The Sicilian Marriage. Sandra Marton

at our sisters-in-law and I could tell it was the same for them. We’re all head over heels, passionately in love with our husbands. Are we all doormats?”

      “No, no, I never…” Bree took a steadying breath. “This is pointless,” she said. “I’m just not looking for passion. If it works for you, great, but I know myself. I want—”

      “Something quiet.”

      “Yes.”

      “Something undemanding.”

      “There’s nothing wrong with that!”

      “Something safe,” Fallon said softly, and reached for Bree’s hand. “What are you afraid of, sis?”

      “Nothing,” Briana said quickly, and even as she said it, she knew she was lying.

      She was afraid. Of the dreams she’d had about Gianni Firelli each night since the party. Of the way he’d made her feel. Of that one cataclysmic instant when she’d looked into his eyes and felt the earth tilt under her feet.

      Of losing herself, her dreams, her hopes, her very being, in the fires of passion.

      MAY BECAME JUNE, and June slipped into July.

      The days were hot and muggy. New Yorkers who could afford it abandoned the city in droves. You were more likely to bump into your Fifth Avenue neighbor on the beaches in the Hamptons or on village greens in the Connecticut hills than in the city.

      Gianni didn’t notice the heat. He was immersed in a trial that was finally nearing its conclusion. It had been a complicated case, one that required his personal attention. He’d gone back and forth to the coast several times, even now, in the trial’s final hours. Days took on a numbing similarity when you spent them on airplanes.

      Invitations came in, as they always did: dinner parties at the beach, long weekends in the country. He hadn’t dated anyone since the break-up with Lynda. Word had gotten out and hostesses everywhere were doing their best to inveigle him into meeting eligible women, but he wasn’t in the mood. He wasn’t in the mood for parties, either. Not since May. Not since Briana O’Connell had treated him with a curtness that had bordered on contempt. He needed closure.

      Entering his penthouse on a Friday evening, tired after another round of flights and depositions, Gianni grimaced at that overused word. Closure was the feel-good term of the decade.

      In this case, though, it was true.

      He shrugged off his jacket, undid his tie and the buttons on his shirt as he made his way to the bedroom.

      Lack of closure was why he couldn’t get what had happened out of his mind. He was furious with himself that he hadn’t told the lady what he thought of her, but how could he? He’d been a guest in Stefano’s home, and she was Stefano’s sister-in-law.

      Gianni tossed his cuff links on the dresser, added his wallet and change, peeled down to his briefs and started for the shower before remembering the heavy vellum envelope the doorman had given him. It had been hand-delivered.

      Gianni eyed the envelope narrowly. It was, surely, some kind of invitation. The delivery by messenger, the vellum stock were dead giveaways. Well, whatever he’d been invited to, he wasn’t going. He wasn’t in the mood for people and small talk but someone, somewhere was waiting for an answer and he believed in being polite even if…

      Hell.

      He tore open the envelope and felt his bad mood dissolve. Tomasso and Karen had had their baby. A girl. His smile turned into a grin. They were having a Welcome to the World party for the child. Karen’s idea, without question. Gianni didn’t know her well but from what he’d observed and from what Tomasso said, Karen was the antithesis of her pragmatic husband. She was day to his night, Tomasso had told him with the kind of smile that made it clear it was a winning combination.

      Gianni’s grin faded. Damn it, the party was tonight.

      Sighing, he shut his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. Lord, he was tired. The last thing he was in the mood for was a party, but another life had come into the world and even if he couldn’t yet understand the appeal of fatherhood, he wanted to clap Tomasso on the back, kiss Karen and wish them well.

      Gianni dropped the invitation on the dresser and headed for the shower.

      Tonight, at least, nobody would try to play matchmaker, not with the baby the center of attention.

      Better still, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell he’d run into Briana O’Connell.

      “Hallelujah,” he muttered, and stepped under the spray.

      SO MUCH for snowballs and hell.

      He ran into the Ice Princess just minutes after walking into the party. At least, he would have if he hadn’t spotted her and come to a screeching halt.

      She was standing with a group of people, her back to him, but that didn’t matter. The hair tumbling down her back, the endless legs, showcased by heels so spiked they should have been declared a hazard to a man’s health, were dead giveaways.

      All her attention was focused on a guy doing his best to make her laugh. Damned if he wasn’t succeeding.

      Gianni felt his muscles tense. This woman laughed easily for anybody but him.

      What was she doing here? Tomasso, he thought grimly, and just then, Tomasso had the misfortune to stroll by. Gianni grabbed his shoulder and glared.

      “Did you invite her?”

      “Invite who?”

      “Damn it, Tomasso…No. You wouldn’t do that to me. It was Fallon.”

      “It was Fallon what?” Tomasso said, his bewilderment so genuine that Gianni knew he was blameless.

      “Fallon who put Karen up to this. To inviting Briana O’Connell.” Gianni jerked his head in Bree’s direction. “Stefano’s wife is the only one who’d—”

      “Nobody put Karen up to anything. Briana is Karen’s best friend.”

      It was Gianni’s turn to look shocked. “Her best friend?”

      “Well, they’d been out of touch for a few years, but yeah, best pals, way back when. They went to college together. Roomed together. They were sorority sisters. You know, the whole nine yards.” Tomasso raised an eyebrow. “What’s the problem?”

      “Nothing,” Gianni said wearily. “There’s no problem.”

      “You sure?” Tomasso offered a friendly leer. “You and she have something going on?”

      “Only if you’d describe a spider as having something going on with a fly.” Gianni laughed and slung his arm around the other man’s shoulders. “How about taking me to meet that new daughter of yours?”

      The baby was cute, as babies went. The food was good, the ale was cold, and twenty minutes after he’d arrived, Gianni was ready to leave.

      World War Three had not erupted. The Ice Princess either didn’t know he was here or she knew he was here and was ignoring him. She was still chatting with the same group of people. The only thing that had changed was that now he could hear her laugh.

      It was the laugh he’d heard at Stefano’s. Husky. Sexy. Secretive.

      It was driving him out of his mind.

      How could she laugh when he was so royally ticked off? How come she didn’t know he was here? She had to know. He hadn’t been aware of the connection between her and Karen, but she’d certainly known he and Tomasso were friends, and—

      And, he didn’t have to worry about her driving him insane because he was already climbing the steps of the asylum. Why else would he stand here watching her? Why would he give a damn? Why would he feel his temper rising and his blood pressure increasing?

      Okay. All right. Closure.