Bought with His Name & the Sicilian's Bought Bride Read online

  ‘Mrs Mancini—you haven’t been in here all night, I hope?’ Jessica gave a worried frown as she bustled in, and heeding Rico’s words about trusting the staff Catherine shook her head.

  ‘Of course not. I thought I heard something and I was just checking she was okay. Rico wanted to give her a kiss before he went to work.’

  ‘I’ll be off, then.’ He moved to go, but changed his mind midway. Turning, he fixed her with a black smile and walked over, ignoring the furious warning signs blazing from Catherine’s eyes.

  ‘Goodbye, darling.’

  God, he deserved an Oscar.

  Jessica, clearly used to being ignored, stood politely as he pulled Catherine into his arms, buried his face in hers and kissed her way too thoroughly. Mindful of her unbrushed teeth, burning with embarrassment at their audience, she stood stiff and unyielding in his arms. But Rico didn’t seem to mind a bit. His tongue probed her lips, his hand lazily working its way under her hair, fingers massaging her tense neck. She could feel the cool metal of his watch, smell the fresh crisp scent of him, and as he pulled away Catherine changed her mind—it was she who deserved the Oscar, for it had taken every ounce of will power to keep from kissing him back.

  ‘Bye, then.’ That triumphant glint was back in his eye.

  He’s enjoying this, Catherine thought darkly. Enjoying my utter humiliation, enjoying watching me squirm. Well, two can play at that game!

  ‘Sweetheart?’ Her voice was pure honey and she saw him frown quizzically as he turned back from the door, clearly bemused at the change in her. ‘You said something about leaving me some money…’

  She watched his face darken, but her smile stayed fixed and she held out her hand as he handed over the cash, a malicious glint in her eye to mask the tears.

  ‘Hurry home, Rico.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT SHOULD have been perfect.

  Day after lonely day she reminded herself of the fact.

  A beautiful home, Lily growing more divine by the second, a husband she loved, everything there for the taking.

  So why did she feel like a prisoner?

  It looked good on paper.

  Rico had already given her the answer, Catherine realised. On paper she had everything, but it counted for nothing. Hovering behind the curtains, watching the endless camera lenses still mercilessly trained on the house, she was scarcely able to believe that after two weeks public interest hadn’t waned.

  But then why would it? Catherine thought with a wry smile. She was as guilty as anyone of devouring the glossies, and the Mancinis certainly made for a good centre spread; the upcoming legal battle, and Antonia, grim and determined, giving endless interviews which Rico read without comment then promptly deposited in the bin.

  Naturally, after he’d left for work, Catherine retrieved them.

  She was desperate for some insight, frantically trying to join together the jumble of dots that made up Rico. Her heart just melted at the sight of a photo of him, dark and brooding, climbing into his car, his lips set in a grim line, eyes hidden behind dark glasses, the proverbial no comment all he had to say on the matter.

  All he had to say full stop.

  Since their first night back at the house enemy lines had been drawn, and night after lonely night she chided herself for her part in it. Day after day Catherine berated herself for her handling of things. Time and again she attempted to talk to him, to somehow fashion a path out of the stalemate they’d locked themselves into.

  Time and again he pushed her away.

  ‘Lily’s grandparents are at the front door.’ Jessica’s nervous voice broke into her thoughts. ‘I didn’t know if I should let them in or not.’

  Her first instinct was to say no, to let the staff sort it out, even to ring Rico and ask him what she should do. But Catherine reminded herself she was made of sterner stuff than that, and perhaps if she was ever to make an informed opinion she should listen to what they had to say—stop relying on magazines and find out the real story.

  ‘Show them through.’

  The sight that confronted her was one she hadn’t expected. Bracing herself for the garish, overdressed woman she had seen at the funeral, she was somewhat shocked to see Antonia Mancini dressed in casual trousers and a pale jumper. Her make-up was minimal and her smile seemed genuine.

  ‘Catherine.’ She swept across the room in a moment and pulled her into an embrace as Catherine stood awkward and unsure. ‘I’m sorry—too tactile for my own good sometimes. I’m just so pleased that you let us in.’

  ‘I don’t want to keep Lily from her family.’ Catherine smiled at the baby on the floor as Carlos and Antonia knelt down beside her and tickled her toes. ‘Tactile’ wasn’t the word that sprung to mind after Rico’s stern description of Antonia, but the effusive woman playing with Lily now seemed a world away from the person who had greeted her with such distaste at the funeral.

  ‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ Antonia was positively crooning, and she flashed an embarrassed smile as Catherine stood there rigid.

  Picking up the infant, Antonia waited patiently as Carlos sat himself down and then held his hands out, and nothing Rico could say would ever convince Catherine that the love that blazed in the elderly man’s eyes as he took his granddaughter wasn’t genuine.

  ‘I think I’ve got a competitor for Carlos’s affections.’ Antonia smiled. ‘Can I see the nursery?’

  It was an obvious request, Catherine told herself, the sort of thing any doting grandparent would ask, and after only a brief hesitation she nodded. But Lily’s grizzles halted the women at the door.

  ‘Here.’ Handing Carlos a book of nursery rhymes, she gave an embarrassed smile. ‘She’s due a bottle, but I’ve found if I read a few of these to her I can generally hold her off for a little while.’

  Carlos took the book and eyed it distastefully before depositing it beside him on the couch.

  ‘We will manage.’

  ‘Of course.’ Catherine frowned, taken aback by the abruptness of his gesture when she had only been trying to help.

  ‘Carlos will be fine,’ Antonia soothed as they made their way up the stairs. ‘No doubt he’ll be singing some Sicilian lullaby to her by the time we go back down. He’s been so looking forward to seeing her. Me too,’ Antonia added as they walked into the nursery. ‘I love babies—girls especially.’

  ‘Did you have any? I mean…’ Catherine was flustered. ‘Do you have any children of your own?’

  Antonia shook her head. ‘My first husband and I weren’t blessed, unfortunately. When Carlos and I married I thought…’ Her voice trailed off for a moment, and there was a wistful gleam in her eye as she looked around the nursery. Her hands lingered a moment on the heavy wooden cot, and she stared at the picture of Janey and Marco Catherine had placed on a small table by the night-light. ‘I was naamp2;¨ve, I suppose. I assumed I could step right in and take over, but Bella Mancini was rather a hard act to follow—at least in her children’s eyes.’

  ‘It must have been hard for you,’ Catherine ventured, her mind working nineteen to the dozen. She didn’t want to be taken in, but as she sat down in the rocking chair and listened as Antonia told her tale she found herself slowly warming to the older woman.

  ‘It was,’ Antonia agreed. ‘Oh, not that I’m complaining. Carlos was marvellous, and once Marco went to…’ She gave a helpless shrug and Catherine jumped in.

  ‘Why did you send Marco to boarding school?’ It sounded like an accusation, but Catherine deliberately didn’t apologise watching Antonia’s reaction closely, determined to hear the facts, to make up her own mind.

  ‘Marco was out of control.’ Antonia’s eyes fixed on hers. ‘Bella, their mother, had let them run wild—she was a working mum.’ Watching Catherine’s shoulders stiffen slightly, Antonia changed tack. ‘I’m not against working mums, you understand, but Bella spent her whole time in the office and made up for it with her chequebook. Anything the children wanted they had—except thei
r mother. Rico was an insular young man; there was no reaching him. He was eighteen years old by the time Carlos and I got married. Oh, I tried to get close. But—well, I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you how guarded he is…’

  She didn’t. ‘Guarded’ certainly was an apt description, and trying to picture Rico as a young man was an almost impossible feat. He seemed born mature.

  ‘As for Marco, he was heading for trouble—twelve years old and with no authority figure. Carlos adored him, but he was never very good at saying no to him. I thought if he went to boarding school, got some sense of worth instilled in him, discipline…’

  Antonia was fishing for her hanky now, only this time her tears seemed real. Catherine suddenly felt sorry for her—there really were two sides to every story.

  ‘Maybe I did make a mistake, maybe I should have hung in there a bit longer, but at the time…’ She picked up the photo, staring at it for an age before softly replacing it. ‘I was hoping to do things better with Lily—show Carlos and Rico that I can be a good mother and maybe somehow make things up to Marco. I know Rico will not be pleased you let us in, but I want to thank you, Catherine—thank you for letting Carlos and I have some time with Lily.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ Catherine went to stand, but the room suddenly seemed to be shrinking. Antonia’s eyes bored into her as she held firmly onto the cot rail, steadying herself against a sudden overwhelming nausea.

  ‘My dear, are you all right?’ Antonia asked, pushing Catherine gently back down in the seat. ‘You look ever so pale.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Catherine croaked, and then righted herself. ‘I’m fine,’ she said again, only this time more forcibly. ‘Just a bit tired.’

  ‘You must be exhausted.’ Antonia picked up her bag and as Catherine again went to stand she gestured for her to sit. ‘I can see myself out, Catherine; you just sit there and rest a while.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Catherine insisted, suddenly feeling foolish.

  ‘You’re worn out, my dear.’ Antonia patted her shoulder in an almost motherly gesture. ‘And undoubtedly you’ve got a lot on your mind.’

  That was the understatement of the millennium.

  Left alone, Catherine creased her forehead in concern, her hands fluttering to her stomach. The eternal calculator women reverted to sprang into action as she tried to remember a landmark—she’d been at work—no, shopping—the twenty-second…Her fingers drummed on the side of the rocking chair as she did the maths, trying to ignore the gnawing possibility that seemed to be gaining momentum, trying to push away a truth that couldn’t be ignored no matter how she might want to.

  How long she sat there she wasn’t quite sure. But Jessica had long since taken Lily for a walk, and late-afternoon shadows had long since started creeping in when, chilled to the core, Catherine took herself to her room and lay on the lonely marital bed like a wounded animal, trying to fathom Rico’s reaction when she told him.

  Trying to fathom her own reaction to the news that was only now starting to hit home.

  Her marriage was now for ever.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘I THOUGHT one actually had to give birth to suffer from postnatal depression!’

  Flinging open the curtains, Rico looked down at her, and Catherine stared back, unblinking, watching his catlike elegance as he started to prowl the room. He threw open the wardrobe and pulled out one of the many expensive dresses that had miraculously appeared. ‘Or don’t tell me—you’re tired again!’

  He had a point. Much as it galled her to admit it, Rico had every right to be scathing. Since Antonia’s visit most of her days had been spent in the bedroom, trying and failing to work out some sort of plan, trying and failing to summon up the courage to tell Rico what was really on her mind.

  But it wasn’t just Rico’s reaction troubling Catherine, it was her own take on things that terrified her the most. How could she even begin to contemplate having another baby when she’d barely adjusted to having Lily? How could a heart that already seemed stretched to capacity falling in love with one, fall in love with two?

  ‘I’m bored, Rico.’ Sitting up on the crumpled bed, Catherine refused to look him in the eye, woefully aware of her rather shabby appearance compared to his—the unkempt hair, the dark bags under her eyes, the shiny unmade-up face.

  ‘Well, why aren’t you at the park with Lily?’ Rico protested. ‘It’s a beautiful day.’

  ‘It’s been a beautiful day since eight a.m.,’ Catherine said with an edge to her voice. ‘And I’ve been to the park—twice. I’ve been for a coffee at the bakery you told me about, and I’ve even been to children’s storytime at the library—much to Jessica’s horror. We’re both falling over ourselves to find something to do.’ When he didn’t respond Catherine pushed harder. ‘I want to go back to work, Rico.’

  ‘You are not working.’

  ‘I’m going out of my mind.’ Catherine attempted to run a hand through her hair, but to her eternal shame—and Rico’s rather obvious contempt—a knot midway prevented her.

  ‘You could try going to the hairdresser’s,’ Rico responded nastily. ‘Try making a bit more of an effort with yourself.’

  His words stung. Catherine was painfully aware she had let herself go over the past couple of weeks, but with Rico leaving at the crack of dawn, only to reappear late evening, it was hard to summon up the enthusiasm to look gorgeous. Invariably he’d arrive home and roll up his sleeves, lavish attention on a receptive Lily, then disappear into his study. She could be dressed in a sack for all the attention he gave her, and now he had the audacity to stroll in unannounced at five p.m. and demand a sleek sophisticate purring on the couch and eagerly anticipating her master’s return.

  Well, she damn well wasn’t going to jump.

  ‘I’m not cut out for this, Rico.’ She kept her voice even, tried to keep the note of urgency away. ‘I’ve always worked, the same as you, and I enjoyed my career. Imagine if you suddenly had to give it up. Imagine if you were left alone in this house all day.’

  ‘You’re not alone, though,’ Rico pointed out. ‘You’ve got Lily.’

  ‘I know that.’ Catherine whistled through gritted teeth. ‘But I truly think I’d be a better mother if I could work—even part-time.’

  ‘Because we really need the money?’

  His sarcasm wasn’t helping.

  ‘Because I really need something else.’

  ‘No, Catherine.’ He shook his head fiercely. ‘This is a pathetic attempt to show me you’re not after me for my money—a half-hearted attempt to show me you actually liked your life.’

  ‘I did like my life.’ She was shouting now, as she confronted this impossible man. ‘I liked it a damn sight more than I like it now. I’m tired of being waited on, tired of staff hovering and attending to my every whim, tired of rattling around a massive house all day with nothing to do. I want to work, Rico, I want to cook my own meals now and then or ring for a pizza if I feel like it…’ she shook her head in sheer frustration at his noncomprehending expression, desperate for him to understand. ‘Rico, I just want to get used to my new family in my own way, to try and feel like a normal wife and mother.’ For a tiny slice of time she seemed to reach him, registered something in his eyes that bordered on understanding, and she stood trembling for a moment, willing herself to continue, to bring things out into the open. ‘I know what’s worrying you, Rico. I know what you’re scared of and I promise you that if I did go back to work then I wouldn’t be like your mother.’

  For an age there was silence. Catherine scarcely recognised the dark stranger staring back at her. ‘That goes without saying.’ His voice was a snarl. ‘Because at least my mother knew how to treat her husband. My mother managed to make an effort. But tell me, where does my mother come into this, Catherine? What crap have you been listening to now?’

  ‘There’s no need to swear.’

  ‘Oh, there’s every need,’ Rico snarled. ‘You bury your head in magazines, you insist on having
Antonia over, despite my express orders…’

  She jumped back slightly, eyes widening as she realised Rico knew.

  ‘You think I don’t know that Antonia has been here? You think I don’t know that you have let her in this house?’

  ‘She’s Lily’s grandmother.’

  ‘She’s my father’s putana. Nothing more, nothing less.’

  His anger was palpable, a simmering rage that might explode at any moment, but Catherine was past caring. She had to get through to him—couldn’t carry on this sham of a marriage. And even though Rico had crossed that line, the boundary that normally kept their rows decent, and opened the borders to a place Catherine wasn’t sure she was ready to explore, she knew now was the time—knew there had to be changes if ever they were to move ahead.

  ‘I want to go back to work, Rico.’ Catherine’s voice was firm. ‘I’d still be here for you and Lily.’

  ‘You’re not here for me, though, are you?’ His words were like pistol-shots. ‘You haven’t been a wife to me since that ring was put on your finger. And you’re certainly not here for Lily. You’re lying up here, mooching around and feeling sorry for yourself. I’ve tried—my God, I’ve tried—to give you space. I’ve tried to understand you’re grieving for your sister, and the wrench all this has been, but you don’t make things easy.’

  ‘Antonia said that your mother—’

  ‘Don’t mention her name in the same breath as my mother,’ Rico roared. ‘I can just imagine what Antonia said—just imagine the lies she’s been feeding you when you’ve let her in. You’d rather believe her than your husband? You are my wife, Catherine, and you’re going to start acting like one. You will go and have a shower, do your hair, and tonight we will go out.’

  ‘No.’ Her response was instant. Going out was the last thing she wanted to do tonight. ‘Please, Rico, I really don’t feel well.’

  Instantly his expression changed, his anger evaporating, his face a picture of concern. ‘What is wrong?’