Chapter Eight
Micha had nearly been late. For his own wedding. What a damn joke.
He’d been putting out fires that started last night.
He’d expected Luca Gallo to retaliate, yes, but that quickly?
He’d been surprised. Luca had a reputation as lazy, mean and selfish.
It was distinctly possible that there were other family members involved, if not the whole damn lot of them.
As it was, he’d only managed damage control. The rest, he’d leave for later.
For after the wedding.
Obviously, it had taken an obscene amount of money to gently nudge the wheels of church policy to move so quickly but as he knew the priest, knew the money would be used for good causes, Micha didn’t begrudge it for one moment.
As he hastened along the ancient stone pathway to the side chapel of the church, he remembered what Antonio had said to him before leaving the restaurant last night.
She was broken after you left her. And if you do that to her again, they’ll never find your body.
The threat had been laughable, but the information had near devastated him.
The only way he’d got through those first few years in Paris was the white-knuckled grip he’d had on his belief that she’d have left him anyway.
He couldn’t have meant that much to her, because she would choose her family.
A family that had never appreciated her.
A family that had rejected her and still did.
That’s what had stung the most. That he didn’t even stack up against them. But of course he hadn’t.
He’d known at the time that Antonio would take Maria’s side. He just hadn’t realised that it would form a rift of resentment that even time couldn’t breach.
She was broken after you left her.
Micha shook off his thoughts as he stepped into the cool, reverent interior of the church he had sneaked into when he was a child, seeking anything to assuage the ferocious summer heat.
Because he’d not been able to go home. Because his father had still been there at the time, and would have given Micha a beating for sure.
And then later, after his father had left, he’d skulked in the shadows while his mother… He swallowed. There was something almost biblical about his feelings of his past and his future in that moment. Retaliation, redemption and in among it all Maria and their innocent child.
The priest’s footsteps on the cool stone floor were soft.
‘Micha.’
‘Father.’
‘It’s good to see you,’ Father Perosi greeted with a smile. ‘Though it’s been some time since your last confession.’
‘I was away.’
‘Mmm’ was all he said in response to Micha’s tenure in Paris. ‘And now you are back. With a bride.’
Micha nodded, peering over his shoulder where he caught sight of filled pews.
‘And in a hurry,’ Father Perosi chided gently.
‘Wasn’t I always?’
‘Si,’ the older man said with a smile in his eyes. ‘Ready?’
‘Just like that? No questions about whether I’m sure, whether I’m committed?’ Micha asked, only half teasing.
Father Perosi turned his considerably weighty gaze on him and Micha felt it pass beyond skin and bone until it felt as if he were gazing into Micha’s very soul.
‘You would not be here if you were neither sure nor committed.’
Micha nodded, knowing it as truth.
‘And besides, I think you gave your heart to this woman a very long time ago.’
Micha clenched his jaw and acknowledged, reluctantly, that the priest he’d known since childhood was right.
He had given Maria his heart a very long time ago.
But she had let it go, abandoned it, refused it and now there was nothing but an empty space in his chest. Nothing to hope, nothing to want, nothing to hurt. Not again.
If she wasn’t carrying their child, they wouldn’t be here. So, while he was committed and sure about this marriage, he wasn’t naive enough to think it was anything other than a way to protect their child’s happiness. His happiness had never come into it.
Micha followed Father Perosi out of the small chapel into the main body of the church and towards the top of the aisle, ignoring the glares of the closest Gallos but landing on Antonio and the man beside him.
Enzo Rossetti’s mother—Gio’s daughter—had been disowned by Gio years ago.
But just before his death, Gio had reached out to Enzo and the two had become reacquainted.
Micha had been only peripherally aware of the old man’s attempts to meddle in the American Italian’s life, as thankfully Gio had decided in this instance to do his own dirty work.
As such, Micha had only really encountered Enzo and his fiancée, Erin, a handful of times since Gio’s passing.
Especially since before he passed, Gio had made Enzo a member of the Gallo Group board.
Undoubtedly the man was as flippant as his playboy reputation suggested, but there was something deeper there that warned Micha not to believe all that had been said about Antonio and Maria’s cousin and respect the man’s surprisingly good business sense.
Antonio, still clearly angry with him from the night before, glared at Micha, who turned his attention back to the proceedings.
There was no best man, and Maria had no bridesmaid.
She’d have probably chosen Ivy and he wouldn’t have minded, only it would have left him picking Antonio to stand behind him and while a certain amount of hostilities had subsided, given the détente reached over Micha and Ivy’s surprising friendship, they were very far from the childhood friends they had once been.
Father Perosi gave him one last knowing look, and then nodded to the musical director, who managed to seamlessly blend the ongoing background music into the wedding march.
A split second before he was entirely ready, the wide wooden doors opened at the bottom of the aisle to reveal Maria standing in the open doorway and the breath left his lungs in a whoosh.
It was, he told himself later, because he had been expecting her to wear one of the dresses he’d selected in the bridal shop. Not that he was being autocratic and as much of a bastard as to insist that she should have worn one of them. It was just because he hadn’t expected her to wear that dress.
The one that reminded him of when they’d been younger. The one that had conjured images of a future he’d told himself he’d never have. That made his pulse pound and his heart sore and soar at the same time. The one that made her look incredible.
Thick, dark, lazily curling hair framed her face and tumbled around her shoulders and down her back.
Light touches of make-up left her natural beauty to shine all on its own, wide, large brown eyes locked on him, the plunging V neckline leading his gaze down to where she held a small bouquet of wildflowers, a miniature riot of colours that was both whimsical and fresh.
For a split second he remembered—a sunny afternoon, a feeling so powerful he thought his chest would burst, the gentle touch of fingers and lips, the warmth of sunshine from above and within, the sound of Maria’s laugh and a hope for the impossible.
Then she faltered, ever so slightly, an infinitesimal pause in her stride, enough time for him only to blink and it was gone. Her hesitation, the memory, the past. It was all gone. And now a very different kind of future opened up before them. One that, he told himself, had to be enough.
Maria’s pulse tripped and she just about managed to smooth it out without notice.
She thought Micha might have caught the near wobble, but nothing had shown on his aggressively handsome face.
Dark features stood out against the stark white of his dress shirt and bow tie.
The light slid against the silk lapels every time Micha breathed and then got lost in the superfine black wool of his tuxedo.
High cheekbones, almost savagely sharp, and shadows beneath his eyes suggested a sleepless night.
The clean shave to his jaw made him look both younger and leaner, hungry, powerful.
Maria swallowed as she closed the distance between them, her gaze dropping to the sensual lips that had brought her so much pleasure.
They opened then, just slightly, barely enough to draw breath, but she felt the rise of a flush on her cheeks, and flicked her gaze up to his where what she saw sent goosebumps scattering across her skin beneath the draping silk from her shoulders to her sleeves.
She watched as his gaze searched her from head to toe. Was he disappointed that she hadn’t picked one of the dresses he had pulled for her? Was he angry that she’d found the one that he’d discarded?
Why was it that she could never tell with him?
she cursed mentally. Why was he just so hard for her to read?
He’d been so kind to her last night. After she’d finished crying, he’d walked her to the room he’d arranged for her and left her at the doorway.
It had been naive, and supremely silly to hope that he might have stayed. Might have…
And he’d been gone before she could even ask about the wedding night.
She’d been so intensely focused on putting one foot in front of the other, that if she wasn’t careful, she’d end up like her mother.
No. After today, after the marriage, she would find a way to claw back her independence.
She had to. For herself and more importantly for her child.
She reached the top of the aisle and felt Micha’s assessing gaze on her, as if he’d noticed a change in her demeanour. As the priest welcomed them, and the congregation, she held her soon-to-be husband’s gaze. Looking, really looking this time. Not shying away or getting distracted by other things.
There were things she knew, the golden flecks in eyes so dark they almost looked black. The small flat mole just beneath his left eye, and the tiny silvery scar through his eyebrow on the right, where the hair didn’t quite grow back as thickly. All these things were familiar, but she wanted more.