What a Sicilian Husband Wants by Michelle Smart Read Free Book Online Page A

if you want to remain in her life then you will not allow it either. If I think at any time that you are trying to poison her against me, you will be gone. Now, if you will excuse me, it has been a long day and I would like to shower. You have been put in the blue room.’
    Yanking the door open, he held it for her. She couldn’t help notice the wince of pain he gave and the tight, queasy feeling in her belly rippled.
    She stalked past, flinching when he slammed it shut behind her. Only when she was safely in her new room did she start to shake.
    She sank onto the bed and held Lily’s bag to her chest, blinking rapidly, trying to catch her thoughts.
    The blue room was exactly as it had been when she left. Blue. Blue walls, blue curtains, blue furnishings...even the en suite was the blasted colour. It was the one room of their wing she had never got around to personalising. It had been next on her to-do list, before the discovery of the truth had sent her fleeing.
    She hated this room, had deliberately left it until last because she had known this room above all others would give her the greatest fulfilment.
    Unzipping a compartment of the bag, she pulled out her fated phone. If there was one silver lining to this imprisonment it was that she could now speak to her mum and Cara. It would be the first time she had spoken to either of them in ten months.
    It had been safer all round that no one knew where she was hiding, something she had found especially hard in England. She had known moving to Cornwall was pushing her luck to its limit, but the closer she had come to giving birth, the lonelier and more frightened she had become. There she was, about to go through the most terrifying, life-changing experience of her life and she had no one to share it with. Knowing her mother was only three hundred miles away had at least brought some comfort, but in all honesty her mum would have been a useless birth partner.
    Billie Holden was an artist too—a sculptor—but reality rarely intruded in her life. Grace laughed sourly as she acknowledged it was a trait she had inherited—after all, hadn’t she refused to allow reality to intrude on her love for Luca?
    She remembered her call to Billie from Schiphol Airport with a smile. Typical of her mum, she’d been unfazed when Grace had explained the situation, merely relieved her only child was alive. Even when Grace had said she might not be able to contact her for a very long time, Billie had reacted with a cheery, ‘Never mind, my darling, you’re the best-equipped person I know to fend for yourself.’ She’d probably envisaged Grace’s situation as a great adventure rather than confront the reality of the situation.
    Grace’s childhood had been different from those of her friends. Her mother had treated her like a best friend rather than a daughter. Not for her rigid bedtimes or mealtimes—it was a rare day when Billie even remembered to cook a meal—or the relentless nagging all her friends received. Instead, Grace had been encouraged to embrace life and given all the freedom she desired. Her father was of the same mindset and every bit as much of a dreamer as her mum, but where Billie poured all her energy into her art, Graham devoted his to worthy causes in the developing world, disappearing for months, sometimes years, on end.
    For all her parents’ benign neglect, Grace had never doubted their love for her. It was just a different love from that which most other parents gave. And if there had been moments—many moments—when she had yearned to test them and ask how deep their love for her ran, she wouldn’t swap them for anyone or change a single day of her childhood.
    At least she could now make proper contact without worrying that Luca had tapped Billie’s phone or could trace her IP address.
    For better or for worse, she would no longer have to look over her shoulder. At least, not until she found a way to escape again.
    * * *
    Luca lay in his bed, listening as