A Hunger for the Forbidden - By Maisey Yates Page 0,20

back to Matteo. He made her throat dry, made her heart pound.

But when she reached him, he didn’t take her hand. He hardly looked at her. Instead, he looked at the priest. The words to the ceremony were traditional, words she knew by heart from attending hundreds of society weddings in her life.

There was nothing personal about them, nothing unique. And Matteo never once met her eyes.

She was afraid she was alone in her resolve to make things work. To make things happy. She swallowed hard. It was always her job to make it okay. To smooth it over. Why wasn’t it working?

“You may kiss the bride.”

They were the words she’d been anticipating and dreading. She let her eyes drift shut and she waited. She could feel his heat draw near to her, and then, the brush of his lips on hers, so soft, so brief, she thought she might have imagined it.

And then nothing more.

Her breath caught, her heart stopped. She opened her eyes, and Matteo was already turning to face their small audience. Then he drew her near to him, his arm tight around her waist. But there was no intimacy in the gesture. No warmth.

“Thank you for bearing witness,” Matteo said, both to her father and his grandmother.

“You’ve done a good thing for the family, Matteo,” his grandmother said, putting a hand over his. And Alessia wondered just how much trouble Matteo had been in with his family for the wedding fiasco.

She knew the media had made assumptions they’d run off together. Too bad nothing could be further from the truth.

Still, her father, his family, must think that was the truth. Because now they were back in Sicily, she was pregnant and they were married.

“Perhaps we should go inside for a drink?” her father suggested.

“A good plan, Battaglia, but we don’t talk business at weddings.”

Simona begged off, giving Matteo a double kiss on the cheeks and saying she had a party to get to in the city. Matteo didn’t seem the least bit fazed by his mother’s abandonment. He simply followed her father into the house.

She watched him walk inside, her heart feeling heavy.

Teresa offered her a smile. “I’ll see that Matteo’s staff finds some refreshments to serve for us. I’ll only be a moment.” The older woman turned and went into the house, too, leaving Alessia with her siblings.

It was Eva, fourteen and emotional, who flung herself into Alessia’s arms. “Where did you go?”

“New York,” Alessia said, stroking her sister’s hair.

“Why?”

“I had to get away … I couldn’t marry Alessandro.”

“Then why did you agree to the engagement?” This from Marco, the second oldest at nineteen.

“It’s complicated, Marco, as things often are with Father. You know that.”

“But you wanted to marry Corretti? This Corretti, I mean,” asked sixteen-year-old Pietro.

She nodded, her throat tight. “Of course.” She didn’t want them to be upset. Didn’t want them to worry. She maybe should have thought of that before running off to New York, but she really hadn’t been able to consider anyone else. For the first time, she’d been burned out on it and she’d had to take care of herself.

“They’re having a baby,” Giana said drily. “I assume that means she liked him at least a little bit.” Then she turned back to Alessia. “I’m excited about being an aunt.”

“I’m glad,” she said, tugging on her sister’s braid.

They spent the rest of the afternoon out in the garden, having antipasti, wine for the older children and Teresa, and lemonade for her and younger kids. Her siblings told her stories of their most recent adventures, which ended up with everyone laughing. And for the first time in months, Alessia felt at ease. This was her family, her happiness. The reason she’d agreed to marry Alessandro. And one of the driving reasons behind her decision to marry Matteo.

Although she couldn’t deny her own desire where he was concerned. Still, happy wasn’t exactly the word that she would use to describe herself at the moment. Anxiety-ridden? Check. Sick to her stomach? That a little bit, too.

The sun was starting to sink behind the hills, gray twilight settling on the garden, the solar lights that were strung across the expanse of the grass illuminating the growing darkness.

Their father appeared on the balcony, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes settled on her siblings.

“I guess we have to go,” Marco said.

“I know. Come back and stay with us anytime,” she said, not even thinking to ask Matteo if it was okay. As soon