Happy Mother's Day! - By Sharon Kendrick Page 0,47

could wear it again afterwards. Practical, as always.

But she was spurred on by a crazy yet irresistible hunger to feel like a bride, even if it was only a role she had been forced to play by circumstance. And as it was probably the only time she was ever going to do it, she ended up buying everything—matching shoes, handbag, even pale stockings and lacy lingerie which was a million miles away from the underwear she usually sported.

Two days before they left for Italy, she stopped outside an upmarket baby boutique and, on impulse, went inside. She found what she hadn’t realised she’d been looking for—the sweetest little white sailor-suit in the lightest lawn-cotton. It even had a jaunty matching hat and tiny bootees and it would be perfect for the wedding.

And when Gianluca’s elderly nanny exclaimed her approval before the service started, Aisling knew she had made the right decision to act the part. Because that was all it was—play-acting.

Yet Gianluca looked so tall and impossibly handsome that Aisling felt her heart swelling with love and pride as she repeated the marriage vows. Her hand was shaking as she signed the register and she could feel the heat from his body as he leaned over her—the sheer masculine scent of him invading her senses and making her long to feel him in her arms again. How long had it been since they’d had sex? Well, that wasn’t difficult to remember—not since the night their son was conceived!

This close she could see his golden-olive skin and the thick black hair—and that amazingly autocratic profile. He turned his head to look at her and Aisling swallowed down her longing. How sensual his lips looked today, she thought. It seemed for ever since those lips had kissed her, had explored every single part of her body in a way which could still make her yearn for it to happen all over again.

Gianluca had booked a late lunch at an amazing restaurant run by a friend of his in the next town—and Aisling was surprised to see that the table was decorated with balloons and fresh flowers. At the end of the meal they even brought out the traditional Italian wedding cake of a Mille Foglie—a light and dreamy concoction topped with a smiling plastic bride and groom.

‘I wasn’t expecting this kind of … fuss,’ she said to Gianluca in a low voice, not sure how well she was keeping up the masquerade of supposedly happy bride.

‘Weren’t you?’ He thought how unlike most women she really was. That she had refused his offer of the biggest engagement ring the shop had to offer, saying that she didn’t think such a gesture would be ‘appropriate'. She might be ice-cold, but she certainly wasn’t mercenary. His ran his gaze over her—from the top of her fragrant hair to the high heels of some very sexy shoes. Was she sending out a message? he wondered idly. A silent invitation that she was prepared to break this unendurable tension between them, in the only way which would?

‘And by the way, you look utterly delizioso,’ he murmured. ‘Sensuale. Like the Mille Foglie—youlook good enough to eat, and I should like to do just that right now.’

Aisling felt a blush spreading from her face all the way down to her suddenly tingling breasts—and she felt horribly vulnerable. Wasn’t this day difficult enough, without her going to pieces just because he had implied.? ‘Gianluca—’

‘Gianluca, what?’ he mocked. ‘Please don’t bring up the one subject which has been preoccupying both of us.’

She shot a hot-faced glance at Fedele, although the lawyer appeared to be engrossed in conversation with the owner of the restaurant. ‘Please. Not in front of the others,’ she whispered.

He bent his head closer—close enough to remind her of how it had felt to have his lips on her and his body deep in hers. ‘Don’t you think it’s normal for a bride and groom to think about sex on their wedding day, mia bella?’

Perhaps if he had used another word other than sex, then Aisling might have responded with a degree of enthusiasm—or was she just fooling herself? Wasn’t there a part of her which welcomed his cold-blooded description—as if that would reinforce the fact that this marriage existed solely as a contract and not a true marriage at all. Should she condemn his lack of diplomacy—or commend him for his honesty?

Aisling jabbed her fork into the wedding cake, but failed to lift it to her mouth. And