The Italian's Christmas Child(18)

‘All right.’ Holly subsided to scrutinise the opulent diamond engagement ring on her finger. Vito wasn’t the least bit romantic, she conceded ruefully, because he had sent the ring to her by special delivery rather than presenting her with it. That had been such a disappointment to her. It would have meant so much to Holly if Vito had made the effort to personally give her the ring.

‘Let’s simply be a normal couple from here on in,’ Vito had urged, and seemingly the ring signified that normality he wanted even if it had not entailed him changing his ways.

She had wanted to ask if it was the same ring Marzia, his previous fiancée, had worn but had sealed her lips shut in case that question was tactless. And staging a potentially difficult conversation with a male she had barely seen since she had agreed to marry him had struck her as unwise.

‘Of course I’m very busy now. How else could I take time off for the wedding?’ Vito had enquired piously on the phone when she’d tried to tactfully suggest that he make more effort to spend some time with her and Angelo.

Vito hadn’t even been able to make time for Angelo, whom he had only seen once since their agreement. Of course, to be fair, he had suggested that they move into his London apartment before the wedding and she had been ready to agree until she had heard from Pixie’s brother and had realised that there was no way she could leave her injured friend to cope alone in a house with stairs. She had had to put Pixie first but Vito had not understood that. In fact Vito had called it a silly excuse that was dividing him from his son. After the wedding she needed to explain to Vito just how much of a debt she owed Pixie for her friend’s support during her pregnancy and after Angelo’s birth, and she needed to explain that she loved Pixie as much as she would have loved a sister. Although, never having had a sibling of his own, he might not even understand that.

And there were an awful lot of things that Vito didn’t understand, Holly reflected ruefully. He had been thoroughly irritated when she’d insisted on continuing her childminding until her charges’ parents had had time to make other arrangements for their care, but Holly would not have dreamt of letting anyone down, and took her responsibilities just as seriously as he took his own.

Furthermore, in every other way Vito had contrived to take over Holly and her son’s lives. He had made decisions on their behalf that he had neglected to discuss with Holly. Maybe he thought she was too stupid and ignorant to make the right decisions, she thought unhappily.

First he had landed her with an Italian nanny, who had had to board at a hotel nearby because there were only two bedrooms in the house Pixie and Holly rented. London-born Lorenza was a darling and wonderful with Angelo, and Holly had needed outside help to cope with shopping for a wedding dress and such things, but she still would have preferred to play an active role in the hiring of a carer for her son.

Secondly, he had landed Holly with a horrible, pretentious fashion stylist who had wanted Holly to choose the biggest, splashiest and most expensive wedding gown ever made. Only sheer stubbornness had ensured that Holly actually got to wear her own choice of dress on her special day. And it was a very plain dress because Holly was convinced that she was too small and curvy to risk wearing anything more elaborate. She stroked the delicate edge of a lace sleeve with satisfaction. At least she had got her dream dress even if she hadn’t got any input into any other details because Vito had placed all the organisation into the hands of a wedding planner, whom he had instructed not to consult his future wife.

In truth, Vito was extremely bossy and almost painfully insensitive sometimes. He had left it to his social secretary to tell Holly that she had a day at a grooming parlour booked for a makeover. Holly had been mortified, wondering whether Vito thought her ordinary ungroomed self was a mess and not up to his standards. Pixie had told her not to be so prickly and had asked her if she thought there was something immoral about manicures and waxing. And no, of course she didn’t think that, it was just that she had wanted Vito to want her as she was, not be left feeling that only a very polished version of her could now be deemed acceptable. After all, she didn’t have the security of knowing her bridegroom loved her, flaws and all, and that made a big difference to a woman’s confidence, she reasoned worriedly.

‘Will you stop it? And don’t ask me what you’re to stop!’ Pixie said bluntly. ‘You’re worrying yourself sick about marrying Vito and it’s crazy. You love him—’

‘I don’t love him,’ Holly contradicted instantly. ‘I like him. I’m very attracted to him.’

‘You look him up online just to drool over his photos. If it’s not love, it’s a monster crush. So you might as well be married to him,’ Pixie contended. ‘Vito’s all you think about. In fact watching you scares the hell out of me. I don’t think I could bear to love anyone the way you love him, but with a little luck in time he may well return your feelings.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Pixie responded thoughtfully. ‘Vito’s the caring type even if he hasn’t yet learned to share. Why shouldn’t he fall in love with you?’

But it wasn’t love she felt, Holly told herself urgently. It was liking, attraction, respect, nothing more, nothing less. Loving Vito without being loved back would simply make her unhappy and she refused to be unhappy. No, she was a very hands-on person and she was going to make the most of what she did have with Vito and Angelo, not make the mistake of pining for what she couldn’t have. After all, she could plainly see Vito in all his very good-looking and sophisticated glory and she knew she was only getting to marry him because some crazy fate had deposited her as a damsel in distress on his doorstep one Christmas Eve night.

Her foster mother, Sylvia, pushed Pixie down the aisle in her wheelchair while Holly walked to the altar, striving not to be intimidated by the sheer size of the church and the overwhelming number of unfamiliar faces crammed into it. Vito stood beside a guy with black shoulder-length hair and startling green eyes whom she recognised from online photographs as his best friend, Apollo Metraxis. Holly only looked at the bronzed Greek long enough to establish that he was giving her a distinctly cold appraisal before her attention switched quite naturally to Vito, who, unromantic or otherwise, was at least managing to smile that breathtaking smile of his.

Her heart bounced around in her chest to leave her breathless and when he closed his hand over hers at the altar she was conscious only of him and the officiating priest. She listened with quiet satisfaction to the words of the wedding ceremony, grinned when Angelo let out a little baby shout from his place on Lorenza’s lap in a front pew and stared down all of a glow at the wedding band Vito threaded smoothly onto her finger. It was her wedding day and she was determined to enjoy it.

When they signed the register, she was introduced to a smiling older woman clad in a lilac suit and hat with diamonds sparkling at her throat.

‘I’m Vito’s mamma, Concetta,’ the attractive brunette told her warmly. ‘I’ve met my grandson. He is beautiful.’

Unsurprisingly, Holly was charmed by such fond appreciation of her son and her anxiety about how Vito’s mother might feel about his sudden marriage dwindled accordingly. Concetta, it seemed, was willing to give her a fighting chance at acceptance. Vito’s friend Apollo, however, could barely hide his hostility towards her and she wondered at it. Didn’t he realise that this marriage was what Vito had wanted? Did he think she had somehow forced his friend into proposing? Holly’s chin came up and her big blue eyes fired with resolution because she was happy to have become Vito’s wife and Angelo’s mother and she had no intention of pretending otherwise.

After some photos taken at the church they moved on to the hotel where the reception was being held. ‘There are so many guests,’ she commented with nervous jerkiness when they climbed out of the limo, an easier exercise than it might have been because Holly’s closely fitted gown did not have a train.

‘My family has a lot of friends but some guests are business acquaintances,’ Vito admitted. ‘You shouldn’t be apprehensive. Invariably wedding guests are well-wishers.’

Apollo’s name was on her lips but she compressed it. She didn’t think much of the Greek for deciding he disliked her, sight unseen. What happened to giving a person a fair chance? But she refused to allow Apollo’s brooding presence to cast a shadow over her day. And although Apollo was supposed to be Vito’s best man, and Pixie the chief and only bridesmaid, Apollo snubbed Pixie as well. Of course, he had brought a partner with him, a fabulously beautiful blonde underwear model with legs that could rival a giraffe’s and little desire to melt into the background.

As was becoming popular, the speeches were staged before the meal was served. Holly’s foster mother, Sylvia, had insisted on saying a few words and they were kind, warming words that Holly very much appreciated. Concetta Zaffari had chosen not to speak and Vito’s father had not been invited to the wedding. When Apollo stood up, Holly stiffened and the most excruciating experience of her life commenced with his speech. In a very amusing way Apollo began to tell the tale of the billionaire banker trapped by the snow and the waitress who had broken down at the foot of the lane. Holly felt humiliated, knowing that everyone who had seen Angelo and worked out her son’s age was now aware that he had been conceived from a one-night stand.