The Sicilian's Bought Bride. Carol Marinelli

fingers. And she knew there and then that she could never admit to the truth. Rico was right, damn him, and it hurt to admit it. Janey hadn’t loved her; Janey had hated her. More damaging than that, Janey had blatantly admitted she had married Marco for his money. If it ever got out, if Catherine ever admitted the truth, what chance would she have against the family courts? What chance would she have against the might of Rico Mancini? It would all be over bar the shouting.

      Lily would be gone from her life as surely as she was standing here now.

      A lion Rico might be, but the lioness in Catherine emerged then—proud and wary, sleek and refined, and willing to do whatever it took to protect those she loved. To her dying breath she would deny it. She would take Janey’s words to the grave. Would lie through her teeth if that was what it took.

      Lily needed her.

      ‘Janey loved Marco.’

      ‘She told you that?’

      Dragging in air through her clenched teeth, she wrenched her eyes from the floor and forced herself to do the hardest thing she had done in her life—look Rico in the eye and lie.

      ‘Yes, Rico. She told me that she loved him. Janey loved Marco and his money had nothing to do with it. I know in my heart that—’

      ‘Save it.’ A well-manicured hand flicked in the air. His eyes were more shuttered than ever, his voice almost weary, and for once there was economy in his actions, the usual extravagant Latin temperament curiously subdued as he halted her speech. ‘It is time for bed.’