Their passion: unrivaled

Her revelation: unforgettable!

Orla O’Reilly knew the father of her precious three-year-old son must be out there somewhere. But after a car accident left her with amnesia, she’s unable to recall his name. Until Tonino arrives at her sister’s wedding, and suddenly it comes flooding back. Their connection…and his betrayal…

Billionaire Tonino is astounded by Orla’s return. The memory of their short but intense affair has never left him. But convincing Orla that he has the right to his child—and her heart—will be far from easy…

MICHELLE SMART’s love affair with books started when she was a baby and would cuddle them in her cot. A voracious reader of all genres, she found her love of romance established when she stumbled across her first Mills & Boon book at the age of twelve. She’s been reading them—and writing them—ever since. Michelle lives in Northamptonshire, England, with her husband and two young Smarties.

Also by Michelle Smart

The Sicilian’s Bought Cinderella

Cinderella Seductions miniseries

A Cinderella to Secure His Heir

The Greek’s Pregnant Cinderella

Passion in Paradise collection

A Passionate Reunion in Fiji

Rings of Vengeance miniseries

Billionaire’s Bride for Revenge

Marriage Made in Blackmail

Billionaire’s Baby of Redemption

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Her Sicilian Baby Revelation

Michelle Smart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09791-8

HER SICILIAN BABY REVELATION

© 2020 Michelle Smart

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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This book is dedicated to my munchkin, Zak xxx

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

ORLA O’REILLY BLEW her nose and swallowed back a breath, trying her hardest to stop fresh tears falling down her sodden cheeks. She didn’t want people to see her like this.

She’d flown to Sicily ten days ago on a mission to meet the man her mother had always unkindly referred to as ‘Orla’s sperm donor’. Only now did she understand her mother had actually been diplomatic.

Her father, who’d returned from his travels that morning, had refused to see her. He had no curiosity about his twenty-three-year-old daughter. No curiosity at all.

She hadn’t expected a grand reunion or anything but his outright rejection…

It hurt. Really, really hurt. Now all she wanted was Tonino’s strong arms holding her tightly and his breath whispering into her hair that everything would be okay.

At least something good had come from her time in Sicily. She’d met the man of her dreams.

Ten days ago she’d taken one look at her room in the budget hotel she’d checked into and gone back to the reception. Orla was not one for complaining but the state of it would have driven a saint to boiling point. The bed sheets were stained and crumpled, the carpet sticky under her feet and the bathroom…well, the less said about that, the better.

She’d stood at that reception desk for exactly six minutes before a tall, imposing figure had appeared from a door marked Privato and Orla had found herself face-to-face with the sexiest man she’d ever set eyes on.

Until that first sight of Tonino, she’d never understood what it meant to meet someone and feel as if you’d been struck by lightning.

When she’d returned to the hotel much later that day, her first attempt to meet her father scuppered due to him being abroad, she’d found her room hadn’t just been cleaned but sanitised. New furniture and furnishings had been installed, including a brand-new carpet. Her melancholy mood had lifted when the gorgeous hotel manager had knocked on the door and asked if she would like to meet for coffee in the morning.

What had followed had been the most wonderful week and a half of her life, right until two hours ago when she’d returned to her father’s home for her second attempt. All those glorious hours with Tonino had infused her with a sense of optimism. She had become certain that her first meeting with her father would be the stuff of Hollywood; all tight embraces and schmaltzy words.

It had taken her father exactly eight minutes to break her heart, the length of time his housekeeper had made Orla wait alone on the doorstep before she’d returned with the ‘regretful’ news that he didn’t want to meet her.

She must try not to think about her father. Keep her focus on Tonino.

That was what she needed to keep the tears at bay. To think of the man who’d brought her to life and stolen her heart.

She wished she’d told him about her father. She wished she’d had the courage to be upfront about her real reason for being in Sicily but it was such a shameful thing to admit, that she was the secret love child of one of Sicily’s most notorious playboys; a child created through infidelity.

All her life she’d shied away from meaningful friendships and relationships. The only people she’d ever trusted were her sister, Aislin, and her grandparents. Her grandparents had both since died so that left Aislin.

And then she’d met Tonino.

She was ready to tell him now. He would understand. He would comfort her. He would be the rock she’d always dreamed of having but had never believed could exist.

Tonino had left her in bed that morning with a lingering kiss. He’d stroked her cheek and promised that that night they would talk. The expression in his eyes and the tone of his voice had told her this would be of a serious nature. As hard as she tried to temper the wild emotions raging through her veins, not even her father’s rejection could completely stamp them out. A future was dangling before her. For the first time in her life, Orla felt that her future could mean more than a career. It could involve…love…

The taxi driver pulled up outside her hotel behind a sparkling stretch limousine that stuck out like a sore thumb in this run-down area. Orla wearily slipped out, intent only on getting to her room and soaking in the bath while she waited for Tonino to return from his business trip in Tuscany. This was the first time they’d been apart for more than a few hours. How lucky was she to have found the man of her dreams just as he was due to take his annual leave, giving them all that time together!

‘Permesso.’

A ravishing stick-thin blonde with eyes like a cat’s blocked Orla’s path to the hotel’s elevator.

Orla held her hands up and tried to move around her, but the woman mimicked her moves, blocking her efforts.

‘Can I help you?’ The richness of the woman’s clothes and the expert precision of her hair and make-up made Orla think she must be the possessor of the limousine.

The woman raised an immaculately plucked eyebrow. ‘English?’

‘Irish.’

‘You give me two minutes.’

‘Err…’ Annoyed, Orla was about to push her way around the woman when the four fatal words were uttered.

‘Is about Tonino Valente.’

Prickles raced up Orla’s spine. Her abdomen clenched. ‘What about him?’

The woman raised her left hand and pointed at her wedding finger. A huge diamond ring lay snugly on it. ‘I am Sophia. Tonino’s fiancée.’

Twenty minutes later and the two women were in Orla’s hotel room. Sophia perched delicately on the small armchair while Orla sat on the floor feeling as if she’d been punched by a heavyweight with lead in his gloves. Spread on the carpet around her were photographs of Tonino and Sophia. Many photos. There were also press clippings and glossy magazines. Orla didn’t understand Sicilian but some of the words in the article needed no translation. Tonino and Sophia’s engagement party two months ago had been deemed newsworthy.

‘I sorry to tell you this,’ Sophia said in a tone that suggested she was loving every minute of it. ‘Tonino has made fool of you. He has lied to you. You are fun to him. Sì?’

‘I’ve been a bit of fun?’ Orla whispered. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Sì. That why I here. I warn you. Tonino loves me. We are to marry.’

Orla was unaware that tears were leaking down her face, and too numb to care that there was a warning in the Sicilian woman’s tone as well as in her actual words.

This must be what he’d wanted to talk to her about that night.

Fool that she was, she’d believed he wanted to discuss a future for them.

Her hand shook as she picked up the glossy magazine containing a twenty-page spread of their engagement party.

How could an ordinary hotel manager attract such a wealthy, high-maintenance woman like this? And why would an ordinary hotel manager be the recipient of the kind of press attention usually reserved for the rich and famous?

Fearing she could be sick, she groped for her phone and keyed Tonino Valente’s name into the search engine.

Ten minutes later she was still reading and searching but it was as if someone had taken possession of her body and was reading the damning evidence for her.

She felt light-headed. Boneless.

Tonino had lied about more than his marital status.

He wasn’t the manager of the hotel as he’d led her to believe. He was the owner. This hotel was just a small cog in a vast empire.

Tonino Valente was the sole owner of Valente Holdings, a chain of mostly hugely expensive hotels across Europe that catered for the filthy rich. Tonino, who was also an enthusiastic investor in start-up businesses, was filthy rich in his own right.

The man she’d opened her heart for, who she’d dared believe she could have a future with, was a cheat and a liar. The worst kind of liar. A rich, powerful liar. His grandfather was one of Sicily’s top judges. His mother was one of Sicily’s leading criminal lawyers. His father was a leading Sicilian politician.

Her Internet search revealed that the immaculately beautiful woman in the obscenely expensive outfit sitting on Orla’s hotel-room armchair was Sophia Messina. The Messinas were a Sicilian family as wealthy and powerful as the Valentes.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, meeting Sophia’s cold, unflinching eyes. ‘I knew nothing about you.’

‘Now you know…you go?’ It was framed as a question, but the underlying threat hung between them.

Orla didn’t need the threat.

‘Yes.’ Breathing heavily to quell the rising nausea, she stumbled over to the wardrobe. ‘Yes. I go.’

CHAPTER ONE

Four years later

‘WILL YOU KEEP still a minute?’ Orla rebuked with a shake of her head. How was she supposed to fasten her sister’s wedding dress if she didn’t stop jigging on the spot?

‘I’m trying,’ Aislin protested.

‘Try harder. These clasps are fiddly. Breathe in.’

Aislin gave a theatrical intake of breath.

Using all her limited strength, Orla hooked the second tiny clasp. Excellent. Only another fifteen of the blasted things to go. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to wear a bra?’

‘It’s a strapless dress.’

‘Then wear a strapless bra. What will you do if the dress falls down and your boobs start wobbling for all of Sicily’s high society to admire?’ If there was one thing Orla was envious of, it was her sister’s magnificent bosom. Orla barely had a handful to waste.

‘It’s a bespoke dress. It’s not going to fall down.’

She hooked the third clasp. ‘I don’t get why you won’t let the designer hoist you into it.’

‘She’s around if we need her.’

‘But she’s used to doing this. Her fingers work. My fingers are useless.’ Fourth hook clasped, Orla blew out a puff of air from the exertion.

‘Untwist your knickers and chill. Anyone would think you were the one getting married.’

‘Aren’t you the slightest bit nervous?’

‘Nope.’ Through the reflection of the full-length mirror, Orla saw the beaming smile spread over her sister’s face. And well she should smile. Not only was Aislin marrying the love of her life, but she’d discovered a month ago that she was pregnant.

That the man Orla’s sister was marrying happened to be Orla’s half-brother—Orla and Aislin had different fathers—was, to her mind, only further cause for celebration.

She just wished they were marrying in Ireland, not here in Sicily. She was certain the deterioration in her coordination was down to the knots of dread in her stomach. Or were they knots of excitement?

All she knew for certain was that the beats of her heart had steadily increased in tempo and density in the weeks leading up to the wedding and now that she was finally in Sicily, there was an anticipation…or dread…that something was going to happen.

It was close to four years since Orla had been in Sicily on her futile mission to meet her father. A serious car accident six months after her return to Ireland had left her with major memory problems. Time had healed most of the holes in her memory but the period from Sicily to the accident itself remained stubbornly locked away.

She knew her wish to meet her father had gone unfulfilled only because Aislin had told her so and because every time Orla thought of Salvatore Moncada she wanted to cry. She’d shed a bucket of tears when she’d learned he’d died a year ago but even during that mammoth crying session was the feeling that she was crying for more than the father she’d never met.

She comforted herself that she’d gained a brother, Salvatore’s son, Dante. He was technically a half-brother, as Aislin was technically her half-sister, but Orla had never been able to see it like that. You didn’t love someone in halves. You either loved them or you didn’t. Aislin was only three years younger than her so she had no memories of life without her. Aislin was her sister and they would fight to the death to protect each other.

Dante, who Aislin had found for Orla and fallen in love with for herself, had only been in their lives for four months but it felt as if he’d been a part of it for ever.

Aislin’s phone buzzed. ‘Can you get that?’

‘Okay, but don’t move. If the clasps pop open I’m not redoing them.’ She still had a dozen of the ruddy things left to hook together.

She strode to the suite’s dressing table, grabbed the phone, handed it to Aislin and then got back to work on the dress.

‘It’s a message from our dear mother.’ Aislin spoke in an unnaturally high voice.

A shiver ran up Orla’s spine and her fingers fumbled on the delicate clasp she’d only just gripped hold of. ‘What does she want?’

‘To wish me luck.’

She snorted. ‘How big of her.’

‘Now, now, don’t be like that. You know it isn’t easy to jump on a plane to be there for your youngest daughter’s wedding.’

‘True. It’s not as if her daughter’s fiancé is a billionaire who’d offered to pay for a private jet to fly her over or anything.’

‘And it’s not as if she hasn’t seen her daughters in, what? Seven years?’

‘Or never met her only grandchild.’ Finn, Orla’s precious three-year-old son, her miracle of life, currently napping in one of the suite’s bedrooms under the watchful gaze of a nurse, had never set eyes on his grandmother.

She met Aislin’s stare through the reflection of the mirror and they burst into peals of laughter.

The sisters had long ago learned that the best way to keep the anger and pain of their mother’s actions at bay was to laugh and treat it all as one big joke. If they didn’t laugh there was a good chance they would never stop crying.

‘I suppose you should be grateful she remembered,’ Orla pointed out dryly.

‘I’m brimming with gratitude.’

She sniggered before confiding, ‘I’m dreading meeting Dante’s mother.’ Orla’s conception had been the catalyst for Dante’s parents’ divorce twenty-seven years ago.

‘Don’t be. I told you, she has no animosity towards you.’

‘But she sounds terrifying.’

‘She’s hilarious. When Dante told her she was going to be a grandmother the first thing she said was that she didn’t want to be known as Nonna.’

‘What will she be called?’ Another two clasps were hooked in quick succession.

Aislin cackled wickedly. ‘Nonna!’

‘Is she here yet?’ ‘Here’ being the magnificent luxury hotel nestled on a cliff overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea that Dante had hired the entirety of for the weekend.

‘She’s going straight to the cathedral with Giuseppe.’ Giuseppe was Dante’s latest stepfather, Immacolata’s sixth husband. ‘Now stop whittling.’

Before Orla could make a cutting retort, there was a knock on the door. A moment later a member of the hotel’s staff walked into the suite carrying a huge bouquet of flowers in a vase.

‘Compliments of the owner,’ he said in careful English.

‘How lovely.’ Aislin clapped her hands in delight. ‘Please, put them on the windowsill and, please, thank Mr Valente for me.’

Valente?

For no reason she could imagine, the hairs on the nape of Orla’s neck lifted and her gaze flew to the door that concealed her napping child.

When they were alone again, Aislin met Orla’s eyes again in the reflection of the mirror. ‘Have you met the owner of the hotel yet?’

Now the hairs on her arms lifted too.

‘Should I have?’ she asked nonchalantly, even as she ground her bare feet into the soft, thick carpet and ice raced up her spine.

Orla had arrived the day before but Finn had been exhausted from the journey, so they’d dined in the suite together rather than join the other early arrivals for the evening meal. By the time Aislin had joined them, both she and Finn had been fast asleep. Her sister had crawled into the bed with her, just as she’d done throughout their childhood. It had been a bittersweet moment for Orla, waking to find her sister asleep beside her. Her baby sister would never share her bed again.

Aislin shrugged but there was a shrewdness in the reflecting stare that sent the ice already in Orla’s spine spreading through her limbs. ‘Tonino’s one of Dante’s ushers—they’re old friends. Their fathers were friends too.’

Orla’s fingers tightened reflexively. Her chest tightened. The room began to swim around her…

‘Ouch!’

Aislin’s 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 and keep control of the little bridesmaids by her side, both of whom were merrily waving at the packed congregation as if they were royalty. She hardly dared look away from them in case she found the dark brown stare that had haunted her dreams.

Could it really be him?

It had been almost four years. All they’d shared was one night. Or was it two? Or three? Or more? She wished she could remember but her memory had as many holes in it as a lump of Swiss cheese. Many of the holes had closed with time and the lost memories had returned but everything to do with Tonino and her time in Sicily remained blurry snapshots. She knew they’d met at the hotel she’d checked into during her fruitless attempt to meet her father, but that had been her only concrete remembrance…apart from his face. She remembered that handsome face vividly. Every time she’d pictured it, she’d had to suck in a breath of air to counteract the lance of pain that had accompanied it and blink away tears she’d had no clue from whence they had come.

‘Mummy!’

Her son’s voice broke through the fog of fear in her head.

Stretching her cheeks into a smile, she finally had a clear view past her sister to the spot at the left of the altar where she’d been promised she and Finn would sit.

The smile froze, half formed.

A tall, dark, utterly gorgeous man sat beside Finn. His black stare was fixed directly on her.

Her stomach plummeted. Thick heat pulsed and swirled through her head, dizzying her.

She had no recollection of Aislin’s father handing the bride to the groom, no recollection of the two small bridesmaids leaving her side, no recollection of her feet taking her to her son. All she remembered from taking those steps was the blazing heat that suffused her entire body and the feeling that she could fall into a dead faint from the shock.

The man watching over her son until she could take her place beside him was Tonino. Finn’s father.

CHAPTER TWO

THE WEDDING CEREMONY passed Tonino by. He rose and sat when directed, joined in with the hymns, recited the prayers at the appropriate times but it was all noise. He could not switch his attention away from Orla. Or her child.

The child who looked the image of his own childhood photographs.

His eyes flew from mother to child, child to mother, his gaze unable to settle any more than his ragged heartbeats could.

The pounding in his head was too strong for coherent thoughts. He couldn’t breathe properly. He’d only been capable of snatching drags of air into his lungs since he’d seen Orla’s face.

He’d risen from the seat he’d been saving for her and they’d stepped around each other, eyes locked, like two moons orbiting an invisible sun. For the first time in his thirty-four years he’d been struck speechless.

Her green eyes had been wide. Frightened. Her face had been white.

That was the last time their gazes connected.

Not once throughout the ceremony did Orla look at him. While his stare remained resolutely upon her and her child, her attention, when not taken by her son, stayed on the bride and groom.

Gradually, anger and incredulity rose inside him and pushed out the shock. Coherent thinking returned. His wits sharpened.

He began to see more clearly too. And what he saw proved that, despite having had a child, Orla hadn’t changed at all.

She was still beautiful. Slender and elegant. The long, thick dark hair he’d last seen spread over his pillow when he’d kissed her goodbye was coiled into a chic knot on the nape of her neck. The elfin features he’d once thought belonged on the pages of a fairy-tale book had been expertly made-up, smoky eye shadow emphasising the stunning large green eyes he’d once gazed into while buried deep inside her. The long-sleeved dress she wore was far less revealing than usual bridesmaid dresses, the dusky pink silk wrapping around her body to kiss her gentle curves but displaying minimal flesh.

Her beauty had captivated him from the first look.

That first look had been pure chance. A member of his public relations team had found a litany of complaints about one of his Palermo hotels online. Tonino had rearranged his itinerary and headed straight there. The Palermo hotel in question had been part of his uncle’s struggling chain until Tonino had stepped in to save it and save his uncle’s reputation from the shame of bankruptcy. Where Tonino specialised in converting old castles, monasteries, chateaux and the like into luxury spa and golf resorts for the wealthy, his uncle’s hotel chain had been aimed firmly at holidaymakers on a budget.

Tonino had been raised in a wealthy family but his core group of childhood friends had come from diverse economic backgrounds. Gio, the friend Dante had chosen as his best man, came from an exceptionally poor background. In their school days, holidays for Gio’s family had been the result of months of overtime, scrimping and saving. The cost of their holiday had been pocket change compared to the sums spent by visitors to Tonino’s own hotels but in comparison had cost them far more and had meant a hell of a lot more as a result. He always thought of Gio when inspecting his lower-ranked hotels. Why should guests be forced to accept shoddy service, cold food and an unclean swimming pool just because they were poor? It was this exact same argument he’d had with his hotel manager right before he’d fired him. He’d left the meeting room, furious at the fired manager and furious with himself for allowing the situation to get this far. A solitary woman had been waiting at the unattended reception desk.

That woman had been Orla.

His reaction to her had been like a knockout punch to his guts. He’d never had such an immediate reaction to a woman before and it had been the final clarion call needed to know he couldn’t marry Sophia. That reaction had been the unwitting trigger for the rift that still existed between Tonino and his parents. That knockout initial reaction had changed the course of his life.

Orla was thankful for the bossy photographer. He clearly saw himself as an artiste and spent ages framing each shot in the cathedral’s picturesque grounds. This allowed her to hide in plain sight with her family, safe amid their huge numbers. That she had barely spoken to any of them in the last three years was neither here nor there. She felt no animosity towards them. They simply picked up where they’d left off, catching up on their lives in snatches of conversation.

Snatches of conversation were all she could manage. Everything inside her had become so tight it was a struggle to get any words out.

One of the small bridesmaids had taken a shine to Finn and stuck to his side, gabbling away to him in her own language. Finn didn’t have much in the way of a vocabulary but the rapture on his face only proved that language was inconsequential.

Too scared to look at Tonino, Orla kept her gaze far from him but still felt the heat of his stare upon her. It had been hard enough feeling it every second of the wedding ceremony but outside, his solid form a good head taller than most of the other guests, she felt his attention like a malevolent spectre haunting her. She sensed his loathing, which only added to the cold needles digging into her skin.

What had she done to provoke such animosity?

Deep in her bones she knew the moment opportunity presented itself, he would pounce. She had to be ready for it. She had to remember.

Frustration at her Swiss cheese memory made her want to scream.

She’d been waiting for her baby to be born before telling the father. That was something she knew only because Aislin had told her so. Aislin had been unable to tell her the father’s name or Orla’s reasons for waiting until after the birth to tell him because Orla had never disclosed it to her.

Why was that? Orla never kept secrets from her sister so why would she have kept something of such importance to herself?

There were so many things she’d spent three years trying to understand about her own thoughts and actions during the pregnancy, desperately trying to remember, even undergoing hypnosis to unlock the crucial hidden memories.

The most crucial memory of all, the identity of Finn’s father, had now been unlocked but there was still a heap of others to bring to light.

As soon as the photos were done and the bride and groom had ridden off to the hotel on their horse-drawn carriage, Orla latched onto Aislin’s friend Sabine and used her as a shield while she wheeled Finn to their waiting car.

She unstrapped him and carefully lifted him into her arms. He was small for his age and light in weight but it wouldn’t be long before her still-weak muscles would struggle to carry him any distance. She would carry him for as long as she could physically manage. She’d missed out on so much of his short life, days and nights spent aching to hold her baby, days and nights spent hating the body that had entrapped her in a living hell, fighting with every breath to get herself well enough that she could at least live under the same roof as her child.

Once Finn was secured in his car seat, she hurried to the other side and slid in beside him.

Only when the driver pulled away did she turn her head to look out of the window.

Tonino was staring straight at her, not a flicker of emotion on his handsome face.

Mercifully sat at the top table, Orla watched the seven-course wedding meal unfold around her in the hotel’s enormous ballroom decoratively adorned with balloons and glitter. She had been seated on the top table beside Aislin’s father, the man who’d been Orla’s stepfather from the age of three for the grand total of two years. Aislin had so many of Dennis O’Reilly’s characteristics that being in his company was usually a joy. A humble man who’d been treated atrociously by their mother, he’d always treated Orla with great kindness on the occasions she’d seen him after the divorce.

Today though, she couldn’t relax long enough to find the usual enjoyment she would have found being next to him.

This was hands down the most luxuriant and glamorous wedding she’d ever attended. The food was the most delicious she’d ever eaten, the wine in her glass the nicest she’d ever sipped; even the water had a purity to it she’d never tasted before. She could take no pleasure from any of it.

To her misfortune, Tonino had been placed to the left of the top table, facing her. Every time she glanced in his direction, she found his cold stare on her. It never failed to send a shiver up her spine.

Something different raced up her spine whenever she caught sight of the stunningly beautiful blonde woman with eyes like a cat seated to the right of the top table. Orla was certain she wasn’t imagining the death stares being thrown by her, which were far more potent than the daggers she’d received from Aislin’s wedding-dress designer.

She knew this woman. But from where? And why did she want to hide under the table to escape her?

Her torrid thoughts were interrupted when Dennis got to his feet, tapped his glass for attention, and pulled out a sheet of paper.

Much merriment ensued. Even Orla found her lips pulling into an unforced smile to see the Sicilian guests’ bemusement. Dennis’s accent was so thick and he spoke so quickly they probably struggled to understand him. The Irish contingent understood him perfectly and heckled liberally. Only one brave strapping teenager dared heckle Dante when it was his turn to speak, though, and was rewarded with a slap from his pint-sized mother, which had Sicilians and Irish alike laughing.

After the speeches were done and copious toasts had been made, there was an hour of free time. Many of the guests disappeared to their rooms to change for the evening party. Most of Tonino’s table stood too, but the tiny easing in Orla’s chest at the fact that he might leave the ballroom tightened again when, eyes locked, he strode towards her.

Fear scratched at her throat. She wasn’t ready for this. She needed to make sense of the unfolding memories before the confrontation that had to happen occurred.

Fate stepped in in the form of Dante’s glamorous mother, Immacolata, who Aislin had been right in saying held no animosity towards Orla. Immacolata pounced on Tonino when he was barely three feet from the table.

Snatching the opportunity to escape, Orla hurried to her feet and took hold of Finn’s wheelchair. I’m taking him to the suite, she mouthed to Aislin.

Are you okay? Aislin mouthed back.

She nodded vigorously. ‘I need to get his walker.’

Luck shone on her again when a handful of her cousins’ small children bounded over and loudly insisted on accompanying them.

Guarded by an army of children barely out of nappies—the bridesmaids tagged along too—Orla took Finn to their suite.

Leaving Finn’s nurse to keep order over the sugar-loaded kids, she stepped out onto the balcony alone. Familiar scents filled her airwaves and, slowly, the vertigo-like feeling that had cloaked her since she’d heard Tonino’s name that morning lifted.

She gazed out at the Tyrrhenian Sea darkening under the setting sun. The Sicilian aromas weren’t the only things stabbing at her memories.

She craned to her left and squinted, trying to spot the run-down beachside hotel she’d stayed in when she’d met Tonino…

Whether it was seeing Tonino again or being back in Sicily she couldn’t say, but the locked-away memories that had eluded her since she’d woken in hospital were slowly taking substance in her mind, but it was all still a jumble.

Sophia!

That was the cat’s-eyed, dangerous-looking woman’s name. Sophia. She’d confronted Orla…but about what?

Stupid brain, work!

A squeal of laughter from the suite shook her from the reforming jumble of memories. The evening reception was about to start. She had to be there.

She got her army of children together and, the nurse carrying Finn’s walker, they trooped out of the suite and down the corridor.

Into the lift they all piled. Seconds later they reached the ground floor, the doors opened and the excitable kids burst out like a spray of rubber bullets.

Orla’s brief amusement died when she noticed the imposing figure propped against the wall.

Tonino pulled himself away from the wall he’d stood against while waiting for Orla to reappear. All the hotel’s stairs and elevators exited at this corridor. She could not escape without him seeing her.

Or her seeing him.

When she appeared, the little colour she had on her milky-white complexion drained away.

Let her feel fearful. Let her take in her surroundings and know there was no escape from him, not here in his own hotel where he had staff posted on every exit into the grounds, ready to notify him should she decide to escape further than her suite.

He stood right in front of her, but it was not his deceitful ex-lover he addressed.

Crouching down, he held out a hand to the child he strongly suspected was his own, and not only because of the uncanny resemblance between them.

Orla had been a virgin. He remembered the flame of colour that had stained her cheeks when she’d told him that and had to fight back the memory snaking through his blood of the first time he’d made love to her.

‘Hello, Finn. Are you having a good time?’

Finn nodded vigorously. He strained forwards but the straps of his wheelchair stopped him leaning too far.

‘And do you like your suite?’

He was rewarded with a blank stare.

‘Your room,’ Tonino clarified. ‘Do you like your room?’

Another vigorous nod.

‘You’re sharing it with your mummy?’

A less vigorous nod.

‘What about your daddy? Is he sharing it too?’ Having checked the room and suite allocation, he already knew the answer to this, but he wanted to see Finn’s reaction to the word ‘daddy’. Dante had been uncharacteristically evasive on the subject of Finn’s parentage when he’d tried to quiz him a short while ago. Tonino understood. Orla was Dante’s newfound sister. He had a sister himself. Blood protected blood. It had been Aislin’s reaction to his questions that had been the biggest giveaway. She’d reminded him of a cornered rabbit.

The blank stare returned.

A little voice piped up, the Irish brogue strong. ‘Finn doesn’t have a daddy.’

Tonino raised his head to look at Orla. She was clasping the handles of the wheelchair so tightly her knuckles had whitened.

The expression on her face along with the child’s unwitting answer was all the confirmation he needed.

Her green eyes held his, wide and pleading, before she gave a slight shake of her head and mouthed, Later. Please, and expertly pushed the wheelchair around him and aimed it towards the ballroom at a speed that would suggest she was being chased by a pack of rabid dogs.

Suddenly feeling in need of a large drink, he let her go.

The ballroom had been transformed into an even glitzier spectacle by the time Orla hurried through its doors. The main lights had dimmed so the only illumination came from the glittering chandeliers. The DJ had started playing music but the dance floor was empty.

The fear gripping her heart tightened when she saw her sister’s face.

‘Tonino Valente was asking questions about Finn’s father,’ Aislin whispered when she reached her.

Terrified she was going to cry, Orla blinked frantically.

Sympathy and understanding washed over her sister’s face. ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’

All she could do was nod.

‘He knows?’

Pulling her lips in tightly, she nodded again. Tonino had taken one look at Finn and recognised him as his own.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know.’ For three years she’d waited for the memories to return, assuming that, once she had them back, she would enlist her sister’s help and set off to find Finn’s father. She would have had time to prepare herself.

Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined a scenario like this.

Behind Aislin, Dante approached them.

His presence brought some much-needed sanity to Orla’s frazzled nerves.

Whatever happened, she mustn’t lose sight that this was their big day. If Aislin so much as suspected the fear in Orla’s heart then everything would be ruined. She wouldn’t hesitate to cancel the party or the honeymoon.

Flinging her arms around her, Orla held her sister tightly. ‘I need to settle my nerves but I’m going to be fine. I promise. Now stop worrying about me and enjoy your party.’

On cue, the DJ called for the bride and groom to take to the dance floor.

‘Go,’ Orla urged, kissing Aislin’s cheek. She was rewarded with a kiss in return.

While Dante led Aislin onto the dance floor, Orla took Finn out of his wheelchair and put him in his walker, a wonderful device Dante had bought for him that kept him secure and allowed him to use his legs to get himself about. She had to be careful with the amount of time he used it as he tired easily, but she knew he would want to get on the dance floor with the other children.

As soon as he was in it he started bouncing with glee. His ‘girlfriend’ the bridesmaid shot over to admire him in it.

Orla went with them to the edge of the dance floor with the other guests.

Tears she’d been holding back filled her eyes again to see the love shining between the two people she loved so much. She didn’t need to pray for their love to be eternal. Aislin and Dante were made for each other.

As the dance came to an end an arm brushed against hers. Her skin tingled.

A spicy scent filled her nostrils. Her pulses surged. Her lungs tightened. A memory of pressing her nose into a strong neck and inhaling this scent flashed through her.

‘I give them six months.’

She didn’t dare look at him. Somehow she managed to croak, ‘What?’

‘Their marriage. If Aislin has your blood in her veins then it won’t be long before her mask slips and Dante realises that beneath the pretty surface lies a black, deceitful heart.’ A huge hand closed on her wrist. ‘Dance with me.’

She thought her knees were about to collapse beneath her.

‘Dance with me or I make a scene. Do you want to be responsible for ruining your brother and sister’s special day?’

He gave her no further chance to answer. Before she knew it, Orla was being smoothly manhandled onto the dance floor and pulled against the hulking body of the only man she’d ever been intimate with.

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