How Sweet It Is (27 page)

“And I am the new head of restoration for Westminster Abbey,” he replied, meeting her gaze. “That’s not going to change either.”

She smiled. “They gave you a position? You’re going to live in London?”

He grinned. “It’d be difficult to see you two if we lived in different countries, don’t you think?”

“Oh good,” Chloe said, relief making her wilt visibly. “Good, because I was so worried for the baby, because you’d be a great dad. I’d know, because of Charles.”

Finn froze. “Baby?” He looked at Vi.

“Whoops,” Chloe murmured, giving her an apologetic wince.

Not exactly the way she’d expected to tell him. She searched his face, wondering if he was filled with dread or joy. The shock she could see.

He blinked and studied her belly. “A baby.”

Was that awe? Or was it just wishful thinking on her part? She cleared the nerves from her throat. “I was going to tell you, but I didn’t want you to feel forced into a situation you didn’t want.”

He cupped her face. “I’m here because I want to be. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said softly with all the joy in her soul.

“This is the best gallery opening ever!” Rowdy yelled from the back.

A rousing cheer went through the studio.

Finn, however, only had eyes for her. He gathered her in his arms. “
A baby.
”

She bit her lip. “You aren’t angry?”

“Livid,” he said softly, kissing her. “You’ll have to make it up to me forever.”

Something settled in place inside her chest, and she smiled. “Okay.”

“We’re getting married, Viola, so get used to the idea,” he said. “We’ll wait two weeks, when you’re less busy with the gallery opening. Did I tell you how amazing it looks?” He held her gaze so she could see he meant it. “I should have known it would be. You have an eye for good artists.”

“I have an eye for one artist,” she clarified. “He and I work well together.”

“Yes, and this is our best work yet,” he murmured, gently kissing her, his hand on her waist. “A masterpiece we made together.”

She moved his hand to her heart, amazed that life could be so sour one moment and so sweet the next.

Epilogue

Bea stood next to her sister Viola at the altar for the second time in her life.

The first time, it’d been an elaborate affair, with almost two hundred strangers wearing expensive clothing and dour expressions. Viola had spent the entire ceremony shaking, and Bea had had to bite her tongue to keep from protesting the marriage.

This time, everything was perfect. They were in the study of the South Street house. Portia had filled it with pale pink roses and candles. There was family and extended family. Chloe had given Viola away, and Jasmine was Finn’s best man. Rowdy cheered enthusiastically from the sidelines when he wasn’t making eyes at the exotic brunette.

Best of all, her sister was radiant.

Bea studied Viola’s profile. She knew pregnant women were supposed to glow, but Vi’s incandescence came from love.

And triumph—Vi’s gallery opening had been a raging success. There was a great write-up from Stuart Covington, which hadn’t even been necessary because that night Viola had sold most of her inventory. There’d even been a bidding war for one of Titania’s photos, of Gigi sitting in the solarium reading. Titania had watched the whole thing like it was her due, proclaiming “It was still a bargain” when Viola had sold it for ten times the asking price.

Finn, sweet man that he was, had insisted that Viola sell his as well, but her sister had insisted even harder that he didn’t want that, so she wasn’t going to. But she’d added that one day when he was ready to sell his work, she expected to be the sole dealer with the rights.

That Finn adored her dearest sister was enough in itself to love him. When he’d punched Charles, though, Bea knew he’d be her brother forever.

The officiate broke into her thoughts. “And now,” he said, beaming at the couple, “I pronounce you husband and wife.”

Before anything else could be said, Finn grabbed Viola and kissed her like he never meant to let her go.

Jackson pushed up his cowboy hat and whistled loudly, which set everyone into a rousing round of applause.

A little over a year ago, they’d been fractured. Bea smiled fondly at her family, remembering how she’d tried to pull everyone together after the way Reginald had driven them all away. She didn’t think any of them—not even Fran—would have foretold them under one roof and happy again.

A dream come true.

Her job as the eldest, done.

Portia grabbed Jackson’s head and kissed him enthusiastically, too. He ran his hand over Portia’s behind, winking at Bea when he caught her watching. If Bea knew her sister, there was something very frilly underneath her proper clothing, and Jackson was obviously looking forward to seeing it in greater detail.

Sebastian stood next to them, smiling. Bea was still wary of him, after all he’d shown up out of nowhere and wormed his way into the family’s bosom. Portia loved him, though, and she had been least likely to welcome the American who was going to steal the family title. Even Viola had been converted.

Bea couldn’t figure him out, and that was what bothered her most.

Summer and her new man stood off to the side. Jon Smith was the sort who preferred the cover of shadows, but he seemed to bask in Summer’s sunniness. They’d rushed home from their extended stay in Thailand especially for Viola. Bea hadn’t been sure if Summer would allow herself to blend into the family, but after a rocky start, she’d embraced it.

Gigi had rushed home, too. She clung to Merrick’s arm. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear that made her give him her world-famous smile and a slow, promising wink.

Rowdy was crowding Jasmine into a corner, but the woman didn’t look like she minded. Good for Rowdy. Bea liked him a lot, if only for the fact that he’d become one of Vi’s best friends. He was a nice man—he deserved some fun.

Her mother looked on Viola and Finn with tears in her eyes. Her boyfriend Declan had his arm around her waist.

Bea shook her head. Seeing her mother in an affectionate relationship was still an adjustment. Not that she didn’t like it—she was happy for Jacqueline and Declan. Her mother deserved to be happy.

Fran was the happiest though. Fran looked all around the room, beaming with joy. Bea could read her thoughts: that all her lambs had found love and happiness.

Except her.

Bea turned away before Fran’s gaze reached her. She didn’t want to see what her former nanny might think.

Fact of the matter was that she was perfectly happy. She had everything she’d ever wanted: freedom, power, and respect. She had a successful career and penthouses in London, New York, and Hong Kong. And now everyone in her family was taken care of.

Even Titania. Bea watched her youngest sister circle the room, documenting every moment with her camera. Ian, her fiancé, watched her with pride and hunger, as though he couldn’t wait to get her alone. She was radiant in love, too, and well on her way to becoming one of the greatest photographers of the century.

Finn and Viola stopped kissing and stared into each other’s eyes. Viola’s face flushed at whatever silent communication they exchanged, and Finn grinned like a pirate. Then they turned to face the family’s congratulations.

Rosalind and Nick were the first to descend on Viola. They were eclipsed by the company they kept: Luca Fiorelli.

Ever since Rosalind had brought Nick into the family Luca was constantly around.

Bea looked at him. He was staring at her.

Of course he was. He always stared at her. She arched her brow. She knew he wanted her, but there was no way that was ever happening. She was perfectly happy with her casual flings. To get involved with Luca would be anything but casual.

She smiled as her younger sister took her hands. “You look lovely, of course,” Rosalind said, kissing her cheeks.

“What’s lovely is the dress you made Vi.” Bea looked at the subtle, sexy creation, absolutely perfect with yards of soft lace. Somehow Rosalind had managed to pull it together in record time. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Aren’t you the one who created the world in six days?” Rosalind joked.

“No, I’d have gotten it done in four.” She smiled at their mother who joined them.

“Did you make Chloe’s dress?” Jacqueline asked Rosalind.

Rosalind shook her head. “She picked it herself.”

Their mother smiled. “Astonishing.”

Because it was green rather than black. The teenager still wore a lot of eyeliner, but she looked less likely to ask to suck your blood. Bea studied Hunter, who was Chloe’s special guest. He looked at her niece like the world was lit by her.

As if reading where her thoughts had gone, Rosalind nodded at the boy. “He’s good for her.”

Bea nodded. “He’ll do nicely.”

“So will
he
,” Jacqueline said, tipping her head to the right.

She looked at where her mother indicated. Luca. She stiffened and turned her back on him. “Mother, you’re brilliant and accomplished, but then you go and say things like that and I doubt my assessment.”

Jacqueline gave her a disappointed look that still made her shrink in shame even though she was almost forty. “He’s a nice man, Beatrice.”

“Nice?”
Nice men didn’t smolder. Nice men didn’t say the wicked things he said to her at every opportunity. Things that made her want to throw caution to the wind.

But she hadn’t gotten to where she was by being frivolous. She wasn’t one ruled by her emotions. Everything she did had a purpose. To indulge with Luca wouldn’t have any purpose in the scheme of things.

Rosalind cleared her throat. “Can I get you two a drink?”

Bea shook her head. “I’ll go. Excuse me.”

She was aware of their eyes on her as she strode toward the sideboard. Deciding a moment alone was probably a good idea, she kept walking, straight out of the parlor and into the kitchen.

Fran’s domain was oddly still, but it suited Bea just fine. She mixed herself a martini and stood at the counter, sipping it slowly.

Someone walked into the kitchen. She didn’t have to look to know who it was. She always knew when he entered a room.

She lifted her head, impassively, watching Luca prowl toward her. She couldn’t decide if he looked resplendent or ridiculous in the pinstriped suit and pink carnation in his lapel.

Taking another slow sip of her drink, she watched him draw closer, casing her like a predator, but with the caution of one who recognized that she was a predator, too. With respect.

She hated that, because it made it harder to casually dismiss him.

Relaxed, confident, he stopped in front of her. “
Beatrice.
”

She resisted the urge to shiver. He always drawled her name like it was a verbal caress—Bea-
tree
-che—as though it was a naughty word in Italian. She didn’t let him see how it affected her.

Instead, she sighed as though she were bored. “I came in here to be alone. Go away.”

He gave her that slow, up-and-down perusal that set fire to her every time. Then he said, “I have something for you.”

“I can imagine.” She took another slow sip of her drink, her gaze never leaving his. “I doubt I want it.”

“
Beatrice
”—he leaned in until she could smell the spiciness of his skin—“you like what I have for you. You like
me
.”

She arched her brow. “That’s overstating matters.”

“You hunger for me the way I hunger for you.” His eyes trailed down into the deep V of her dress. “Your body craves my touch, the way mine is dying for yours. It’s only a matter of time.”

She rolled her eyes to take away from the truth of what he was saying. “Why are all Italians so dramatic? Is it something in the wine?”

“You already belong to me,
Beatrice
.” Luca leaned in. “I arouse you.”

Damn him—he did. He always had, from the moment she’d laid eyes on him.

But she was stronger than her urges, and that was all this was. “This isn’t about sex,” she said, straightening his flower with practiced detachment. “Sex is easy.”

“Sex with you will never be easy, Beatrice.” He lowered his mouth until his lips were hovering above hers. “But it will always be miraculous.”

She wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t. She didn’t lie, especially to herself.

But she didn’t want to think about that today. She just wanted to enjoy her dearest sister’s wedding. “This isn’t the time or place, Luca.”

“You’re right, Beatrice. So I’ll give you this and go.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of scarlet lace.

Her face burned the color of panties. She snatched them from his fingers and hid them behind her back in case anyone came in.

“You left them in my bed.” Luca lifted her head and pressed his lips to hers, the barest of kisses.

She wanted more—for him to take her again, the way he had that one night. She pressed her lips together, refusing to give in again. She’d be damned if she asked him for more. He was already insufferable.

He gave her a knowing grin that made her shiver in anticipation. “I’ll leave you alone now, but tomorrow,
Beatrice
, our games begin.”

***

Lose yourself in the next Summerhill novel,
Give a Little
…

Beatrice Summerhill has a plan—world domination—and she refuses to let anyone get in her way. Especially a certain arrogant, bone-melting Italian race car driver…

Get
Give a Little
now!

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