A Shadow of Guilt(4)
He could see people milling about outside the hotel and in the lush landscaped square that was between the huge imposing church and the Corretti Hotel. Clearly the wedding had ended but the luncheon hadn’t started yet.
Damn. He’d almost hoped he’d be too late entirely. The only reason he’d come at all had been because his mother had pleaded with him. ‘Gio, you never see your brothers, or anyone else. You can’t go on isolating yourself like this. Please come.’
He’d had to bite back the frustration—the urge to lash out and say something like, Why the hell should I? But he hadn’t, he’d been immediately disgusted by his own pathetic self-pity and his relationship with his mother was tenuous at the best of times.
As a young boy he’d been witness to his parents’ volatile relationship and had watched as his mother had become more and more insecure and self-loathing as she’d tried in vain to keep the attention of her straying husband, Gio’s deceased father. Unfortunately her growing instability and self-absorption had coincided with a particularly vulnerable time in Gio’s life, and so while affection for her was there … Gio couldn’t force an intimacy that had been long ago irreparably eroded.
But he was an adult now and took responsibility for his own actions; it was futile to dwell on the past. He forced his mind back to his mother: if she had some fantasy notion of bringing all of her sons under one roof for their cousin’s wedding then would it really be so hard to at least put in an appearance?
So now he was here, hovering on the edge of the square. He smiled grimly at the imagery. He’d been hovering on the edges of his family for as long as he could remember. The youngest male in the Corretti dynasty. The youngest in his own family. Dominated by two older brothers who’d vied for supremacy, and a father who had been mercilessly exacting of all of his sons, not least his quietest one. The one who had disappointed him on every possible level with frailties that were unacceptable in a Corretti male.
Gio ruthlessly pushed aside the memories that threatened to rise and choke him. That way lay madness and even worse memories. Drawing on the icy veneer he’d surrounded himself with for years now, Gio pushed an impatient hand through his unruly hair. He was aware that he wasn’t perhaps as clean shaven as he could be, but he just cursed softly again and strode forward and towards the towering Corretti edifice.
Valentina looked blankly at the ladder in her tights. She’d come by way of a ladder in her tights when she’d been all but knocked down by Alessandro Corretti, the groom. Instead of greeting a triumphant married couple after their wedding ceremony, it had been just the groom who had burst into the main reception room like an exploding tornado. She, and a tray of delicate hors d’oeuvres had gone flying, and with Alessandro blissfully unaware of the carnage left in his wake, he’d barrelled on.
As she’d scrabbled around on the ground picking up the detritus before anyone else saw it, her assistant Sara had appeared and bent down to help, hissing sotto voce as she did, ‘The wedding is off—the bride just jilted the groom, right there in the church.’
Valentina had looked at her—a sick feeling blooming in her belly. And then she’d heard the sudden flurry of approaching hissed whispers. The stunned and shocked guests were obviously making their way to the reception.
Before she’d had time to figure out what this all meant, Carmela Corretti had swept into the reception hot on the heels of her son, with a face like thunder. She’d spotted Valentina and roughly hauled her up with a hand under her arm. ‘The wedding might be off, but you will proceed with this reception for whoever turns up, do you hear me?’
She’d let Valentina go then and looked down that elegant nose. ‘As you’ll be looking after less than a full guest count, I won’t be paying you for services not rendered.’
It had taken a second for her meaning to sink in and then Valentina had gasped out loud. ‘But … that’s …’
Carmela had cut in ruthlessly. ‘I will not discuss this further. Now instruct your staff to tend to the guests who do arrive. I won’t have anyone say that we turned them away.’
In shock, Valentina had done as instructed, far too mindful of Carmela Corretti’s influence should she defy her. And as she’d watched the staff rushing around serving amongst the arriving shell-shocked guests, as if nothing had just happened, Valentina had felt incredibly shaky with reaction.
She couldn’t afford to spill champagne on a haute couture gown or drop a tray into someone’s lap so she’d retreated to a quiet corner for a moment to try and steady her nerves and process this information. And the fact that Carmela wasn’t going to pay her! The ladder in her tights was the least of her worries … who on earth would now touch the caterer associated with the wedding scandal of the year?