The Sicilian Marriage. Sandra Marton

you should be. When I get her alone later—”

      “Forget it. Maybe she had a difficult day.”

      “Bree? A difficult day?” Fallon gave a ladylike snort. “I don’t know how. My sister doesn’t do anything that might be considered difficult.”

      Except treat men as if they were contemptible, Gianni thought, but he wasn’t going to say anything like that. Her sister’s behavior wasn’t Fallon’s responsibility.

      “Doesn’t she have a job?”

      “An endless succession of them. She’s been a photographer, a travel consultant, a salesclerk, a game show research assistant…” Fallon smiled. “Our mother says she’s still finding herself but to be honest, my other sister and I don’t think she ever lost herself in the first place. She’s just, well, flighty.”

      It was a nice way of saying Briana O’Connell was unreliable, not just rude and sullen. The woman wouldn’t be any sane man’s type, let alone his.

      “Fallon,” he said, taking his hostess’s hands in his, “I’ve had a wonderful afternoon.”

      “You’re not leaving?”

      He smiled and brought her hands to his lips, pressed a light kiss to the back of each.

      “I’m afraid I must. I have a dinner appointment this evening.”

      “Ah. Too bad. Stefano and I hoped you’d stay after the others left. He loves to talk about old times with you.”

      “Another time, I promise. Make my goodbyes to him, will you?”

      “Yes, absolutely.” Fallon linked her arm through his as they walked slowly through the foyer. “And Gianni…I’m really terribly sorry about my sister.”

      “No need. I’ve been rebuffed before.”

      Fallon laughed, turned to him and cupped his face in her hands.

      “You’re a bad liar, Gianni Firelli. We both know that there’s not a woman alive who wouldn’t do a maidenlike swoon if you smiled in her direction.”

      “From your lips to God’s ear,” he said lightly.

      She laughed again, rose on her toes and pressed a demure kiss to his lips.

      “It was good seeing you. And thank you for the beautiful gift for Cristina.”

      “My pleasure. Ciao, Fallon.”

      “Goodbye, Gianni.”

      The elevator was waiting. He stepped inside, kept smiling until the car doors closed. Then he let the scowl he’d been fighting darken his face as he took his cell phone from his pocket.

      Lynda answered on the first ring. “Hello,” she said in that breathless whisper that always made his muscles tighten.

      Strangely enough, they didn’t tighten this time.

      “It’s me.”

      “Gianni.” Her whisper became a purr. “I hoped you’d call. Are you coming over?”

      The elevator reached the lobby. He stepped briskly from the car, nodded to the doorman when he opened the door that led to the street.

      “Let’s have dinner.”

      “Of course, darling. Are we going out? Shall I put on something pretty…Or shall I stay as I am? I just took a bath and all I’m wearing is that pink silk robe you gave me.”

      Pink. Rosebud-pink, like Briana O’Connell’s mouth.

      “Gianni? Can you hear me?”

      He cleared his throat. “I hear you, Lynda.”

      “What do you want to do? We could try that new restaurant everyone’s talking about. You know, Green Meadows. It’s supposed to be spectacular.”

      Green, like the dress that outlined Briana’s supple body. Spectacular, like her magnificent face…

      “Gianni?”

      All at once, Gianni knew what he wanted to do. It had nothing to do with Briana O’Connell. Nothing at all. It was just something that had been coming for a few weeks, and it was time he dealt with it.

      “Lynda?”

      “Yes?”

      “Don’t bother making reservations. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He paused. “And get dressed,” he added gently. “All right?”

      He heard the swift intake of her breath. “Gianni? Is everything all right?”

      “Twenty minutes,” he said, and pressed the disconnect button.

      An hour later, he left Lynda’s apartment for the last time. She was crying and he hated knowing he’d made that happen but at the very start of their relationship they’d agreed neither of them was interested in commitment, and that when the time came to end things, they’d do it with honesty.

      “I know,” she’d said tearfully, when he’d reminded her of that, “but I thought things had changed.”

      Nothing had changed. It never did. Women always said one thing at the start of a relationship and another at its end.

      Gianni sighed. Darkness had finally claimed the city and he was eager to get home, take a long shower and put the strange day behind him. He thought of hailing a cab, then decided he’d rather walk.

      Tomorrow, he’d send Lynda something to cheer her. A bracelet, perhaps. Something expensive enough to assuage her tears and his guilty conscience because honesty was one thing, but dissolving a relationship with no warning was another.

      The truth was, he really hadn’t thought about ending things until a little while ago. He’d been satisfied enough until he’d gone to that damned party. Until he’d looked into the eyes of a woman who didn’t seem to care that he existed and saw, in those eyes, something else.

      That one swift, blinding flash of heat.

      A sharp wind blew down 57th Street, surprisingly cold after the warmth of the day. Gianni turned up the collar of his jacket, tucked his hands deep in his pockets and picked up his pace.

      CHAPTER TWO

      “WHY DIDN’T YOU like him?”

      Bree looked up from her salad. There it was, the question she’d been waiting for since Fallon phoned and asked her out to lunch. The only surprise was that it had taken her sister a week to make the call and almost half an hour to ask the question.

      “Who?” Bree said innocently. Why give away more than was necessary?

      “You know who. Gianni Firelli.”

      Bree popped a grape tomato into her mouth and chewed contemplatively. She had two choices. She could say “Who?” and pretend not to know what her sister was talking about, or she could tell her to mind her own business. Neither response was going to get her very far. Growing up, she’d learned what that determined tilt of her eldest sister’s chin meant.

      The best thing was to tackle this head-on.

      “I assume,” she said, putting down her fork, “we’re talking about the fact that I didn’t fall at the man’s feet.”

      “Fall at his feet? A simple ‘Hello, nice to meet you,’ would have done it.”

      “I said ‘hello.’”

      “You know what I mean, Bree. You almost took his head off.”

      “I did not.”

      “Yes, you did. I can’t believe you behaved so badly!”

      Behaved so badly? Bree’s chin lifted, just like Fallon’s. “And I can’t believe you still think I’m six years old.”