Free The Forced Marriage by Sara Craven Page B

all.
    What was it Hester had said? ‘Heaven, hell and heartbreak’?
    Well, she’d had the heaven, and now she was faced with the hell of knowing that, for him, it had been just a casual sexual encounter—another girl in another bed. And, although she was currently feeling numb, she knew the heartbreak would surely follow.
    And then there was Chris, whom she had betrayed in the worst possible way.
    I can’t tell him, she thought miserably. I can’t hurt him like that. He doesn’t deserve it. I’ll have to find some other excuse for calling off the wedding. Tell him I’ve been having second thoughts—that I prefer my career—my independence.
    His mother will be pleased, anyway. She never thought I was good enough for him—always dropping hints about modern girls not knowing how to be homemakers.
    She groaned, pressing her face into the pillow. No amount of self-justification was ever going to excuse what she’d done. She’d had no right to have dinner with Marco Valante, let alone allow him to make a feast of her in bed.
    And now he’d walked away without a backward glance, and she knew she had no one to blame but herself.
    Act like a tart and you’ll get treated like a tart, she thought drearily.
    She pushed away the encircling sheet and got up. It was the morning after the night before, and she simply had to get on with her life. She would have a bath—wash away the taste and touch of Marco Valante—get dressed, then start to dismantle the arrangements for the wedding that were already in place. Florists, caterers and printers would all have to be notified, and the church cancelled. She would need to make a list, she thought, trailing into the bathroom and turning on the taps in the tub.
    And somehow she would have to tell her mother, and endure the inevitable wailings and recriminations.
    On the plus side, she thought wanly, I will not have the nephew from hell following me up the aisle, although I expect that Sandra will have something to say about her little darling’s disappointment.
    She poured a capful of her favourite bath essence into the steaming water.
    There was going to be a lot of music to face, she thought frowningly, but only if she chose to do so. She could always take the weeks she’d booked off for her honeymoon and move them up. Get right away for a while and put herself back together again.
    Some of the clients she’d planned to see might not be too happy if she went missing for a couple of weeks, but Melanie would simply have to make new appointments for them.
    It’ll be good for her, she thought, testing the water. Show what she’s made of in a crisis.
    And she was ready to bet that most of the clients would be prepared to wait for her return. Because she was good at her job.
    I wish, she thought, as she stepped into the tub, that I was equally as good at life.
    She settled back into the scented water with a little sigh and closed her eyes.
    She’d made a monumental fool of herself, and taken a terrible risk, but she didn’t have to allow it to cloud her entire future, she told herself firmly. Everyone was surely allowed one serious mistake—and Marco Valante was hers. That was all.
    She heard a slight sound, and turned her head sharply.
    Her serious mistake was standing in the bathroom doorway, one shoulder negligently propped against its frame. He was fully dressed, but tieless, and his shirt was open at the throat.
    He said softly, ‘Buon giorno.’ And began to walk towards her, discarding his jacket as he did so. ‘I thought you would sleep until my return, cara .’
    ‘Your return?’ Her voice was a stifled croak. ‘Where have you been?’
    ‘Your refrigerator was full of food, but nothing for breakfast, so I went shopping.’ He counted on his fingers. ‘We have fresh rolls, orange juice, cheese and some good ham.’ The green eyes glinted as they surveyed her. ‘All of which we will have—later.’
    Flora realised he was rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He