Epilogue
‘I USED TO THINK you hated weddings.’
Niccolò looked down into Alannah’s face as he closed the door to their honeymoon suite, and smiled at her. ‘I did. But that was before I found the woman I wanted to marry. Now it seems that I’m their biggest fan.’
‘Mmm. Me, too.’ She looped her arms around his neck. ‘You did like the dress?’
‘You looked beautiful. The most beautiful bride in the world. But then, you could wear a piece of sacking and I still wouldn’t be able to tear my eyes away from you.’
‘Oh, Niccolò.’ She slanted him a look from between her lashes. ‘Whoever would have guessed that beneath that cynical exterior beat the heart of a true poet?’
‘It’s true,’ he said, mock-seriously. ‘Though I must be careful not to lose my edge. If my competitors find out how much I’m softening, then I will soon be toast in the world of finance.’
‘You?’ She laughed easily. ‘Yeah, sure. Like that’s ever going to happen!’
He began to unzip her dress. ‘Are you tired?’
‘Not a bit. Even though it’s been a very long day.
’ She closed her eyes as the costly gown pooled to the ground around her feet.
She had thought he would want a quiet wedding—something discreet, even a little hushed-up.
Hadn’t she thought he’d want to keep the risk of press interest to a minimum, despite his protestations that her past no longer bothered him?
Probably. But once again he had surprised her.
It was funny how love had the power to change people and to alter their views on what was important.
He had told her that he was going to announce their engagement to the world’s press and then he had gone out and bought her an enormous sapphire ring, which he said was the closest colour he could get to the denim-blue of her eyes.
Predictably, some of the old photos from Stacked magazine had made an appearance in the papers—but suddenly, they didn’t seem to matter.
It was slightly surreal to hear Niccolò echoing his sister’s words—and believing them—by saying really they were very tame in comparison to a lot of the stuff you saw in contemporary music videos.
‘I am proud of you, tentatrice,’ he had murmured, crumpling the newspaper into a ball and hurling it into the bin. ‘Proud of all you have achieved and how you have kept your dignity intact. Most of all, I am proud that you have consented to be my wife.’
And she had smiled. ‘Oh, darling.’
The wedding was held in London’s oldest Italian church, in Clerkenwell, and there was a stellar number of guests.
A fully recovered Luis Martinez was there—as was the Sultan of Qurhah, Murat ‘the Magnificent’.
And naturally, Alekto Sarantos was at his dazzling best, even though he was barely visible through the sea of eager women who were clamouring round him.
Michela was matron of honour—her silk gown cleverly hiding the beginning of a baby bump.
With Alannah’s encouragement, Niccolò had told Michela the truth about their parents’ death—and the admission had brought brother and sister much closer. Because secrets were always more dangerous than the truth, as he’d learned.
Alannah shivered with pleasure as Niccolò lifted her out of the discarded wedding dress and carried her over to the bed, wearing nothing but her underwear, sheer stockings and a pair of very high, white stilettos.
As he undressed her she thought about the inhibitions which had once crippled her and which now seemed like a distant memory.
Tomorrow they were flying to the island of Niccolò’s birth.
He had only been back to Sicily once, after his mother’s death—when he had been full of youthful rage and bitterness about the rejection she had suffered at the hands of her own family.
But time had mellowed him and Alannah had helped him get some perspective.
His maternal grandparents were dead—but he had cousins and uncles and aunts living there.
A whole new family for them to get to know.
And she was excited about that, too—looking forward to a big, extended family after so many years on her own.
He moved over her, his face suddenly very serious as he brushed her hair away from her cheek. ‘Thank you,’ he said softly.
She took his hand and kissed it. ‘For?’
‘For loving me. For being you.’
For being you. He didn’t want anyone else, she had come to realise. He just wanted her exactly as she was, with no changes or modifications. He didn’t want to rewrite her past, or pretend it hadn’t happened, because her past had made her the woman she was today. And he loved that woman.
Alannah sighed.
Just like she loved her man.