The Sicilian's Bought Bride

The Sicilian's Bought Bride
CAROL MARINELLI

The Sicilian's Bought Bride

Carol Marinelli

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

COMING NEXT MONTH

CHAPTER ONE

‘THEY wouldn’t have suffered.’

‘Of course they wouldn’t have.’ Catherine could hear the bitterness in her own voice, see the flicker of confusion in the young nurse’s expression, but she was too raw, too exhausted, and frankly too damn angry to soften the blow, to spare anyone’s feelings.

‘My sister and her husband refused to suffer anything. Why worry when you can have a drink? Why dwell on your problems when there’s always family to bail you out?’ She shook her head fiercely, pressing her fingers against her eyeballs and trying to quell the scream that seemed to be building up inside her.

She knew the poor nurse didn’t have a clue what she was going on about, that she was just trying to be kind and say the right thing, and that the car accident had happened in an instant, that it had been over for Marco and Janey before the skidding vehicle had even halted—but her words simply weren’t helping. Instead they were touching nerves so raw that every last word made Catherine flinch as she tried and failed not to envisage the final moments of her sister’s short life.

Maybe later, Catherine told herself, taking deep breaths and trying to calm herself. Maybe later, when she could think straight—maybe in a few weeks—those words might bring some comfort. But sitting alone in the hospital interview room, exhausted and shellshocked, trying to fathom all that had happened, they brought no comfort at all.

‘I really am sorry.’ The nurse handed her a small manila envelope and Catherine held on to it tightly, feeling the hard shape of the metal inside it.

‘So am I.’ The bitterness had gone from her voice now, and Catherine gave the nurse a small nod of thanks. ‘You’ve all been wonderful.’

‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’

Catherine shook her head, couldn’t even manage an answer, and again she was left alone. Tearing the brown paper, she slid out the contents, staring curiously dry-eyed at the three pieces of jewellery in her palm, tracing the outline of each precious piece as every one told its story. An awful sense of déjà-vu descended as she eyed the solitaire diamond ring Janey wore, that had belonged to their mother—the same ring that had slid out of an envelope and into her hand eight years ago. But familiarity brought no comfort. The crash that had killed her parents and the lessons it had taught offered no barrier to the pain she felt now.

It was actually eight years and two months ago, to be precise.

Eight years and two months since she had been handed her parents’ belongings along with more responsibility than any nineteen-year-old deserved. But the endless meetings with solicitors and accountants as they attempted to unscramble the chaos her parents had left in their wake had been the easy part.

Dealing with a wayward sixteen-year-old—her sister Janey—had proved the greater feat.

Catherine stared at the ring for a long moment and suddenly she was back there, standing at her mother’s dressing table, wishing her thick, dark, curly hair could be as smooth and as straight as her mother’s and Janey’s, wishing her solemn brown eyes could sparkle blue like theirs.

Instead she had inherited her father’s looks—his personality too.

Well, most of it. She was serious, studious, yet she wasn’t weak as her father had been, didn’t cave in the way he had. One giggle from their mother, one tiny pout of her pretty mouth and John Masters had been lost—would agree to whatever his lovely Lily wanted to put the smile back on her face.

And Janey had been the same—she had possessed the certainty that her looks would get her whatever she had wanted, the same take it or leave it attitude that had held men intrigued, the same inner confidence that someone would always pick up the pieces of the chaos she created—and up till now it had worked.

The glint of the massive sapphire that caught her eye next reminded Catherine so much of her sister’s blue eyes that for a second it hurt, physically hurt, to hold the engagement ring Janey had worn with such glee. She had been sure it was her ticket to the fast lane, an end to the financial mess she had got herself into, a way out of the problems that had been just too big for Catherine to sort out this time, however hard she tried.

‘Marco’s amazing!’ Catherine could hear Janey’s dizzy, slightly breathless voice as clearly as if she were in the room now. ‘Oh, Catherine, you should see where he lives. It’s right on the beach—and when I say on the beach, I mean it’s literally on it. You step out of the patio and on to the sand. His garage alone is as big as your flat.’

Catherine couldn’t have cared less what size Marco’s garage was, but she had let Janey ramble for a while, listened to her excited chatter, hoping that it would calm her, that if she let her go on for long enough the euphoria might somehow wear off and that she could find out some more important answers.

‘What does he do?’ When Janey didn’t answer she pushed further. ‘For a living—what does Marco do?’

Janey gave a small shrug, tossed her hair and poured herself a drink.

‘He has fun.’ There was an edge to Janey’s voice, a defiant look in her eyes as she stared at her older sister. ‘His mother died when he was a teenager,’ Janey explained, but without a hint of compassion. ‘Just as ours did; only the difference is Bella Mancini actually left something for her children…’

‘You mean she left money!’ Catherine’s voice held a warning ring. Lily might not have been the most conventional mother, but her love of life and her passion for her children had left a void that could never be filled, and no amount of inheritance would have lessened the pain of losing her.

For Catherine at least.

‘Oh, spare me the speeches,’ Janey spat. ‘I don’t want to hear again how money isn’t important. I don’t want to hear again how you worked two jobs while you went through teacher training college—but didn’t mind a bit just as long as we were together. If our parents hadn’t forgotten to pay their life insurance premiums you wouldn’t have had to work so hard. You wouldn’t have had to sell the family home and move into a pokey little flat…’

‘I didn’t mind,’ Catherine insisted.

‘Well, I did,’ Janey snapped, her eyes narrowing. ‘I hated being poor and I have no intention of spending the rest of my life chewing my nails over bills. Marco can look after me now, the same way his mother looked after him. Bella Mancini was a property developer, and when she died the business went to her children.’

A flash of recognition offered a ray of hope. The Mancini empire! Oh, Catherine wasn’t exactly into reading the business pages of the newspaper, but even without a shred of business acumen she’d have needed to live in a cave for the last decade not to know about the Mancini empire and the stranglehold it held on the Melbourne property market.

The drive along Port Phillip Bay was littered with their latest acquisitions—the smart navy signs telling anyone who cared to see, that this bayview property was being developed by Mancini’s.