Stolen Pregnant Bride
Annie West
CHAPTER ONE
‘Ready?’
Stella met her father’s eyes, searching for warmth or approval. But Alfredo Barbieri rarely revealed emotion.
What had she expected? Effusive thanks? A warm hug? Definitely not. That wasn’t her father’s way.
Yet today she neededsomethingfrom him. Moistening her dry mouth, she opened her lips to speak but he nodded briskly and turned towards the big arched doorway.
‘I—’ She wasn’t sure what she was going to say, which was just as well because he was already pulling her forward, her arm linked with his and his heavy hand holding hers firmly in place.
As if realising more was expected, he slanted her a brief, sideways look. ‘I knew you’d see sense. You’re a Barbieri after all.’
Stella knew that was his idea of high praise.
Yet a voice inside whispered,You’re not a real Barbieri. You never will be.
She shook her head, making the heavy lace swish around her, wishing it would create a breeze against the stifling summer heat. But the sound didn’t block out that insidious voice.
It’s not too late. You can still back out.
And do what? What other future did she see for herself?
That fantasy future she’d recently dreamt of had been just that—pure fantasy. And heartache.
Stella knew, had known most of her life, that happiness didn’t come from wishing. It came from hard work and accepting reality.
Even so, as they entered the ancient stone building, frantic doubts rose. So did the desire to turn back into the bright, cleansing sunshine.
She stumbled and blinked, taking in the packed cathedral. Curious faces turned to stare.
She felt her father straighten, his chest puff out as he led her forward, nodding and murmuring greetings to acquaintances. How many of them did she know? A dozen? Two? Three? She had no idea who most of these people were.
But her father did. He’d carefully devised the guestlist for today’s ceremony. He and Eduardo’s mother.
Her gaze flicked up the long aisle to the man waiting for her. Eduardo Morosi, handsome in his hand-tailored suit, wearing a smile that would look perfect in every photo.
Alfredo Barbieri had pulled out all the stops for the wedding of his only daughter. She suspected no florist in Sicily had pastel pink or white flowers left in stock.
Stella breathed slowly through her mouth, trying to slow her staccato heartbeat. And avoid the sickly-sweet scent of massed blooms filling the cathedral.
It didn’t work. Her heart raced and her stomach churned as the smell of lilies invaded her nostrils.
Lilies of all things! Even buried amongst other blossoms, that distinctive scent shoved her straight back to that day when she was ten, skinny and bereft, standing by her mother’s coffin.
To her that rich perfume meant loss and grief. Not new beginnings. But that was what today was—a new beginning. A step towards a bright future.
She pinned on a smile in case anyone could read her features through the lace.
Before her, six little flower girls paced down the aisle, pretty in pale pink. Not Stella’s favourite colour, but Signora Morosi had had her heart set on it and Stella had more on her mind than the bridal colour scheme.
She and Eduardo had agreed that today’s ceremony was for their parents more than them. Let them have the grand event they craved. Soon it would be over and she could relax.
Except the closer she got to the altar, the less relaxed she felt.
