Convenient Brides (11 page)

Paolo had conceded her point, albeit reluctantly. “Then
since I plan to spend every night with you anyway, I’ll reserve a room for you at a hotel conveniently close to my place. We’re both consenting adults, Caroline, and what we do behind closed doors is nobody else’s business.”

“Caroline’s right, Momma,” he told his mother now. “We’re going to be on the run, taking care of the hundred odd things needing to done before the wedding. It makes more sense for her to come and go without having to disturb you.”

“But you’ll still be seeing plenty of me, Lidia. I’m counting on you to help me with the wedding itself,” Callie was quick to add.

“You already know I’ll be only too happy to do whatever I can. Have you decided yet where you’d like to be married?”

Paolo shrugged. “A hotel, probably.”

Seeing the disappointment his mother couldn’t quite hide, Callie said, “If it’s at all the same to you, Paolo, I think I’d like to be married at your parents’ home here, in Rome.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You would?”

“Well, it’s quite lovely, and certainly big enough for what we have in mind. I think we could have a beautiful wedding there.” She glanced at his parents. “If it’s okay with you, of course.”

“My family is always welcome in my home,” Salvatore declared magnanimously. “We’d be honored to host your wedding.”

Lidia, though, fairly squealed with unabashed delight. “Oh, Caroline, we’d
love
it! You must come over as soon as possible, and tell me how you’d like to have things done. The salon can easily accommodate at least forty guests, and if the weather is good, as it often is at this time of year, we can open the doors to the roof garden—perhaps even have the ceremony out there. Let me know where you’re staying, so that I can keep in touch.”

“I’m booking her into the Hassler,” Paolo said.

“Perfect!” Lidia nodded, pleased. “You’ll love it there, Caroline, my dear. It’s right in the heart of the city, at the top of the Spanish Steps.”

They landed shortly after, and scarcely had the jet rolled to a stop on the tarmac than the race against time began.

“W
HAT
do you think?” Twirling on the boutique’s small, carpeted dais for Lidia’s inspection, Callie showed off the last of three possible choices for her wedding dress, an exquisite creation of ivory silk chiffon cascading in a froth of creamy ruffles from the waist to the hem.

“They’re all lovely,” Lidia sighed. “I couldn’t begin to choose just one. If it were up to me, I’d take all three.”

“You’re not helping!” Callie scolded with a laugh. “I really need some input here.”

“I like the blue dress best,” Gina said dreamily, clasping her hands beneath her dimpled chin. “You look beautiful in that, Zia Caroline. Just like a princess.”

The designer, Serena, tipped her head to one side and inspected Callie as if she were a specimen under glass. “It’s your wedding, signorina, and a day to be remembered. If you can’t make up your mind about these three, why not choose the white gown you looked at earlier? It is classically elegant, and with a hat, or perhaps a wisp of veiling—”

“Oh, no hat or veil,” Callie protested. “We’re having a very small, simple wedding.”

Serena exchanged smiling glances with Lidia. “There is no such thing. Small, yes, but simple? Never! In any case, you dress not for the guests, but for your groom. For him, you must
have what you’d call in America ‘a show stopper,’ so that when you’re grandparents yourselves, he will look at you and see not a woman in her sixties, perhaps with graying hair and a waist not quite so narrow, but his beautiful bride from years before.”

Would he ever see her in such a romantic light? Callie wondered, examining the gown from all angles in the floor-to-ceiling curved mirror to the rear of the dais. Or would she forever be the other half of an equation arrived at for the children’s sakes—because, although he acted as if he loved her, and although he called her darling and sweetheart, he’d never actually come straight out and said
I love you.

But then, neither had she. In truth, she couldn’t, not yet. She was afraid it would seem too much as if she was trying to soften him up and buy his forgiveness, if she bared her heart before she bared her conscience.

She’d hoped to have done that by now, but somehow the right opportunity never presented itself. The days were too full of other things, other people, and the nights…oh, how could she spoil the sweet intimacy of lying naked in his arms? How survive the agony, if he pushed her away and left her to sleep alone, too angry and disappointed to stand the sight of her?

The gown ebbed over her toes in a flurry of tiny waves. No question about its being the most spectacular of the three finalists, but although she wasn’t normally superstitious, it suddenly crossed her mind that she’d worn silk chiffon at Vanessa’s wedding, and it hadn’t turned out to be a lucky choice. Paolo had tired of her within hours. She wasn’t about to risk the same thing happening again on her own wedding day. She had enough to contend with, without tempting fate unnecessarily.

Mirroring her thoughts, though for different reasons, the designer said, “Signora Rainero is quite right, of course. All three outfits beg to be worn by a woman of your slender
shape, but with your blond hair and blue eyes, the burgundy velvet makes the most dramatic statement.”

Callie shot a smile at her daughter, who perched on the edge of her little gilt chair, clearly enthralled with the whole procedure of outfitting the bride. “For the opera or theater, perhaps, but for my wedding, I’m leaning more toward Gina’s choice. I’d like to try the blue dress again.”

The luscious, shimmery silk jersey slipped over her skin like cool cream, falling from a high empire waist to drape in graceful folds around her ankles. More lavender than blue, it changed from smoky-lilac to silver, depending on how the light caught her every movement. Tiny crystal beads adorned the bodice and short sleeves, with another band of beading at the hem.

Gina was right. Callie might not be a princess, but in that dress, she felt like one.

“Yes,” she decided. This was the best choice. It felt right, it looked right, and it was the most elegantly beautiful thing she’d ever owned.

Serena immediately took charge. “An excellent decision, signorina! If you’ll now decide on a pair of satin shoes from these in the display case over here, my assistant will adjust the gown’s hem so that you don’t trip over it as you come to meet your groom. Once that’s taken care of, I’ll send the shoes to be dyed to match your dress, and make sure everything’s ready for delivery to your hotel by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I know you’re meeting Paolo for lunch and would like to shop for something for Gina to wear, before then,” Lidia said, as they left the boutique and stepped out into the elegant Via Condotti, “but we have time enough to make another stop first, and my dear, you look as if you could use a rest.”

“I am finding it all a bit overwhelming,” Callie confessed. After the peace and quiet of
Isola di Gemma,
the frantic pace of Rome took some getting used to.

“Then a good cup of coffee is what you need, and I know just the place, no more than a five-minute walk from here. After that, I’ll have my driver take us to
Bonpoint
which carries a wonderful line of children’s clothing. I’m sure we’ll find exactly the right thing there, for Gina.”

A few minutes later, over cappuccino and almond biscotti, Callie said quietly, “Thank you, Lidia, for your help. I’d never have been able to do this without you. I wouldn’t have the first idea where to shop, let alone how to get around the city.”

“But you
do
have me, and not just to help you prepare for your wedding. Don’t ever forget that I’m no more than a phone call away,
any
time you need me.”

“Then let me ask you something now,” Callie said tentatively. “When’s the best time for a woman to reveal everything about her past to the man she plans to marry—before or after the wedding?”

Lidia pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I think it depends on the kind of secret. I’m not sure confession is necessarily good for either party. So let me answer you with a question of my own. Do you love my son, Caroline?”

“Yes,” she said, hugely relieved at being able to admit at least
this
truth freely, even if it wasn’t to Paolo himself. “With my whole heart.”

“Then consider this. We all carry secrets, and some are best kept to ourselves, especially if sharing them brings nothing but pain and heartache.”

But would it bring pain and heartache to Paolo to learn the children were his? Or would it destroy him?

Seeming to sense her quandary, Lidia went on, “What’s past is past,
cara,
and nothing you do now is going to change it. For what it’s worth, my advice is to concentrate on today, my dear, and on tomorrow. On the secure life you’ll have with Paolo and the children.
They
are what matter now. You and Paolo have arrived at this marriage quickly. Everything
is still very new between you. Perhaps when you’re all more settled, then will be the time to share your most closely guarded secrets.”

“What are you talking about, Nonna?” Gina piped up, a timely reminder that little pitchers had big ears.

Lidia exchanged a discreet glance with Callie, then took her napkin and mopped the creamy mustache from her granddaughter’s upper lip. “About your being a good little girl and finishing your milkshake, so that we can shop for a pretty dress for you. Hurry now, darling, or we’ll run out of time.”

They found exactly what they were looking for at
Bonpoint,
one of Rome’s most exclusive shops for children. A full-length silk taffeta dress shot through with blush-pink and palest lilac, and festooned around the waist and neck with tiny satin rosebuds.

By the time it was layered in tissue paper and put in a box, Callie realized she was running late for her lunch with Paolo, but, “My driver will take you,” Lidia said, calmly ushering her to the Mercedes limousine waiting at the curb. “You won’t keep Paolo waiting more than a few minutes—just long enough to be fashionably late, my dear.”

Paolo saw her the minute the car drew up outside the restaurant and she stepped out, all flushed, breathless and beautiful.

“You weren’t the only one shopping,” he said, after she was settled across from him at his favorite table, and had taken a sip of the champagne he’d ordered. “But you are late,
cara mia,
which prompts me to think I should have bought you a watch, instead of this.”

Her mouth fell open in delicious shock as he snapped open the sterling silver jeweler’s box, and showed her the platinum ring nesting inside on a dark blue velvet dome. “Paolo!” she gasped, turning rosy all over again. “It’s…it’s…!”

“An engagement ring.” He shrugged with deliberate nonchalance. “I thought it was about time you had one. Will it do?”

“Do?”
She pressed a hand to her mouth and shook her head, apparently at a loss for words.

“It’s a very good diamond, Caroline,” he said, knowing she was more than pleased with his choice, but enjoying teasing her anyway. “Certified VS1.”

“It’s not a diamond, it’s a pigeon’s egg!”

“Three carats only. Not so very big.”

She swallowed. “Compared to what, the Hope Diamond?”

“Not even close! The Hope Diamond is more than fortyfive carats, and quite a different cut from this.” He took the ring from its box. “Shall we see how it looks on your finger?”

It fit, as he knew it would. He’d “borrowed” a pearl dinner ring she sometimes wore, and taken it with him when he purchased the diamond, which accounted for the engagement ring sliding over her slender knuckle now as if it had at last come home. “How does it feel?”

“Perfect!” she breathed, turning her hand this way and that to admire the gem’s fiery clarity. “As if it belongs on
my
finger, and no one else’s.”

“It does,
tesoro.
”

Just as you now officially belong to me and no other man!

“But much too extravagant for the occasion, Paolo.”

“How so?”

“Well, we’re not exactly…like other couples who get engaged.”

Not in love, you mean? Speak for yourself, my darling! If I thought you were ready to hear it, I’d shout my love for you from the rooftops.

Shaken yet again by the depth of his feelings, by the vicious streak of possessive jealousy attacking him, he spoke more harshly than he intended. “Don’t make an issue out of nothing, Caroline. It’s a bauble, that’s all. One I can well afford.”

“But you don’t have to buy me,” she quavered, obviously crushed by his reply. “I’m coming into this marriage with my eyes wide-open. I know it’s not for the usual reasons.”

Remorseful, he lifted her hand and kissed it. “What I should have said is, one I can well afford, and which you well deserve. Admittedly ours might not be the most conventional marriage, but where is it written that only the ordinary deserves recognition?”

“I don’t know,” she said, the sheen of tears still in her eyes, but the beginnings of a smile touching her lips.

“There you have it, then. We’re making up our own rules as we go along, and among them is the absolute necessity of your wearing my ring.” He leaned across the table confidentially. “You
are
a very beautiful woman, you know, and Italian men are famous for finding beautiful women irresistible. I’m simply staking my claim before someone else beats me to it.”

Her smile blossomed, became dazzling. “The world’s also full of women who’d give their eyeteeth for a man as handsome as you, so here’s another rule. If I wear a ring, then you must, too. A wedding ring, that is.”

“Of course. Some traditions are worth preserving. Shall I order my jeweler to make a ring for me that will match the one I’ve commissioned him to design for you?”

“No,” she said. “What you can do is give me this man’s name, and I’ll speak to him myself. Rule number three…you don’t get to pay for your own ring.”

Their lunch arrived just then, and the conversation drifted to other things. “Did you find a wedding dress?” he asked, over his tortelli and truffles.

“Eventually, yes. One for Gina to wear, too. And I believe your mother’s shopping for an outfit, this afternoon.”

“Then everything’s running on schedule. Tomorrow your friends fly up from Amalfi, and we take care of the paperwork to get the marriage license. And this afternoon—”

She looked up from her langoustine salad. “We have plans for this afternoon?”

“Indeed yes! While you were busy buying clothes—”

“You were buying jewelry?”

“Among other things. I also checked out a few villas that sound interesting. I’ve earmarked a couple for you to see.” He pushed aside his plate and took a quick glance at his watch. “If you’re finished, we have just enough time for coffee, before we head to the first appointment.”

“Is it far from here?”

“A little over half an hour’s drive north of the city, at Manziana, which is close to where Ermanno and Vanessa lived.”

She propped her chin on her fist, her expression troubled. “I’ve been thinking about that,” she said. “Might it not be best if we lived in their house?”

“I believe, from something Ermanno once said, that under the terms of their will, it is to be sold and the proceeds held in trust for the children.”

“I was wondering about
that,
as well. When do you expect the wills to be read?”

“Whenever it’s convenient. Our lawyers have contacted us already, to set a date, but since there’s no hurry on that, and you and I have so much else to do, I’ve put them off until after we’re married.”

“I’d have thought it might be better to get it over and done with now. Close the book on the old before starting out with the new, as it were.”

“The children are the sole beneficiaries, Caroline, and from a legal standpoint must be present for the readings. But we both know that their parents’ deaths are never far from their minds, and right now, they’re excited about our wedding. Why spoil it with such a grim reminder of all they’ve lost?” He eyed her quizzically. “Did I overstep the mark by not discussing it with you, before I made such a decision?”

She shrugged. “Oh, it’s not that, Paolo. But couldn’t we be the ones to buy the house? It would surely be easier on the twins, to be back in their own home.”