Modern Romance April 2016 Books 1-4. Cathy Williams

happiness had begun for her in Sicily at the castello. Occasionally she had thought sadly about the job she had left behind, but caring for Nicky had kept her very busy and Concetta’s arrival had persuaded Jemima that she was perfectly happy shaping her routine round her husband and children. Such an existence might not be perfect for everyone, but it was perfect for her.

      She adored Luciano and she adored her kids and her home and the staff who looked after them so well. She never ever forgot either to be grateful for her good fortune. Luciano had bought a comfortable house for her parents back in the UK, but they remained regular visitors to the island, most often staying in the cottage by the beach. Her husband had become almost as fond of his in-laws as his wife. He appreciated the retired couple’s loving interest in their grandchildren and rarely went to the UK without taking them out to dinner. Jemima’s friend, Ellie, was a regular visitor as well, but there had been no further contact from Steven, who had married a couple of years back.

      Now awaiting Luciano’s arrival, Jemima smoothed her hands down over the elegant blue dress she wore with the most ridiculously high heels in her wardrobe. He bought her shoes everywhere he went without her because he knew that, even though she preferred to spend most of her time at home rather than shopping or partying as she could have done, she got a kick out of wearing that kind of footwear. It was the type of thoughtfulness and all the little caring touches that accompanied it that made Jemima such an adoring wife.

      The shouts of three little boys backed by the far more muted tones of her little daughter warned Jemima that Luciano was in the hall. She grinned as he raised his voice to be heard above the hubbub and then there was silence, the sound of quick steps across the tiles as he made his escape and the door opened.

      And there he stood, her beautiful Luciano, who still thrilled her as much at first glance as he had five years earlier. ‘You look very beautiful, Signora Vitale,’ he told her teasingly.

      She encountered his stunning dark golden eyes and her heart sang as she surged across the room to throw herself into his arms. ‘I missed you.’

      Luciano gazed down at her with smouldering appreciation. ‘The kids are waiting in the hall.’

      ‘They want to see you too.’

      ‘Can’t be in two places at once, amata mia,’ he husked, claiming a passionate kiss with raw, hungry enthusiasm.

      ‘Carlotta will distract them,’ Jemima mumbled.

      ‘We’re being selfish,’ he groaned, lean brown hands worshipping her generous curves. ‘But I can’t... Bedtime’s hours away,’ he muttered defensively.

      ‘So it is... I love you,’ Jemima confided, enchanted by the level of passionate appreciation in his smouldering scrutiny, for it was wonderful to feel that desirable to the man she loved.

      ‘Not one half as much as I love and need you,’ Luciano countered. ‘It isn’t possible, amata mia.’

      ‘What have I told you about that negative outlook of yours?’ Jemima censured, backing down on the sofa in what was a decidedly inviting way with happiness and amusement and passion all bubbling up together inside her and making her feel distinctly intoxicated on love.

      * * * * *

      Read on for an extract from THE SECRET TO MARRYING MARCHESI by Amanda Cinelli.

      CHAPTER ONE

      SHE WAS DEFINITELY being followed.

      Nicole tightened her grip on the stroller’s handlebar and picked up her pace. The same black Jeep had already made its way past her three times as she took her morning walk through the village. Two men sat inside, their dark sunglasses doing nothing to disguise the fact that their attention was focused entirely on her. As the vehicle slowed to a complete crawl a short distance behind her, she felt the familiar prick of ice-cold terror in her throat. It was officially time to panic.

      The cobbled laneway that led up to her farmhouse was still slippery from the light April drizzle. Her ballet flats scraped against the stone as the breath whooshed from her lungs with effort. A gleeful squeal sounded from within the cocoon of pink blankets as the stroller bounced and swayed. Nicole forced herself to smile down at her daughter through tight lips, summoning an inner calm she wasn’t quite sure she possessed. They were nearly home. She would lock the door and everything would be fine.

      As she rounded the last bend that led to La Petite, she slowed to a stop. The gateway was filled with vehicles, and a line of cars stretched further up the lane. A dozen figures stood in wait with cameras slung around their necks. Nicole felt a humming begin in her ears as her blood pressure instantly skyrocketed.

      They had found her.

      Thinking fast, she pulled off her light jacket and draped it over the stroller’s hood. They descended quickly, the crowd of men forming a circle around her as the cameras began to flash. She kept her head down, and the air seemed to stretch her lungs to breaking point as she tried to move forward. They seemed to gather more tightly around her. Apparently the addition of a child made absolutely no difference to the paparazzi’s definition of personal space.

      A man stepped forward, blocking her way. ‘Come on—a quick photo of the young ’un, Miss Duvalle.’ He smile was shark-like, sharp-toothed and dangerous. ‘You’ve kept this hidden quite well, haven’t you?’

      Nicole bit down hard on her bottom lip. Silence was the key here. Give them nothing and pray that they went away. The sudden jarring sound of a car horn was just what she needed as the black Jeep appeared in the lane behind her. The vehicle began pushing its way through the crowd, forcing the photographers to scatter. Taking advantage of the distraction, she moved as fast as she could, pushing hard through the throng.

      It seemed like a lifetime before she crossed the gateway onto her own private property. They couldn’t enter without breaking the law, but she wasn’t so naive to think that she was somehow out of their reach.

      She would never have privacy here again. The thought brought a choking sob to her throat.

      She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder and focused on retrieving her keys from her handbag with trembling hands. Once she was finally inside, she slid the deadbolt into place and scooped Anna up into her arms. Her daughter’s warm cotton scent soothed her nerves, giving her a small moment of relief through the haze of blind panic. The sun shone through the windows, brightening the room and filling the space with light. Anna’s sparkling blue eyes smiled up at her, so peaceful and unknowing of the situation they were in.

      She needed to find out what was going on. Now. She gently settled her daughter on a soft mat surrounded by toys, then quickly got to work. It wasn’t an easy task to fire up the ancient computer that had come with the farmhouse. One of her first resolutions upon moving to the French countryside from London had been to throw away her smartphone and stop checking the showbiz news. Still, she made sure to keep a phone charged for emergencies. One that only made and received calls—that was all she needed.

      It seemed like hours before she could finally type a few keywords into the search engine on the dusty screen. She immediately wished she hadn’t bothered.

      ‘Billionaire Marchesi’s Secret Love Child Uncovered!’

      Seeing the words in black and white filled her with ice-cold dread. She scanned through a few lines of the anonymous interview before turning away from the screen in disgust. Was her life always going to be sordid entertainment for the masses? She bit her lip hard as she dropped her head into her hands. She wouldn’t cry.

      This wasn’t supposed to happen to her here. The tiny village of L’Annique had been her sanctuary for more than a year now. She had fallen in love with her kind neighbours and the quiet, almost humdrum atmosphere. Unlike in London, where her name was synonymous with scandal, here she had been free to raise her daughter in peace. And now this quiet village would be overtaken by the storm of her old life catching up with her.

      Every penny from the sale of her London town house had been poured into her new beginning. Uprooting