Latin Lovers: A Convenient Bridegroom / In the Spaniard's Bed / The Martinez Marriage Revenge. HELEN BIANCHIN

heart.

      Now she was going to marry him, have his children, and to all intents and purposes live the fairy tale dream of happy-ever-after.

      Except she didn’t have his heart. That belonged to Bianca, who lay buried beneath an elaborate bed of marble high on a hill outside the country town in which she’d been born.

      Aysha had wanted to hate her, but she couldn’t, for Bianca had been one of those rare human beings who was so genuinely kind, so nice, she was impossible to dislike.

      Carlo caught each fleeting expression and correctly divined every one of them. His mouth softened as he leant forward and brushed his lips to her temple.

      She blinked rapidly, and forced herself to smile. ‘Hands-on practice, huh? You do know you’re going to have to help with the diapering?’

      ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

      Aysha almost believed him.

      ‘I’ll serve the cannoli,’ Gianna declared. ‘And afterwards we have coffee.’

      ‘You women have the cannoli,’ Luigi dismissed with the wave of one hand. ‘Giuseppe, come with me. We’ll have a brandy. With the coffee, we’ll have grappa.’ He turned towards his son. ‘Carlo?’

      Women had their work to do, and it was work which didn’t involve men. Old traditions died hard, and the further they lived away from the Old Country, Aysha recognised ruefully, the longer it took those traditions to die.

      Carlo rose to his feet and followed the two older men from the room.

      Aysha braced herself for the moment Teresa would pounce. Gianna, she knew, would be more circumspect.

      ‘You cannot be serious about returning to work after the honeymoon.’

      Ten seconds. She knew, because she’d counted them off. ‘I enjoy working, Mamma. I’m very good at what I do.’

      ‘Indeed,’ Gianna complimented her. ‘You’ve done a wonderful job with the house.’

      ‘Ecco,’ Teresa agreed, and Aysha tried to control a silent sigh.

      Her mother invariably lapsed into Italian whenever she became passionate about something. Aysha sank back in her chair and prepared for a lengthy harangue.

      She wasn’t disappointed. The use of Italian became more frequent, as if needed to emphasise a point. And even Gianna’s gentle intervention did little to stem the flow.

      ‘If you had to work, I could understand,’ Teresa concluded. ‘But you don’t. There are hundreds, thousands,’ she corrected, ‘without work, and taking money from the government.’

      Aysha gave a mental groan. Politics. They were in for the long haul. She cast a pleading glance at Carlo’s mother, and received a philosophical shrug in response.

      ‘I’ll make coffee,’ Gianna declared, and Aysha stood to her feet with alacrity.

      ‘I’ll help with the dishes.’

      It was only a momentary diversion, for the debate merely shifted location from the dining room to the kitchen.

      Aysha’s head began to throb.

      ‘Zia Natalina has finished crocheting all the baskets needed for the bomboniera,’ Gianna interceded in a bid to change the subject. ‘Tomorrow she’ll count out all the sugared almonds and tie them into tulle circles. Her daughter Giovanna will bring them to the house early on the day of the wedding.’

      ‘Grazie, Gianna. I want to place them on the tables myself.’

      ‘Giovanna and I can do it, if it will help. You will have so much more to do.’

      Teresa inclined her head. ‘Carlo has the wedding rings? Annalisa has sewn the ring pillow, but the rings need to be tied onto it.’ A frown furrowed her brow. ‘I must phone and see if she has the ribbon ready.’ She gathered cups and saucers together onto the tray while Gianna set some almond biscuits onto a plate.

      ‘The men won’t touch them, but if I don’t put a plate down with something Luigi will complain.’ She lifted a hand and let it fall to her side. ‘Yet when I produce it, he’ll say they don’t want biscuits with coffee.’ Her humour was wry. ‘Men. Who can understand them?’ She cast a practised eye over the tray. ‘We have everything. Let’s join them, shall we?’