The Bride's Awakening (11 page)

‘I have no intention of putting Ana anywhere,’ Vittorio said flatly, ‘that she does not wish to be.’

‘She loves you,’ Constantia said after a moment. Her voice was quiet. ‘Or at least she could.’

Vittorio’s jaw tightened. ‘That is no concern of yours, Mother.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Constantia lifted her chin, her expression challenging and obdurate. ‘Do you know how it feels to love someone and never have them love you back? Do you know what that can drive you to think, to
do
?’ Her voice rang out, raw and ragged, and Vittorio narrowed his eyes. Her words—her tone—made no sense to him; was her obvious distress another ploy?

‘What are you talking about?’

Constantia pressed her lips together and shook her head. ‘Why are you going to marry her, Vittorio? Is it simply to spite me?’

‘You give yourself too much credit.’

‘You had no interest in marriage until I spoke of it.’

Vittorio lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. ‘You simply reminded me to do my duty as Count of Cazlevara and CEO of Cazlevara Wines,’ he said. ‘It is my duty to provide an heir.’

‘So Bernardo cannot take your place,’ she finished flatly.

Vittorio’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t even hide her true ambition, but then she never had. ‘Every man wants a son.’

‘Why her?’ Constantia demanded. ‘Why marry a woman you could not love?’

‘I’m not interested in love, Mother.’

‘Just like your father, then,’ she spat, and again Vittorio felt a confused lurch of unease which he forced himself to dismiss.

‘I’m finished with this conversation,’ he said shortly and he turned away, walking quickly from the room. It was only later, when he was preparing for bed, that he remembered and reflected on his mother’s words. She’d called Ana a woman he could not love, as if such a thing—to love Ana—was an impossibility.

His hands stilling on the buttons of his shirt, Vittorio wondered if his mother spoke the truth. He’d never
wanted
to love, that was true; was he even capable of it?

T
ODAY
was her wedding day. Ana stared at her reflection in her bedroom mirror and grimaced. She looked awful. Although she couldn’t regret the decision to wear her mother’s wedding gown, neither could she suppress the natural longing to look better in it.

The gown had been professionally cleaned and altered, but it was still befrilled and belaced to within an inch of its life—and hers. The thought of Vittorio seeing her looking like Little Bo Beep from a bad pantomime made her cringe. Sighing, she stroked the rich satin—no matter what the style, the dress was of the highest quality—and forced such negative thoughts from her mind. Today was her wedding day. She wanted to enjoy it.

Yet other negative thoughts—the doubts and fears that had dogged her since her dinner with Vittorio and Constantia—crept in and gnawed at her already struggling sense of happiness.

She’d seen Vittorio many times in the last fortnight; he’d made a point of stopping by the winery office, whether it was for a simple hello, or to show her a magazine article on the latest growing techniques, or to stroll through the Viale vineyards with her, the sun blazing benevolently down on them as they walked. Ana appreciated his attempts to make their relationship at least appear normal and pleasant, yet she couldn’t quite stop the
creeping doubt that, even though she enjoyed them, the visits seemed a little…
perfunctory
. Another item ticked off on her husband-to-be’s to-do list. He’d acquired his bride; now he was maintaining her.

She knew she shouldn’t begrudge Vittorio the time he spent with her, and she shouldn’t expect more. She shouldn’t even
want
more. She’d agreed to a business-minded marriage, she reminded herself, not nearly for the first time. She had to stick to her side of the bargain.

Someone tapped on the door and then a dark curly head peeked round the frame. ‘Are you ready?’ Paola asked. Ever since Ana had told her friend about her upcoming wedding, Paola had been wonderfully supportive. Ana had not yet told her the truth of her marriage. ‘The car is here to take you to the castle.’

Ana nodded. ‘Yes, I just need my veil.’

Smiling, Paola reached for the gossamer-thin veil of webbed lace and settled it on Ana’s head. She wore her hair up in a chignon, clusters of curls at the corners of her brow. ‘You look…’ Paola began, and Ana smiled wryly.

‘Terrible.’

Paola smiled back at Ana, their eyes meeting in the mirror. ‘I wasn’t going to say that.’

‘The dress doesn’t suit me in the least.’

Paola gave a little shrug. ‘I think it’s wonderful you’re wearing your mother’s gown and anyone with any sense will think the same, no matter what it looks like. Anyway,’ she continued robustly as she twitched the veil so the lace flowed down Ana’s back, ‘I think a bride could wear a bin bag and it wouldn’t matter at all. When you’re in love, you glow. No one looks better than a bride on her wedding day.’

‘You think so?’ Ana asked, her voice pitched just a little too shrill. She didn’t glow, and it was no wonder. She wasn’t in love. She looked, in fact, rather pasty.

Paola laid a hand on Ana’s shoulder. ‘Is everything all right, Ana? I know we haven’t been in touch in a while, but—’ she paused, chewing her lip ‘—you seem so nervous. Everyone has cold feet, of course. I was nearly sick the morning of my own wedding, do you remember? But…are you sure this is what you want?’ She softened the question with a smile, adding, ‘It’s my duty as your bridesmaid and witness to ask that, you know.’

‘I know.’ Ana made herself smile back, despite the nerves that were fluttering rather madly in her stomach and threatening to make their way up her throat. ‘Yes, Paola, this is what I want.’ No matter how nervous she was now, Ana knew she couldn’t go back to her old life, her old ways. She couldn’t walk out on Vittorio, and what marriage to him would—could—mean. She let out her breath slowly. ‘If I seem particularly nervous, it’s because this marriage isn’t—isn’t really a normal marriage.’

Paola frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Vittorio and I only agreed to get married a fortnight ago,’ Ana explained in a rush. She felt better for admitting the truth she hadn’t been brave enough to reveal since Paola’s arrival two days ago. ‘We’re not in love, not even close. It’s a marriage…of convenience.’

‘Convenience?’ Paola echoed. She gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘Just what is convenient about marriage?’

Ana tried for a laugh as well; the sound came out shaky. ‘Vittorio and I have common goals. We’re both ambitious and we have similar ideas about…things…’ She trailed off, realizing how absurd she sounded. She didn’t even know if she believed half of what she said. From the look in Paola’s narrowed eyes, neither did her friend.

‘Ana, are you really sure—’

A knock sounded at the door and the muffled voice of her father could be heard from behind it. ‘Ana,
dolcezza
, are you ready? The car is here and if we are to be on time…’

Ana took a deep breath. Her wedding day was here; the moment had arrived. In less than an hour she would be married to Vittorio, she would be the Countess of Cazlevara. A thousand thoughts and memories flitted through her dazed mind: the moment when she’d learned her mother had died, and her whole world fell away. Her father’s refusal even to see her, hiding his grief behind locked doors, insisting she attend boarding school. The hellish days at that school, alone, grief-stricken, awkward and miserable, teased and ignored. Then, later, her years at university, slowly learning how to be confident, what it would take to be successful, only to have her frail self-esteem obliterated by that awful moment in Roberto’s arms. The nights spent gazing out of her window, wondering if life would ever offer more, if love could be found. The decision to stop looking for love and enjoy what she already had, to live for what life offered her rather than seeking more, always more…All of it, every second, it seemed then, had led up to this moment and her decision to marry Vittorio.

And then new, fresh memories raced through her: the gentle touch of Vittorio’s hand on her cheek, both when she was thirteen and when she was nearly thirty. The feel of his lips on hers, his hands on her body, so deft, so desirable. The kindnesses he’d shown her in the last fortnight—calculated, perhaps—whether it was a spray of new grapes or the offer of a new gown. The tension with his mother, the hope they both had for the future.

And then, to her surprise, as the memories faded and she blinked the room back into focus, she realized she was no longer afraid. Her nerves had fled and in their place a new, serene determination had emerged. She smiled at Paola.

‘This is what I want, Paola. I am sure.’ Turning, Ana called to her father, ‘Papà! I’m ready.’

As she opened the door, Enrico blinked tears from his eyes as he saw her in her mother’s gown. ‘Oh,
dolcezza! Magnifica!
’

Ana smiled.

She didn’t quite manage a smile as she saw Vittorio’s expression when she came down the aisle of the chapel attached to Castle Cazlevara. Only a dozen guests were scattered among the dark wood pews, a few relatives and friends. Paola, Vittorio and her father all stood at the front as Ana walked down the aisle alone in her mother’s ruffled gown.

Vittorio, for a single second, looked horrified. Then his expression smoothed out as if an iron had been applied to it and he gave her the barest flicker of a smile; his eyes remained dark. Ana remembered what she’d once said about her own fashion sense and knew Vittorio was doubting her now. He was probably wondering just what kind of woman he was marrying, when she came down the aisle in a gown thirty years out of date, a gown that made her look like a melting meringue.

Ana lifted her chin and found her smile.

The ceremony only lasted a few minutes, or so it seemed, for, after a blur of words and motions, Vittorio was sliding the heavy band of antique gold on her finger and then his lips, cool and somehow remote, were pressing her cheek in the chastest of kisses. Even so, Ana’s blood stirred and desire leapt low in her belly.

Vittorio stepped away.

Ana heard a spattering of applause from the paltry crowd as if from a great distance, and then Vittorio was leading her down the aisle, away from the chapel and towards the great hall of the castle where their wedding feast would be held.

She sneaked a glance at his profile; his jaw was tight, his gaze staring straight ahead. Ana realized afresh just how much of a stranger her husband was.

Her husband. The thought was incredible, bizarre, ridiculous.
Exciting. She swallowed past the fear and remembered her earlier certainty, tried to feel it again.

A servant opened the doors to the great hall, the long table now laid for a meal for twenty. Vittorio turned to her.

‘A small wedding reception, and then we can retire. I’m sure you’re tired.’ He spoke with a careful politeness that managed to make Ana feel even more awkward and strange. She nodded jerkily.

‘Thank you.’

Vittorio nodded back, and Ana wondered if this kind of stilted conversation was what she had to look forward to for the rest of her life.

What had she just done? What had she agreed to?

Like the ceremony, the wedding reception passed in a blur that still managed to make Ana both uncomfortable and exhausted. It wasn’t a normal marriage, and people seemed to sense that, so it wasn’t a normal wedding reception either. Her friends regarded her a bit quizzically; everyone she’d told had been utterly surprised by her abrupt engagement, although too polite perhaps to show it. Even her Aunt Iris, a distant stranger, scrutinized her with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, as if she suspected that something was amiss. Vittorio’s brother, Bernardo, shook her hand; his fingers were cold against hers and his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Constantia didn’t speak to her at all.

Ana did her best to chat and smile with those who did want to talk to her; she ate a few mouthfuls of the delicious
cicchetti
, meatballs and fried crab, as well as one of the region’s specialities, a lobster risotto. And of course there was wine: a rich red wine with the pasta, and crisp white wine with the fish, and prosecco with lemon sorbet for dessert.

By the time the plates had been cleared, Ana felt both exhausted and a bit dizzy. She saw Vittorio signal to a servant, and then moments later felt someone’s hand on her shoulder. She turned and saw Paola smiling at her.

‘Come, the wedding feast is nearly over. I’ll help you out of your dress.’

‘Out of…?’ Ana repeated blankly, her mind fuzzy from the food and wine. Of course; the wedding was over, it was now her wedding night.

Vittorio had been vague about what he expected—what he
wanted
—from their first night together as husband and wife. He’d mentioned that he would give her time; there was no need to consummate their marriage on the very first night.

Yet what did he want? What did she want?

She knew the answer to the second question:
him
.

Ana let Paola lead her away from the reception, up to an unfamiliar corridor—she’d never even been upstairs before—and finally to a bedroom suite. Ana took in the massive stone fireplace, a fire already laid, the huge four poster bed piled high with velvet and satin pillows and the dimmed lighting. It was a room for seduction. It was a room for love.

‘How did you know where to go?’ she asked Paola, who had already closed the door and was reaching for the back of Ana’s dress, and the thirty-six buttons that went from the nape of her neck to the small of her back.

‘One of the servants showed me. Vittorio has a timetable, apparently. It’s all very organized, isn’t it?’

‘That’s a good thing,’ Ana replied. She couldn’t help but feel just a little defensive; she heard a note of censure in her friend’s voice.

‘So,’ Paola asked as she finished with the buttons and the dress sank around Ana’s ankles in a pool of satin, ‘just how convenient is this marriage, anyway?’ She gestured towards the room with its candlelight and pillows with a wry smile.

‘Not that convenient, I suppose.’ Ana smiled, felt the leap of anticipation in her belly, the tightening of her muscles and nerves in heady expectation. She was ready. She
wanted
this. So terribly, dangerously much.

‘Do you love him, Ana?’ Paola asked quietly. Ana stepped out of her dress, standing in just a thin slip, and reached for the pins that held her hair in its fussy chignon. Her back remained to Paola.

‘No,’ she said after a moment, ‘but that’s all right.’

‘Is it?’

Ana turned around. ‘I know you married for love, Paola, but that doesn’t mean it’s the only way. Vittorio and I want to be happy together, and I think we will be.’ Brave words. She’d believed them once, when she’d accepted his proposal, when she’d agreed with all of his logical points. It had made
sense
.

Yet, looking at that bed piled high with pillows and flickering with candlelit shadows, there was nothing sensible about it.

‘I almost forgot,’ Paola said. ‘Your husband left this for you.’ She gestured to a plain white box, wrapped with a ribbon of ivory silk.

‘Oh?’ Ana reached for it; the ribbon fell away with a slither and she opened the box. Inside was the most exquisite nightdress she’d ever seen; the silk was whisper-thin and delicately scalloped lace embroidered the edges. It was held up by two gauzy ribbons, to be tied at each shoulder.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ Paola breathed, and Ana could only nod. Then she caught sight of the tag, and her heart sank straight down to her feet.

‘It’s also three sizes too big.’

‘Men are terrible with things like that—’ Paola said quickly, too quickly.

Ana nodded, tossing the gorgeous gown back into its box. ‘Of course. It doesn’t matter.’ Yet it did. She felt hurt, ridiculously near tears, horribly vulnerable, and suddenly she wanted—needed—to be alone. ‘I’m fine, Paola. Vittorio will most likely arrive soon. You can leave me.’

‘Ana—’

‘I’m fine,’ she said again, more firmly, and then she gave her
friend a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Thank you for all you’ve done, and for coming to be my bridesmaid. I know how sudden it all was—’