meghan nodded numbly. ‘Yes, fine.’

He walked over to her, skimmed his hands lightly over her bare shoulders. ‘Don’t be afraid, Meghan. There are no shadows here.’

But there were, she realised. There always would be. Because he didn’t know. Didn’t understand.

She couldn’t make him tell her his secrets, but she could at least tell him her own. Banish her own shadows.

‘I think,’ she said jerkily, ‘I’ll have that bath.’

‘Buon. I’ll be waiting.’

Meghan sifted through her suitcase, found her toiletry bag, full of the new cosmetics, tubes and sprays and gels Gabriella had picked out for her, and the nightgown also selected by her mother-in-law—a sheath of ivory silk, held up with two tiny straps and scalloped with lace. She bunched the garment in her fist and, avoiding Alessandro’s gaze, retreated into the bathroom.

The room was larger than her bedroom back at the hostel, a lifetime ago. Meghan turned the taps, added luxurious scented bath foam, carefully stripped off her wedding gown and slipped it on a hanger.

She stayed in the bath for half an hour, searching for her courage, clinging to what little she found.

Finally, reluctantly, her pulse thrumming—not just from the heat of the bath water—she rose from the tub and dried herself off, slipping on the bridal nightgown.

There was a thick terrycloth robe hanging on the door, provided by the hotel. Meghan slipped that on too.

Alessandro was stretched out on the bed, relaxed, his jacket and tie off, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. Just the sight of that little bit of clean, tanned skin caused Meghan’s pulse to skitter higher.

He sat up when he saw her, taking in her bulky bathrobe with an ironic knowing look.

‘You won’t be needing that, will you?’

‘No, but I want to talk to you first.’

A guarded expression came into his eyes, but he shrugged and patted the bed next to him. ‘Of course. What about?’

‘Me.’ Meghan swallowed nervously and sat down. Her fingers fiddled with the sash of the robe. She couldn’t look at him. ‘Alessandro, I haven’t told you everything about my past. About Stephen. I was too ashamed.’

‘You want to tell me now?’ His voice was carefully neutral.

‘Yes. Because I don’t want there to be secrets between us. My secrets.’ Meghan forced herself to look up, meet his eyes. ‘My shadows. And I want you to understand why I am … the way I am.’

He was quiet for a moment, his face blank. A mask. ‘All right.’

Meghan took a deep, shuddering breath. This was so hard. Yet she knew she needed to do this.

Confession. Absolution.

‘There was more to it than him just being married.’

Alessandro waited, silent. Meghan forced herself to continue. ‘Stephen had always been handsome, charming. I knew he was a little racy, a little wild. I accepted it as part of him, and I loved him anyway. Or so I told myself. It’s amazing the things you can convince yourself of when you’re blind. In love.’

‘Or naïve,’ Alessandro added quietly.

Meghan nodded. ‘I was all three. I accepted the sneaking around. I thought it was because he was a prominent businessman—a lawyer—and he didn’t want to publicise his romantic relationships. I never thought that he thought … that he would …’ She trailed off, staring down at her fingers still fiddling with the sash, her vision blurring.

‘What did he think?’ Alessandro asked, his voice soft, and yet with an underlying hardness that Meghan knew was not directed at her. ‘What did he do?’

‘The thing is,’ she continued, her voice falsely bright, determined, ‘I should have known. I’m a modern, educated woman. Women like me don’t get into situations where …’

Alessandro covered her hand with his own, stilling her nervous fidgeting. ‘Where what?’

She squeezed his fingers, clutched them like a lifeline. ‘Where you’re controlled,’ she explained quietly. ‘First it was just how I was with him. I wanted to please him, to make him happy. He liked … certain things. Then it was what I wore, who I saw, what I said. He was jealous—horribly jealous, coldly jealous—and I thought it was love.’

Alessandro was silent for a moment, taking this in. ‘He did abuse you,’ he finally said flatly, still holding, stroking her fingers.

Meghan shook her head, denying the truth she’d suppressed for so long … the truth about Stephen, the truth about herself. ‘But I let him. I should have known better. Everyone wondered what was happening to me—why I was so different, so distant. He didn’t like my friends, my family, didn’t like my life. I stopped going out … I lost my job because of it.’ She closed her eyes briefly, recalling the pain, the shame. The obsession. The delusion. ‘I told you Stanton Springs is a small town. Everybody watches out for everybody else. People care. They cared about me, and I just drove them all away. All that mattered to me was Stephen. I didn’t know sometimes whether it was because of love or fear, but I couldn’t leave him. I couldn’t. How could I have been so blind? So stupid?’

‘Our hearts are blind,’ Alessandro said after a long moment. ‘You thought he loved you.’

‘If I’d had any self-respect—’ Her voice caught jaggedly on a sob, then she choked it back. ‘I would’ve walked out before it came to … before it brought me so low.’

Alessandro’s eyes were gentle, but knowing. So knowing. ‘What did he do to you?’

Meghan shook her head. She couldn’t look at him. Didn’t want to see disgust in his eyes, the disgust she’d felt herself, at herself. ‘Nothing more than what he’d been doing before. Controlling me, humiliating me. He liked to see me under his thumb, catering to his whims, accepting his insults. Brought low. It gave him pleasure. I see that now, even though at the time I thought that was what you did when you loved someone. You just took it. You thought they’d stop. Change. I thought it was because I wasn’t good enough, perfect enough. And then one night I’d had enough. I was so dispirited, so broken. I felt like I was dying inside—like all the good parts of me were gone. Used up. And I told him I’d had enough.’

‘Did he let you go?’ Alessandro asked quietly. Knowingly.

Meghan’s hands clenched on the sash once more as memories assaulted her, battered her brain and heart. ‘No. I should’ve realised he wouldn’t. I told him I was sorry, that I loved him, and then …’ She looked up now, met his gaze, faced the truth. ‘He hit me. Across the face. I was so stunned I just lay there. I couldn’t believe it. I was being hit by a man. The man I loved.’

‘If I could get my hands on him …’ Alessandro whispered savagely under his breath.

‘He kept hitting me. I just took it. I was so surprised, so amazed it was happening. That I’d let it happen. It was my fault.’

‘Meghan, it wasn’t—’

She continued, determined to finish it to the end. ‘He told me he was married then—said I must’ve known. He laughed about it. He said if I wondered why he treated me like a whore it was because I was one, and everyone knew it.’ She closed her eyes briefly, shaking her head against the onslaught of memory. ‘Of course, I knew he was lying. At least, my mind knew. My heart didn’t. My heart believed every word he said.’ She whispered the last, the confession echoing through her soul. She’d believed.