Wife By Force: International Billionaires II: The Italians by Caro LaFever Page A

all the days her father could choose, why today? He’d gone to Florence to see her brother, leaving her to handle the apologies and explanations.
    “ Signorina .” A fresh-faced, eager usher appeared at her side.
    Forcing a smile, she handed her invitation over.
    He offered her his tuxedoed arm and ushered her into the deep well of the sanctuary. High arches circled the room, white stone interspersed with medieval statues of saints. Large bright canvases of swirling motion added color and texture to the church. As a child, she’d often attended mass here with the Casartellis. The fond memories flooded her mind as she walked slowly down the aisle between the heavily carved wooden benches. Benches filled to capacity. The men dressed in sleek Armani or Didonna, the women in the sultry silk of Versace or Moschino. Gucci bags and Ferragamo shoes competed for attention with splashy jewelry and beautiful smiles. Anyone looking at this crowd would know the power and prestige of the family who commanded their attendance.
    The usher kept walking. Lara nodded at neighbors she’d become reacquainted with and new friends the Casartelli sisters had introduced her to. Her heart had warmed at how speedily and thoroughly she’d been absorbed back into the circle in which she’d grown up. Their acceptance had made the adjustment of leaving England much easier.
    The usher kept walking. Past the neighbors. Past the throngs of friends. Past the elite of Florence and Rome.
    Right up to the front of the church. Right up to the family.
    There must be some mistake.
    “ Signore .” She frowned.
    He smiled and waved her in. Into the second pew from the altar.
    “I don’t think—”
    “Lara.” Daniella Casartelli Rossini, her closest friend as a child, and now quickly becoming her closest friend once more, beckoned. “Come on. Sit.”
    “But…”
    The usher walked away.
    Feeling like she was the focus of all eyes, she stepped into the pew and sat down. “I can’t sit here.”
    “Why not?” Daniella bounced a laughing toddler on her knee. Her husband, sitting beside her, smiled from above another baby’s head. Dani was younger by three years, yet her marriage and the subsequent birth of her twins had added a layer of contentment and maturity to her features that Lara envied.
    “I’m not family.”
    “Close enough.” Her friend grinned.
    The crash of the organ replaced the trilling of the violins. She watched as, with great ceremony, Giana Casartelli was ushered into the pew right in front of her.
    “I’ve got to go and find a seat in the back.”
    Dani’s hand latched onto her arm. “Too late.”
    With resignation, she glanced around to see a string of bridesmaids walking down the aisle. Behind them, the bride stood in the entryway. Carlotta looked beautiful, yet it was the tall man standing beside her who garnered Lara’s reluctant attention.
    The stark black of his tuxedo contrasted with the blinding white of his shirt and tie. The suit fit him, in more than one way. The cut emphasized the broad hardness of his shoulders, the trim edge of his hips. The absence of color in his clothes highlighted the rich olive of his skin and the glossy strands of his hair. The contrast was like him: all black and white, all cold and hot.
    “He wanted you to sit here,” Daniella whispered in her ear.
    Instant irritation bubbled through her veins. She’d forced him out of her memory, out of her conscience, with grim determination over the past five days. Throwing herself into the school and work until she was exhausted meant her days were filled. Her nights were filled too. With weary sleep. No time to think of him in the day, no dreaded dreams of him at night.
    Or rather, nightmares.
    The bridal processional boomed and the couple began the long trip down to the altar. If there had been any way to escape, she would have run for the door, yet there was nowhere to go. His family crowded the pew on her left. The aisle to her right was