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“Nothing’s changed.”
“You can’t say that,” Bernardo said flatly. “Everything has changed.”
Angie tried to turn away but he took hold of her shoulders and kept her facing him. If she’d have shown the slightest sign of softening, he would have drawn her into his arms and kissed her ardently. And then, even he, who was uneasy with words, would have tried to tell her of the bittersweet happiness that had possessed him ever since he’d suspected that she was to bear his child. He was an old-fashioned man and, above all, a Sicilian. To create a child with a beloved woman was a joy that wiped out all else.
He stared at her. “The sooner our marriage takes place, the better.”
“Us? Get married?” she echoed. “Why would we do that?”
He was floundering again. Angie’s eyes were full of a cool appraisal that baffled him. “Because we are having a baby,” he said.
Dear Reader,
Being married to an Italian, I take a special delight in writing about Italian men—the most fascinating and endearing men on earth. I’ve enjoyed telling the stories of the three Martelli brothers.
Although linked by kinship, they are all different. Lorenzo, the youngest, is a merry charmer. Renato, the eldest, is head of the family, a man of confidence and power. Bernardo is their half brother. Only part of him belongs to the family. The other part is a loner who finds it hard to accept love.
And then there is Sicily, their home, one of the most beautiful places on earth, where people’s true passions rise to the surface, giving them the courage to follow their hearts.
Husband by Necessity is the story of Bernardo—who has to fight for that courage after nearly throwing away the love of his life—and Angie, a remarkable woman who dares everything to lead him into the light.
With best wishes,
Husband by Necessity
Lucy Gordon
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
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
‘ANGIE,’ Heather called, not for the first time, ‘the cab’s here.’
‘I’m ready,’ Angie called back, not entirely truthfully. She would be ready when she’d finished applying her eye make-up and just touched her lips. It was an article of faith with her not to travel unless looking her best, even when time was fast running out.
For ten minutes the cab had been standing in a downpour outside the London house that the two young women shared. The driver had hauled the last of the luggage down the steps, leaving only Heather, standing by the door, frantically calling back into the house,
‘Angie, the cab!’
‘I know, I know,’ Angie called back. ‘You told me.’
‘I know I told you. I told you ages ago and you haven’t moved.’
‘Coming, coming, coming,’ Angie muttered frantically to herself. ‘Have I got everything? Well, if I haven’t, it can’t be helped. Any minute now, she’s going to kill me.’ She raised her voice and called back to Heather. ‘Tell the man to take the bags out.’
Heather sounded as though she were dancing with frustration. ‘He’s already done that. Angie, I’m going to Sicily to get married, and if you don’t mind I’d prefer to get there before the wedding.’
‘But that’s not for a week, is it?’ Angie asked, appearing at that moment.
‘Well, I’d like not to cut it too fine, and that includes not missing the plane.’
It was the perfect day for leaving London. The rain poured down in buckets, making the journey from the front door to the cab a mad dash. The two young women made it, laughing with delight at escaping, at being on their way to the sun, laughing because they were young and happy and one of them was getting married; because life was good despite the rain.
‘Look at that!’ Angie said when the door was shut behind them. ‘Have you ever seen such rain? Oh, it’s good to be going.’ She saw her friend eyeing her askance and added penitently, ‘Sorry I kept you waiting.’
‘I don’t know how you ever got to be a doctor,’ Heather said. ‘You’re the most disorganised person I know.’
‘Ah, but I’m not a disorganised doctor,’ Angie said with truth. ‘It’s just that in my private life I tended to be—you know.’
‘Birdbrained, scatty and infuriating,’ Heather said.
Angie stretched happily. ‘I really need a holiday. I’m worn out.’
‘I should think you are. It must be tiring running away from all your admirers, Bill and Steve and—’
‘Bill and Steve?’ Angie looked aghast.
‘You do remember them don’t you?’
‘Oh, yes. Last month. History.’
‘Do they know they’re history?’ Heather asked.
‘I tried to break it to them gently,’ Angie said. She added, with a touch of wounded innocence, ‘I always do.’
‘So who was that man who came by last night begging you to come back soon?’
‘That was George—I think.’
Heather chuckled. ‘Honestly Angie, you’re incorrigible.’
‘No I’m not. I’m extremely corrigible—whatever that means. Anyway, I need a holiday because I’ve been working so hard. Accident and Emergency is exhausting enough, but when it’s night duty as well—’ She mopped her brow and looked plaintive.
They had shared a house in London for six years. Heather was quietly lovely and her nature was reserved and modest. The attraction of opposites had decreed that her dearest friend should be Angie, a radiant social butterfly who seemed to regard the world of men as provided for her personal entertainment.
At this moment she was contemplating the pleasures to come. ‘Sunshine, sparkling blue sea, miles of golden sand, and lots of gorgeous Sicilian young men, all liberally endowed with S.A. Or at the very least, C.H.’
Angie divided male attractiveness into two categories—S.A., sex appeal, and C.H., come hither. As far as Heather could understand her friend’s marking system, S.A. was the more immediately exciting, while C.H. was the more subtle and intriguing. Since Angie was, herself, liberally endowed with both qualities, she was in a good position to judge.
‘You make C.H. sound like the poor relation,’ Heather objected now.
‘Not really. But it takes time, and I don’t have time. S.A. is better for short stretches.’
‘Well, you behave yourself.’
‘No way,’ Angie said at once. ‘I don’t come on holiday to behave