Page 57 of Bought with His Name & the Sicilian's Bought Bride

Today was too hard.

‘We need to face my family now.’ Rico broke into her thoughts. ‘It is best Lily is not present for this.’

She wasn’t up to this today, but Catherine knew they had no choice. Antonia had already made her feelings clear on the subject. The spiteful rows at the hospital were still ringing in her ears, and the venom of her verbal attack when Lily had been discharged into Rico and Catherine’s temporary care was as horrible in hindsight as it had been in the present. With a weary nod she walked back to the waiting car, quietly grateful his hand still held hers.

‘This isn’t going to be pleasant,’ Rico warned as she stared blindly out of the window, tears pricking her eyes at the sight of the two lonely mounds of earth, the flowers already wilting in the hot Australian sun.

‘None of this is pleasant.’

* * *

Under any other circumstances arriving at Carlos Mancini’s family home would have been intimidating, to say the least. In Toorak, one of Melbourne’s most affluent suburbs, the huge mansion was barely visible from the street. Huge boxed hedges dwarfed the massive black gates that slid open as the limousine approached, but today her mind was too full of all that had been lost to let its opulence overwhelm her. Today the vast stone walls covered with creeping ivy only reminded Catherine of the tombstones in the graveyard and the wreath she had just laid.

Accepting a brandy, Catherine sipped on it. She was not a big drinker, not a drinker, but the warmth of the liquor seeped through her and she braced herself for the inevitable small talk—the awful low murmurs about how well the service had gone, how awful it was to meet under such circumstances. She was determined to hold up her end, for Janey to have a presence here today, no matter how small.

‘Dove` Lily?’ Antonia’s voice carried across the large foyer, and even though Catherine spoke not a word of Italian in this instance no translation was needed. Everything stilled, the hushed reverence normally reserved for such events changing instead to a strained silence as every eye turned to Rico and Catherine.

‘She was tired.’ Rico shrugged, carefully choosing a drink from a passing waiter. ‘After all, Antonia, she was only discharged from hospital this morning.’

‘Well, she should be here,’ Antonia responded, matching Rico’s English. ‘It’s her parents’ funeral, after all.’

‘No.’ Rico’s voice was very calm, but there was an edge to it that had the hairs on Catherine’s neck standing to attention, and though it galled her she had a certain reluctant admiration for Antonia when she maintained her disdainful glare towards her stepson. ‘She shouldn’t be here. No six-month-old should have to attend her parents’ funeral.’

‘That isn’t what I meant and you know it, Rico. Your father is in the study; perhaps we should discuss Lily’s future there.’

Catherine’s mouth dropped open. Oh, she wasn’t naamp2;¨ve, and Rico had left no room for doubt that this discussion was imminent, but she’d been sure there would be at the very least an attempt at pleasantries.

‘Let’s get this over with,’ Rico murmured, guiding her by the elbow towards a large imposing room. But Antonia clearly had other ideas, shaking her head the second they entered. ‘Questo e solo per famiglia, Rico.’

; ‘Catherine is family,’ Rico responded easily, refusing to join Antonia’s blatant mind-games. ‘She’s Lily’s aunt.’

‘Then she’d better get herself a solicitor.’ Antonia flashed him a look that was pure malice, and Catherine privately wondered if this conversation might be best left misunderstood.

‘I have no doubt she intends to,’ Rico said, with a note of dryness that was clearly for Catherine’s benefit. ‘But given the fact that Lily has been entrusted into both Catherine’s and my care, I suggest it would be prudent if she stays and polite to have this discussion in English.’

‘You’ve only been granted temporary care,’ Antonia corrected. ‘The social worker was very clear about that when I spoke with her; this isn’t finished by a long shot. Heaven only knows what lies the two of you fed that social worker. Why on earth she would think you could provide better care than Carlos and I is beyond me.’ This time it was Catherine who was the recipient of Antonia’s withering stare. ‘Don’t think I don’t know where you’re coming from, young lady.’ Her lips curled into a sneer. ‘You’re a guttersnipe, just like your sister.’

She flicked her eyes away, clearly ready to move on to seemingly more important things, but for the first time since entering the house, Catherine found her voice.

‘I can understand that you have issues with me, Antonia.’ The voice was shaky, but her resolve was steel. ‘However, Marco wasn’t the only person buried this afternoon. It was my sister’s funeral also, and, given that it is my sister’s daughter we’re discussing, I’d ask that you all show Janey some respect, at least where Lily’s concerned.’

Her words seemed to reach Antonia. Her expression softened slightly and she gave a brief nod that Catherine took as an apology before turning her attention back to Rico.

‘Your father and I have discussed this at length,’ Antonia stated. ‘In fact we’ve barely slept since the accident.’

‘How exhausting for you,’ Rico drawled, but his sarcasm was wasted.

‘It has been,’ Antonia agreed, fishing a small lace handkerchief from her heavily tanned bosom and dabbing at a tear Catherine couldn’t see. ‘But that’s not the issue. The issue is Lily’s welfare.’

‘Agreed,’ Rico said, but his expression was anything but receptive.

‘Lily needs security.’ Antonia looked over to her husband, who smiled warily back. ‘And your father and I are the ones who can give her that.’

‘Are you sure it isn’t the other way round?’ Rico’s voice cut like a knife, his black stare withering, and Catherine was eternally grateful that for once she wasn’t the recipient of his simmering anger.

‘This has nothing to do with money,’ Antonia insisted, gesturing to the opulent study, with a beautifully manicured hand, then fingering the heavy jewels around her neck. ‘Your father and I are hardly in the poor house.’