Modern Romance February 2020 Books 5-8. Natalie Anderson
squeal pulled her sharply back into focus and Orla suddenly became aware that her nails were digging into her sister’s back. She whipped her hand away…and pulled the clasp she’d had hold of away with it.
Tonino Valente stood by the huge entrance doors and waited for the last guests to file into the baroque cathedral.
The groom, Dante, was at the altar mopping his brow with a handkerchief.
He could laugh to see his old friend acting like this, but propriety forced him to bite his cheeks and smother it.
Who would have thought Dante Moncada, the biggest player of them all, would be standing at the altar sweating with nerves as he awaited his bride? Out of their gang, which decades before had ridden round Palermo on scooters desperately trying to look cool and impress the girls, Dante had always been the one who’d vowed never to settle down. Tonino had been the only one to assume he would one day marry and yet here he was, the last bachelor of their gang left on the shelf.
He’d almost married once. He’d even gone as far as to book this same cathedral before fate had stepped in in the form of an Irish temptress and turned his life inside out with one locking of eyes.
Strangely, Dante was himself marrying an Irishwoman. Tonino had only met her the once, fleetingly, a stunning redhead who had transformed his old friend into a smitten lovesick fool.
What was it with Irishwomen, he ruminated, that they could turn a Sicilian man’s head so completely?
His own Irishwoman… Well, that had been an extremely short romance. But intense. Incredibly intense. And then she’d left without saying goodbye. Not a word. Just packed her bags and left. When he’d called, he’d found himself unable to get through—she’d blocked his number.
Her cruelty in the manner she’d ended things had been breathtaking.
He could hardly believe that four years on he still thought about her.
A commotion outside the entrance had him striding outside to help a young couple struggling to manoeuvre a wheelchair-cum-pushchair that had a small child in it up the cathedral steps.
‘You’re with the bride?’ he asked in Sicilian then repeated in English once they were inside and out of the late-afternoon heat. The ushers had all been warned the bride’s nephew had mobility issues. A special place at the front of the cathedral had been set aside for him so he could have an unrestricted view of the ceremony. An usher would be required to wait with the child until the bridal party arrived and his mother, the chief bridesmaid, could take over. Tonino guessed the job had become his.
‘We are,’ the young woman confirmed proudly, her Irish accent strong. ‘I’m Aislin’s cousin Carmel, and this is my husband Danny. This young man here is Finn.’
‘He’s Aislin’s nephew?’ he clarified, just in case there was another wheelchair-bound small boy coming.
‘Yes. Aislin and the others left the hotel right behind us so will be here any minute.’
Figuring he should introduce himself so as not to scare the child, he got down on his haunches and looked at him.
Dressed in a miniature suit that matched the groom’s, the boy couldn’t be much older than a toddler. He had a shock of thick black hair and equally dark eyes…
There was something about his eyes that made the words Tonino was about to say stick in his throat.
After a drawn-out beat, he conjured a smile. ‘Hello, Finn. I’m Tonino. I’m going to take you to the front of the cathedral to wait for your mummy.’
He was rewarded with a wide smile that displayed a row of tiny white teeth.
Straightening, Tonino took the handles of what was clearly a specially made wheelchair and pushed the child down the wide aisle to his designated space. Finn immediately spotted Dante at the altar and flung his arms out as if reaching for him.
Dante grinned and hurried over to crouch on his haunches before him just as Tonino had done. Finn’s skinny arms wrapped around his uncle’s neck. ‘Carry,’ Finn demanded in a strong Irish accent.
‘Soon,’ Dante promised. ‘I need to marry Aunty Aislin first.’
‘Then carry?’
‘You bet. Now be a good boy and wait for your mummy. Tonino will look after you until she gets here.’ Dante kissed his nephew’s cheek and ruffled his hair then made his way back to his place at the altar.
Tonino was used to small children. His brother had two, his sister had just given birth to her third. Mobility issues aside, there was nothing about this child that should capture his attention and yet… There was something about him…something familiar. Something that made his skin prickle and his heart pound.
‘How old are you, Finn?’ he asked through a throat that had run dry.
The little brow creased before he held three fingers up.
‘You’re three?’ he clarified sceptically. The boy was tiny.
A nod.
‘You’re almost a man.’
The tiny white teeth flashed at him again.
An audible change amongst the congregation caught their attention. The little boy craned to look around him. ‘Mummy!’
The bridal party had arrived.
The beautiful bride made her way down the aisle arm in arm with her proud father, identical beams on their faces. Behind them, holding the long train of the bride’s dress, were two adorable little girls walking either side of a slender brunette in a long, ancient-Greek-style dusky rose bridesmaid dress. Her face was turned to the child on her left and so hidden from Tonino’s sight.
‘Mummy!’ Finn called out again, this time loud enough for the whole congregation to hear.
The pounding in Tonino’s chest ramped up in speed.
And then he caught full view of the brunette’s face and his heart stopped beating altogether.
Orla held on to the train of Aislin’s dress as if it were life support. She could do nothing to stop her legs trembling.
Tonino Valente. The name she’d spent three years desperately trying to remember. Aislin had uttered his name and in that instant a light had switched on in Orla’s brain. If she hadn’t ripped the tiny clasp from Aislin’s dress she might very well have fainted, but the panic over ruining the hundred-thousand-euro dress had been equal to the shock of recognition at Tonino’s name.
The flurry of activity that had followed, the hunt for the designer, who’d eventually been found in the hotel bar and who’d given Orla more evil eyes during the fixing of the clasp than she’d previously received in her lifetime, the arrival of Sabine’s daughters—Orla’s fellow bridesmaids—and the arrival of Aislin’s father… Suddenly the suite had been crammed with people and she’d been forced to get a grip of herself.
This was the biggest day of her sister’s life. Aislin had put her life on hold for three years for Orla and Finn. Orla would never have been able to bear the scars that marked her body inside and out without her sister’s steadfast support. More than support. Aislin had raised Finn for the first eighteen months of his life, been the first to realise he wasn’t developing as he should, the one there every single day of Orla’s rehabilitation.
And now it was Orla’s turn to support her sister; her protector, her best friend, her guardian angel made flesh. This was Aislin’s day.
Sick dread continued its steady drum as they moved closer to the altar and she had to use all her concentration to keep the train of Aislin’s dress stretched out