Her New Year Baby Secret Page 6

  ‘Not at all,’ he assured her. ‘In fact I predict next year most of the younger women will be glad to break with tradition and wear shorter dresses. Come, let’s go and mingle and I will tell you three scandalous secrets about every person we meet. I promise you won’t be intimidated by a single one by the end of the evening.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ALTHOUGH MARCO WAS true to his word and did indeed tell Sophie such scandalous secrets about every person she met—she refused to believe they could be true; surely that regal lady over there wasn’t an international jewel thief?—she was still a little intimidated. Intimidated by the glitter and the air of self-possession displayed by every well-dressed guest, by the rapid flow of Italian all around and the familiarity with which each guest greeted each other. She felt too English, too parochial, too poor, too self-conscious, and although Marco was a charming and attentive host Sophie couldn’t help thinking longingly of the city outside the old palazzo, ready to be explored and discovered.

  But when Marco took her arm in his, when he leaned in close to whisper yet another outrageous lie, when he caught her eyes, laughter lurking in his, as his mother not so discreetly quizzed Sophie on her future plans and whether those plans involved marriage and babies, then she was pulled away from the room, away from her insecurities and into a world where all she saw was the tilt of his mouth, the warmth of his smile and the promise in his dark eyes. Anticipation flooded through her at the knowledge that when the clock struck twelve her night would only just be beginning... At least she hoped it would; she hadn’t splashed out on a gorgeous new nightie in the New Year sales for nothing. The bits of silk held together with lace would hardly keep her warm after all.

  She was aware of Marco’s eyes on her and heat flooded through her as their gazes snagged and held, the rest of the room falling away. No, the other women in the room could do their best to attract his attention—and many of them were—but Sophie knew she wouldn’t be sleeping alone that night.

  After drinks and appetisers and a formal, beautifully presented meal for fifty, the party moved into an even grander and bigger room. Here yet more guests joined them, the numbers swelling into the hundreds as a band played at one end and immaculately dressed waiters circled with trays of drinks. Marco’s mother had ‘borrowed’ him to greet an elderly relative and Sophie hovered by the window, unsure where to go or who to speak to—if she could make herself understood, that was. It was all too reminiscent of standing at the back of one of Harry’s gigs, not quite knowing what to say or whether she was welcome in any of the close-knit, self-possessed groups.

  ‘I’m sorry, it must all be a little too much for you. We are bad enough when it’s just the family, but when all of Venice is here? I wish I could run and hide, so I have no idea how horrifying you must find tonight.’

  Sophie turned to see Marco’s sister, Bianca, standing beside her, a sympathetic smile on her heart-shaped face. She was very beautiful in a classically Italian way with masses of dark wavy hair and huge brown eyes fringed with lashes so long they made Sophie gasp with envy, tall and shapely with a generous bosom spilling out of the top of her low-cut strapless dress.

  ‘It’s a little more than I was expecting. Marco didn’t quite communicate the full scale of the evening. I didn’t expect to meet so many people. As you can see I’m not really dressed appropriately...’ She gestured towards her dress self-consciously, aware that the hand-sewn beads and cheap fabric paled beside Bianca’s ravishing emerald silk gown.

  ‘Your dress is bellissima,’ Bianca reassured her. ‘I have heard many envious comments. Of course, you have such lovely ivory skin. That pale pink would make me far too sallow. I predict next year half the younger women will break with convention and wear something a little more fun and fashionable.’ Bianca echoed her brother’s prediction.

  ‘Thank you.’ Sophie didn’t think her skin looked lovely or ivory, more the pale blue an English winter turned her naturally pale complexion. She’d much rather be blessed with Bianca’s gorgeous olive skin and generous curves.

  ‘And the cut, I love how it is so modern and yet looks so vintage. Who’s the designer?’

  ‘Oh, well, I am.’ Sophie always felt absurdly diffident when admitting to designing or making her clothes. Her friends were supportive, asking for commissions and nagging her into starting a website to sell to a wider audience, but they were her friends—it was their job to tell her to follow her heart and aim high. Showing her work to other people was exposing. Harry had always told her that she was wasting her time and the problem was she didn’t only believe him then, she still half believed him now.

  ‘You made this? But, Sophie, it is incredible. No wonder it fits you so well. You are so talented.’

  ‘Thank you, but it’s not that hard...’

  ‘Of course it is! I can barely thread a needle. Do you make all your clothes?’

  ‘Most of them,’ Sophie admitted. ‘Some from scratch, with new material, but many of my clothes are do-overs. I buy them from charity shops or in sales, tear them apart and put them back together again.’

  ‘How creative.’ Bianca sighed. ‘I tried for years to find my talent, but no matter how many private lessons I had I remained tone deaf, turned into a plank of wood on stage, and I’m still incapable of drawing better than a five-year-old. Antonio tells me not to worry, that handling spreadsheets is a talent in itself, but I’d much rather be a dancer than an accountant.’

  ‘You’re an accountant?’ Sophie always thought of accountants as faded and grey—not vibrant and full of life like the woman in front of her.

  ‘Head of Finance at Antonio’s company. It’s how we met. He says marrying me will stop me being headhunted—I let him think that. I don’t want to shatter his illusions! But I’d like to work for an international company if I get the opportunity. All those complicated tax laws would be really interesting.’

  ‘Quite.’ Sophie had no idea what to say, all her preconceptions tumbling down. It had been too easy to look at Bianca and see nothing but the beautifully dressed daughter of an obviously wealthy family—but there was clearly a lot more to her than that. ‘As someone who can dance and sew but gets a cold sweat at the thought of a budget I have to say I think you got the better end of the deal.’

  ‘Maybe. So where did you and Marco meet?’

  Here it was. The interrogation. Sophie had already been through something similar from Marco’s mother, an aunt and his godmother. ‘At a party. Actually after the party, it was snowing and we sort of...collided.’

  ‘How romantic.’ The dark eyes were keen and focussed very intently on Sophie. ‘Snow and an unexpected encounter. And you’ve seen much of each other since?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say much.’ She forced a laugh. ‘How friendly everyone is and they all want to know about me.’

  ‘You must think we’re all very nosy. But this is the first time in a long time that Marco has ever willingly brought a date to any occasion—and definitely the first time he brought someone Mamma hasn’t set him up with. So you see, we are all consumed with curiosity to find out more about the mysterious English girl who has captured my brother’s heart.’

  Who had what? What exactly had Marco intimated? ‘I wouldn’t go that far. We are still getting to know each other. It’s very early days...’

  The two women had drifted over to one of the uncomfortable formal-looking sofas and Bianca sat down with a relieved ‘Oomph, my feet are so swollen. How I am going to manage a whole wedding in heels, I don’t know. I usually wear flats, I’m so tall. But Mamma insisted I wear heels on my wedding day. Luckily Antonio is tall too, so I won’t tower over him!’

  ‘You’re getting married soon?’ Really, it was absurd how ill prepared she was to meet this family. Next time a gorgeous stranger suggested a spontaneous trip to a family party she would insist on crib sheets and a written exam first.r />
  ‘Next week.’ Bianca sighed. ‘Only, I think I ate too much over Christmas and I’m really scared my dress won’t do up. The shame! But look at the size of my breasts! I’m going to be falling out of it, I know it.’

  ‘But you must have a final fitting booked, surely? There will be something they can do. Let out a seam or fit a false back. I wouldn’t worry, a good designer is always prepared for some fluctuation in weight.’

  ‘But she’s not here. She’s gone to New Zealand for the whole month and won’t be back until after the wedding. I didn’t think it would be a problem. My weight doesn’t usually change...’ Bianca’s voice trailed off and she looked so woebegone Sophie couldn’t help sympathising.

  ‘I could take a look,’ she suggested. ‘Make a few suggestions. Obviously it depends on the fabric and cut, but I might be able to help.’ As soon as she said the words she wanted to snatch them back. What was she thinking? A wedding dress? A designer wedding dress no doubt, costing thousands and made of the best silks and laces. As if she were qualified to do as much as tack a hem on that kind of gown, let alone attempt some kind of alteration, but, Sophie realised with a sinking heart, it was too late to backtrack. Bianca was clutching at her arm, gratitude beaming out of her eyes.

  ‘Really? You’d do that?’

  ‘Well...I...’

  ‘Oh, Sophie, that’s so wonderful. Grazie. It’s such a relief to know that you’re right here. Wait, when are you going back to London?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow, but I’m sure I can find time to look at it before I go, make some suggestions.’

  ‘The day after tomorrow? But the wedding isn’t for another week! What if something else changes?’

  Sophie’s smile froze. She’d heard tales of bridezillas but had never had to deal with one before, not even at work. In fact Emma’s vow renewal was the first time she’d been directly involved with the bridal party, not a duty invite or a plus-one on the guest list—somehow she’d let her few school friends slip away through the Harry years and had never really connected with his friends’ ever-changing parade of girlfriends.

  ‘I’m sure it will be fine...’

  But Bianca was shaking her head. ‘So much could go wrong—a button could loosen or a hem fray or my veil need adjusting. What was I thinking to choose a designer who isn’t here for the wedding? It has to be perfect. But if you were here, I wouldn’t have to worry.’

  ‘Bianca, no one would notice if a button was loose, I promise.’

  ‘And what if I get bigger? Or smaller? With all the stress, I don’t know if I’ll lose my appetite or eat chocolate for the next seven days. Everything is very unpredictable at the moment.’ To Sophie’s horror Bianca’s voice began to waver. She wasn’t going to cry on her, was she?

  ‘It’s only a week. I’m sure it won’t make any difference if you eat nothing but chocolate, not at this stage.’

  ‘And this is your first time in Venice, no? You can’t possibly see the city in just one day. Marco should have known better. You must stay, see the city properly and then come to the wedding. I would love to have you.’ She turned to Sophie, her smile wide again, all traces of tears miraculously disappeared. ‘There, now we are all happy, me, you and Marco. Perfect.’

  ‘What will make me happy?’

  Sophie’s stomach turned as Marco strode up beside them. He’d think she’d been plotting with his sister, think the palazzo had turned her head and she wanted to stay, to inveigle her way into his family.

  ‘Nothing. Bianca is panicking a little about her wedding, but I’m telling her not to worry,’ she said quickly.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t tell me, the flowers are out of season and so you need to call the whole wedding off? She used to be quite sensible,’ he added to Sophie, ‘until this wedding nonsense.’

  ‘It’s not nonsense. Wait until it’s your turn,’ Bianca said indignantly. ‘But, Marco, wait. I have a wonderful idea. Sophie should stay here with us until the wedding and come as your date. What do you think?’

  * * *

  Sophie should what? Marco froze to the spot, eyes narrowed at his beaming sister. Had she been consulting with their mother? Was this some elaborate plot? Was Sophie in on it? He cast her a quick glance. No, her cheeks were red and eyes lowered in mortification.

  ‘What do I think?’ he repeated.

  ‘He thinks it’s impossible.’ Sophie reached up and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘I have to get back and he doesn’t need a date anyway. I don’t want to cramp his style.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Bianca said. ‘He would love to have you there.’

  Amusing as it was to hear the two women politely disagree about what he did or didn’t want, it was time to take control. ‘Of course I would love to have you attend the wedding with me, Sophie, but if you have to get back, then there is no more to say. Besides, I have a lot to do over the next few days and I would hate you to be bored here alone.’

  Bianca shot to her feet and glared at him. ‘It’s my wedding and I want her there. I need her, Marco.’

  ‘But...’ He wasn’t often at a loss for words, but seeing his usually sensible, logical sister so het up robbed him of all coherent speech. ‘Bianca, Sophie’s said she needs to get back. You can’t force her to stay.’

  But as he said the words he began to consider just what would happen if Sophie did stay. He’d warned her he had to work so there would be no expectation for him to be responsible for her—and then when they returned to England he’d give it a few weeks before casually telling his mother they had parted company. In the meantime... He laced his fingers through hers, enjoying the smoothness of her skin against his. In the meantime it had been too long since he had enjoyed one of his discreet affairs. Two nights and a day wasn’t long enough, not when every time she moved the beads on her dress shimmered, showcasing the outline of her breasts, the shapeliness of her calves.

  And she’d made it very clear to him she wasn’t interested in anything long-term...

  ‘Of course, if there was some way you could arrange things so that you could spend a few more days with us, then you would be very welcome, Sophie.’ He smiled at her. ‘Besides, bitter experience has taught me that Bianca usually gets her way, so it saves time if you just agree with her at the start.’

  ‘But...you don’t want, I mean, this is a family occasion.’

  ‘Three hundred guests, at least a hundred of whom are my parents’ business associates and another hundred Bianca and Antonio’s clients. I wouldn’t worry about gatecrashing.’

  Her mouth opened and she stared at Bianca incredulously. ‘Three hundred guests?’

  ‘You see why it has to be perfect? Please, Sophie, say yes. I’ll be in your debt for ever.’

  Marco knew not many people were able to resist Bianca when she turned the full force of her charm on them and Sophie was no different. ‘I suppose I could take a few more days off work. I have a lot of holidays saved up. I’m not a miracle worker,’ she warned his sister, ‘but I’ll do my best. Okay, if you really want me to, I’ll stay, but, honestly, you might be better off consulting a professional.’

  ‘I am so happy.’ Bianca clapped her hands. ‘When can you take a look? Tomorrow?’

  It was time to intervene. ‘Tomorrow, Bianca, Sophie belongs to me. You can have her the rest of the week. No...’ as she tried to interrupt ‘...you need to practice patience, my child. Sophie, there’s someone over here I would like to introduce you to. Bianca has been monopolising you long enough.’ He pulled Sophie to her feet, giving his pouting sister a mock bow. ‘Arrivederci, Bianca.’

  ‘Who are you introducing me to?’ Sophie asked as he walked her away from the party, opening a door hidden in the ballroom panelling and ushering her into the small adjoining salon, lit only by a few low lamps. ‘I hate to break it to you, but the part
y is that way and there’s no one here. Unless it’s some ancestor of yours,’ she added, looking up at the huge portraits hanging over the mantelpiece. ‘He doesn’t look overly impressed with your choice of date.’

  ‘That’s my great, great, many more greats grandfather Lorenzo Santoro. He didn’t approve of anyone or anything by all accounts, a problem in pleasure-loving Venice.’

  ‘I won’t take it personally, then.’ She turned and faced him, her hair gleaming gold in the low lights, the dress swaying seductively around her thighs. ‘So if you don’t want to introduce me to Lorenzo, then who am I here to meet?’

  ‘Me. I haven’t seen you since New Year’s Eve, almost a week ago, and I’ve neglected you shamefully since you got here. I think it’s time I made amends.’ He noted with some satisfaction how her colour rose at his words, tinging her cheeks, throat and décolletage a delicate rose pink.

  ‘Oh...’ She looked up at him then, the blue eyes earnest. ‘Marco, it was really nice of you to ask me here in the first place. I’d really hate for you to think I was trying to force you into extending my invitation. Your sister seems so worried about her dress, I offered to help and the next thing I knew...’

  ‘Sophie, I know exactly what my sister is like, please don’t worry. If you wish to stay for the wedding, then I would love for you to do so, but if she railroaded you...’

  ‘She did, but it’s not exactly a hardship to stay here and explore Venice a bit more.’

  ‘Then it’s settled, you stay. And, Sophie?’

  ‘Yes?’

  He took a step closer. ‘Let’s get one thing straight. I wasn’t being nice when I asked you here.’

  ‘You weren’t?’

  ‘Not at all. I wanted to see you again.’ His gaze dropped to her full mouth. ‘I wanted to renew our acquaintance.’

  ‘To renew our acquaintance?’ she echoed. ‘So that’s what they call it nowadays.’

  Another step. ‘Do you know what this room is?’