Wife By Force(10)

She slid her pool dress over her head and picked up her book. "You're mistaken."

"I do not make mistakes."

"Oh, Dante." A wry laugh twisted her mouth, as she turned to walk to her car. "Keep telling yourself that."

"Lara." Her name stopped her, but she didn't turn to face him again. "Some things you cannot run away from."

The sunlight glistened on her hair as she disappeared around the corner of the pool house.





Chapter 5
         

     



 




A wash of cool air hit her as she stepped into the ancient stone church.   The strains of Vivaldi filled the foyer with the sweet singing of   violins. The low murmur of the hundreds of guests filling the sanctuary   proved the power of the Casartellis.

No one would dare miss Carlotta's wedding.

Except Hugo Derrick.

Lara exhaled a puff of remaining annoyance. Of all the days her father   could choose, why today? He'd gone to Florence to see her brother,   leaving her to handle the apologies and explanations.

"Signorina." A fresh-faced, eager usher appeared at her side.

Forcing a smile, she handed her invitation over.

He offered her his tuxedoed arm and ushered her into the deep well of   the sanctuary. High arches circled the room, white stone interspersed   with medieval statues of saints. Large bright canvases of swirling   motion added color and texture to the church. As a child, she'd often   attended mass here with the Casartellis. The fond memories flooded her   mind as she walked slowly down the aisle between the heavily carved   wooden benches. Benches filled to capacity. The men dressed in sleek   Armani or Didonna, the women in the sultry silk of Versace or Moschino.   Gucci bags and Ferragamo shoes competed for attention with splashy   jewelry and beautiful smiles. Anyone looking at this crowd would know   the power and prestige of the family who commanded their attendance.

The usher kept walking. Lara nodded at neighbors she'd become   reacquainted with and new friends the Casartelli sisters had introduced   her to. Her heart had warmed at how speedily and thoroughly she'd been   absorbed back into the circle in which she'd grown up. Their acceptance   had made the adjustment of leaving England much easier.

The usher kept walking. Past the neighbors. Past the throngs of friends. Past the elite of Florence and Rome.

Right up to the front of the church. Right up to the family.

There must be some mistake.

"Signore." She frowned.

He smiled and waved her in. Into the second pew from the altar.

"I don't think-"

"Lara." Daniella Casartelli Rossini, her closest friend as a child, and   now quickly becoming her closest friend once more, beckoned. "Come on.   Sit."

"But … "

The usher walked away.

Feeling like she was the focus of all eyes, she stepped into the pew and sat down. "I can't sit here."

"Why not?" Daniella bounced a laughing toddler on her knee. Her husband,   sitting beside her, smiled from above another baby's head. Dani was   younger by three years, yet her marriage and the subsequent birth of her   twins had added a layer of contentment and maturity to her features   that Lara envied.

"I'm not family."

"Close enough." Her friend grinned.

The crash of the organ replaced the trilling of the violins. She watched   as, with great ceremony, Giana Casartelli was ushered into the pew   right in front of her.

"I've got to go and find a seat in the back."

Dani's hand latched onto her arm. "Too late."

With resignation, she glanced around to see a string of bridesmaids   walking down the aisle. Behind them, the bride stood in the entryway.   Carlotta looked beautiful, yet it was the tall man standing beside her   who garnered Lara's reluctant attention.

The stark black of his tuxedo contrasted with the blinding white of his   shirt and tie. The suit fit him, in more than one way. The cut   emphasized the broad hardness of his shoulders, the trim edge of his   hips. The absence of color in his clothes highlighted the rich olive of   his skin and the glossy strands of his hair. The contrast was like him:   all black and white, all cold and hot.

"He wanted you to sit here," Daniella whispered in her ear.

Instant irritation bubbled through her veins. She'd forced him out of   her memory, out of her conscience, with grim determination over the past   five days. Throwing herself into the school and work until she was   exhausted meant her days were filled. Her nights were filled too. With   weary sleep. No time to think of him in the day, no dreaded dreams of   him at night.

Or rather, nightmares.

The bridal processional boomed and the couple began the long trip down   to the altar. If there had been any way to escape, she would have run   for the door, yet there was nowhere to go. His family crowded the pew on   her left. The aisle to her right was strewn with bridesmaids, a bride …

And him.

The damned man had manipulated her once again. Forced her into a   situation she couldn't get out of. Not without making a fuss and causing   a stir.

Which would only call more attention to her dilemma.

The crowd stood. The Casartelli clan surrounded her like a smothering   blanket. Giana wiped her eyes with a lacy handkerchief, Dani's babies   babbled, all the sisters smiled as their youngest sister and oldest   brother passed.         

     



 

Lara wondered if they'd mind if she tripped him on his stroll.

The man was as controlling, as conniving, as cunning as she'd thought.   She'd made it absolutely clear she wanted nothing to do with him. More   than once. She'd been pleased to hear nothing else from him for the rest   of the week. See nothing of him.

She hadn't thought about him at all. Not at all.

Maybe a dozen times.

His words of five days ago kept ringing in her ear. He'd wanted her   twelve years ago-a revelation that had stunned her. Turned her memories   of the night of her seventeenth birthday upside down. In vain, she'd   tried to dismiss them, label them as a lie, another of his   manipulations.

But she couldn't. She couldn't remember his face, the taut line of his   jaw, the intense blaze of his eyes, and reject his words as lies. He'd   been telling the truth. She knew it in her heart.

He'd wanted her that night.

His cold rejection and cruel taunts had been a shield.

A mask.

I want you now.

She remembered the gruffness of his voice as he said the words. This   cool, contained icicle of a man burned for her, wanted her with   unwavering passion. What made it worse was this knowledge fed her   growing desires, desires she'd shut down long ago. The thought of   sitting beside him, close to him for the next half hour, all through an   emotional, symbolic ceremony, twisted the answering burn of lust inside   her into a solid knot.

"I'm so glad you're here." Dani squeezed her hand and smiled. "This feels exactly right."

This wasn't right. This burn. This twist. This knot.

Giana Casartelli turned around at her daughter's words and beamed. "Si.   Si. It is right you are here with us. This is where you belong."

She didn't belong beside him. She didn't.

The revelation of his want for her had been a shock and she had to admit   during the last few days, it had also soothed some of her pain. He'd   wanted her twelve years ago as much as she'd wanted him. But he had far   more to answer for than one confrontation and a few nasty words. He'd   done much worse than that. If he thought his confession of still wanting   her would be enough to win her forgiveness for everything, he was in   for a surprise.

Dante handed his youngest sister over with a kiss and turned. His black   eyes were, as usual, blank, his face austere. Yet her breathing notched   up when she met his gaze because there was latent heat there, a   smoldering burn that matched what she experienced inside herself.

His face gave nothing away, however. Cool and autocratic. A mask?

Lara cursed under her breath. She would not allow him to make her burn   and twist and tie herself into a knot, questioning her conclusions.   Imagining there was anything behind that mask other than arrogance was a   fruitless waste of time.

She needed to focus on what was genuinely important.

Dante Casartelli's motives for what he did twelve years ago were not   important. Whether or not he wore some kind of mask was not important.   The fact he ignited her libido was also not important.

What was important right now was the fact he'd decided to involve his family.

She knew the Casartelli women. Their keen gazes and talking tongues   would be gossiping and thinking and plotting. Which would fit nicely   into his machinations. She wouldn't have to deal with only him going   forward. Oh, no, she would be deflecting and avoiding a slew of   Casartellis.