Chapter Seven
Micha refused to check his watch. He knew what the time was and Maria wasn’t late.
Not yet anyway. But unease swirled around him, making his body feel uncomfortable, his clothes feel too tight.
The foyer of the central Rome hotel glistened elegantly in soft cream lighting, perfect to highlight the rich buttery marble flooring veined in black.
But tension corded his shoulder muscles and he rolled his head to ease the ache, righting it before a couple entered from the bar area and caught sight of such weakness.
There could be none. Not tonight.
The entire Gallo clan had shown up. He wasn’t surprised, but he was impressed. Whether it was their curiosity or their avarice that drove them, every single one of them wanted to see the new head of the Gallo Group and his fiancée, as if they were some spectator sport.
He hated it as much as he needed it, because he hadn’t lied to Maria. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told her that everyone would believe in the veracity of this marriage. His child would grow up with nothing less.
Which was why he was doing this properly, the rehearsal dinner. Her family. His mother. Even now, his mother was sitting among them, and he didn’t trust a single Gallo up there not to treat her the way she deserved to be treated: with respect, with honour.
He knew how they had seen him, let alone her. But not a single one of them knew what it was like to be desperate. To be so determined to put food in your child’s belly that you’d sell yourself and your soul to do it.
Micha slowly and carefully uncurled the fist his hand had formed and smoothed his palm down the waistcoat of his black suit, pulling himself together.
His mother had assured him that she would be fine, and he knew she would be.
Rosa Rufina was made of stronger stuff than the Gallos could even imagine.
The old-fashioned circular doorway to the hotel began to move and he knew.
He knew that she had arrived. He could feel it on his skin, in the way that his breath hitched and his heart pulled.
He’d thought he was over that kind of stuff, but when Maria emerged into the foyer, he knew it had been nothing but a lie.
She was glorious.
Rich waves of espresso-coloured hair tumbled around her bare shoulders.
The cream waistcoat dipped low, but not salaciously so, and perfectly matched the pressed wide-leg trousers.
Her lips, a shocking slash of bright crimson, were a carnal focal point to an appearance that was expensive, confident, professional, powerful.
All the things that he’d always admired about her.
And if he thought about the look of vulnerability that he’d seen in the bridal shop the day before, then he pushed that out of his mind as she closed the distance between them.
The click of her cream heels counted down the seconds until she joined him and when she did, she gave him a slow perusal from head to toe.
Her blank response, presumably supposed to irritate him, only amused him.
He knew what he looked like—he was neither arrogant, nor egotistical.
And he knew—the memory of that night in Paris coming to him in a flash—that she liked the way he looked.
‘Did anyone cancel?’ she asked.
It was the first thing out of her mouth. Not Hello, how are you? She wanted to know if anyone had the audacity to snub his demand that they attend this rehearsal dinner. She was probably calculating the impact on the stock prices if anyone had the temerity to do so.
Her nod of acknowledgement was only momentarily hesitant, betraying her surprise. He frowned, thrown by the ‘tell’. She had clearly thought that a member of her family would refuse to come. Did she have someone particular in mind, or—
His chain of thought was cut off when she angled her head up to his and he fell into large brown eyes, wide and so dark as to be unfathomable.
It was as if he were underwater, holding his breath—lost to this moment that he wanted to stay in—but starved for oxygen and sanity, he returned to reality, and held out his arm for her to take.
Together, they made their way up the grand red-carpeted spiral staircase to where the hotel had converted a ballroom into one of Rome’s most sought-after restaurants.
But instead of being led to a table there, the ma?tre d’ gestured for them to follow him round to the private room that Micha had secured for the rehearsal dinner.
Maria’s eyes flicked to his, probably mentally calculating the amount of money that this would set him back. Again, always underestimating him, just like every other Gallo, and he stifled the spark of irritation that sprang to life.
Beyond the closed doors, the loud sound of voices pressed up against the wood.
Micha went to raise his hand to push them open, but stopped when Maria’s fingers gripped his jacket sleeve.
‘What is it?’ he asked, as he noticed the tension in her body, the slight tightening around her lips.
‘A united front, right? No matter what happens, no matter what…is said.’
‘Maria—’
She shook her head to cut off his question and removed her hand from his arm, visibly gathering herself.
And he couldn’t quite work it out. This was her family.
They were her people. The ones she had chosen over him, and probably would again, given half the chance.
Stage fright. That’s all it must have been, he thought as he pushed through the wooden doors, the raised voices of moments ago falling away into complete silence.
Maria’s heart pounded in her ears. She hadn’t realised that she would be so…
scared. Instinctively her gaze sought out Antonio and Ivy, her lifelines this evening, and a warm breath shivered through her as she saw Ivy’s obvious encouragement and Antonio’s clear and slightly murderous glare at Micha.
It was enough to soften the edges of the tension around her body and allowed her the first smile she’d had since she and Ivy had left the bridal shop the day before.
As for the rest of the room, a total of thirty-five Gallos were seated at a banquetstyle table and she doubted the place settings had been an accident.
Her distant cousins and aunts and uncles—related to Gio through his siblings—were at the far end of the table.
Closer to the head was Alessina Gallo, Antonio’s mother and Gio’s eldest, sitting beside the middle brother, Maria’s Uncle Carlos.
Their younger sister, who had been disowned by their father years before, was still only slowly making her way back into the family fold and had, according to Micha, politely declined.
Her son Enzo and wife were also away, but would be there tomorrow.
Her eyes rested on Rosa Rufina, the woman sitting at the left of the two seats at the head of the table where she and Micha would sit, and smiled.
It was instinctive. Maria hadn’t seen Rosa for years, the realisation hitting her with something like guilt.
Gio had moved both Micha and Rosa to Paris, and Maria had been so consumed with her own feelings that she had forgotten the woman who had always treated her with a gentle, reserved kindness.
It was still there in the older woman’s gaze when she met Maria’s, a small smile gracing her lips, but an understanding shining in her eyes that Maria didn’t think she’d get from her own family.
And then she looked to the couple that sat opposite Rosa. Her parents.
Her father refused to meet her gaze in what could only be the most obvious and blatant snub.
The clenched jaw, the simmering anger—he’d have done better not to bother turning up.
The shame of his disappointment burned her cheeks and her heart.
Her mother’s eyes flickered to hers and then back to her plate, her apathy more painful than her father’s rejection.
Her fingers dug into the superfine black wool jacket over Micha’s forearms, sacrificing all the hard work she’d done to put on her armour.
It was nothing but a mirage. White knuckles would have betrayed her, and she was about to withdraw when his large hand covered hers.
She wasn’t entirely sure that he’d done it on purpose, but for a single breath his surprising act of kindness struck her dumb.
‘Thank you all for coming,’ Micha announced as he ushered her into the seat at the head of the table, before kissing his mother on the cheek and nodding at her father as if he wasn’t being so painfully and obviously rude.
As waiters came round and filled glasses, Micha welcomed her family on behalf of him and his mother. Proclaiming how happy he was that Maria and he had found each other. That he couldn’t have ever imagined another woman by his side and that tomorrow she would finally make him an honest man.
She flinched when someone down the far end had the audacity to scoff out loud.
He ignored it all. Instead, he was charming, not overly so, and witty; perfectly pitched.
Maria had never seen him handle her family because his role had kept him primarily in Paris.
She’d never really thought about how he would manage them, because she’d been so angry and so hurt that she’d refused to consider that he might actually be able to.
But also because until now, the only person who had been able to wrangle the Gallos had been her grandfather.
God, she missed him. It was a strange thing.
He might have never considered her truly worthy in her own right to take over Gallo Group, but he had still encouraged her, given her a role in the family business that made use of the skills other family members refused to acknowledge or credit her with.
Yes, there was resentment there that she wasn’t good enough for him, but he had been clear about it, whereas everyone else pretended and smiled while ready to stab her in the back.