Emma Darcy - The Arranged Marriage

Apart from everything else, she would hate to fail in front of Alex King, hate to have him feel pity for her, hate to give his fiancée reason to sneer at her performance.

She had to sing well.

Had to.

Or she would die a million humiliating deaths.

“DO WE have to sit through this?” Michelle hissed at him.

Alex frowned at her. “Yes.”

She rolled her eyes, adopting the air of a martyr as they followed his grandmother and her protégés to the ballroom.

Alex found himself distinctly irked by Michelle’s lack of graciousness, particularly towards Gina Terlizzi. He’d taken an instant liking to the young widow and her little boy. Why couldn’t Michelle simply wish Gina well, instead of measuring her singing talent against her own drive and ambition? It was perfectly understandable why a single mother—tragically so—wouldn’t want to drag her child around the club circuit.

Michelle’s single-mindedness needed to be tempered by an appreciation of where other people were coming from. Apart from anything else, it was a matter of respect for different values, different circumstances. And it wouldn’t hurt her to compromise a bit on her wedding plans. Cutting his grandmother out of all the decisions was not good. Weddings were family affairs to Nonna. That was the Italian way.

Given his grandmother’s none too subtle comments on the harp just now, Alex realised he should start taking a more active role in the arrangements. There were other people to consider besides the bride. He recalled Elizabeth King’s recent visit, and her account of how involved she’d been in the planning of her sons’ weddings. Nonna would certainly be feeling…left out of his. It was not right.

The ballroom was set up in its usual pattern—round tables seating eight forming a horseshoe that faced the stage and enclosed the highly polished parquet dance floor. They’d no sooner entered it than Michelle parked herself at one of back tables, right next to the exit, her unwillingness to be an interested party to this audition all too obvious.

Doubly annoyed now, Alex accompanied his grandmother to the table of her choice, halfway down the ballroom. He saw her and the little boy seated, then escorted Gina Terlizzi up to the stage to familiarise her with the sound system so she could perform at her best.

Her hand was trembling slightly as she held out the backing tape. Nerves? Distress at being virtually snubbed by his fiancée? The unfairness of that slight, and the realisation of how vulnerable Gina must be feeling, drove Alex to take the tape and enclose the trembling hand in his own, wanting to impart both warmth and strength, wanting to give her back the confidence that had been taken from her.

“Don’t take any notice of Michelle,” he advised, not caring if he sounded disloyal. “Sing to your son, Marco, imagining you are at his wedding.”

Colour whooshed into her cheeks. Had he embarrassed her? Her thick dark lashes lifted and her eyes—he’d thought they were a light brown but close up they were a fascinating golden amber—seemed to swim up at him, bathing him in a mixture of relief, gratitude, and a very touching wonder at his caring.

He had the instant urge to draw her into his arms—to comfort and protect—and only a swift charge of common sense deflected him from such unwarranted and totally out-of-place action. The strength of the instinct both stunned and bemused him. He barely knew this woman.

“Thank you. You’re very kind,” she murmured huskily.

She had a wide, generous mouth. All the better to sing with, he told himself, clamping down on disturbingly wayward thoughts of sensuality and passion. He was suddenly very conscious of her hand, lying still in his now, and gave it a quick reassuring squeeze.

“You’ll be fine. Just remember my grandmother would not have called you for an audition if she had not been very impressed with your voice.”

She nodded and he released her hand, swinging away to insert the tape into the sound system at the side of the stage. It was unsettling to find himself so aware of her as a woman. It was fine to give her consideration as a person, but the stirring of any sexual interest was out of kilter with his commitment to Michelle. Despite his disaffection with his fiancée’s current attitude, this shouldn’t be happening.

Having switched everything on, he took the remote control panel to Gina, demonstrated the buttons she would need to press, adjusted the microphone for her, keeping his focus on making sure she knew how to work her performance. Even so, every time he glanced at her, those expressive amber eyes tugged at him, making him feel more connected to her than he wanted to be.

He flashed her a last encouraging smile as he left her on centre stage. The need to put distance between them had him heading back down the ballroom to Michelle. Yet he changed his mind halfway, choosing to sit with his grandmother and Gina’s son, rather than placing himself at the side of negative disinterest. It was an action that might just jolt Michelle into reassessing her manner.

The show of support for her protégé earned an approving nod from his grandmother. Feeling slightly guilty, Alex beckoned Michelle to join them, but she waved a curt little dismissal and struck a languid pose on her chair, transmitting a boredom that was not about to be shifted. Alex gritted his teeth. Be damned if he was going to shift, either!

“We are ready if you are,” his grandmother announced.

Alex concentrated objective attention on the woman who now commanded the stage. She was younger than Michelle, probably mid-twenties. The rather modest lemon shift she wore skimmed a very curvaceous figure. Her overall appearance was pleasingly feminine, though not spectacular. She would never draw all eyes as Michelle did on entering a room, yet Alex couldn’t help thinking a man would feel very comfortable having Gina Terlizzi on his arm.

The music started. Alex noted her gaze was not trained on his grandmother, but on her son who was seated on the chair next to the dance floor. He smiled to himself realising she was taking his advice, getting keyed up to direct her song to the little boy whose uncritical love would undoubtedly be beamed back at his mother.

Her voice poured through the microphone, a surprisingly rich, full-bodied voice that filled the ballroom with glorious sound, nothing wispy or weak either in tone or pitch. He recognised the song as a Celine Dion favourite, “Because You Loved Me,” and Gina Terlizzi gave it every bit as much emotional expression—if not more—than the original artist.

A touch on his arm directed his attention to the boy who’d been seated next to his grandmother. He’d slid off his chair and moved onto the dance floor, his feet rocking to the beat of the song, shoulders swaying, arms waving in rhythm, his face raptly lifted to his mother who smiled at him in the pauses of the song. He was copying her gestures, her swaying, the two of them joined in harmony with each other.

When the song ended, he clapped delightedly and called out, “More, Mama!”

Alex couldn’t help sharing a smile with his grandmother who was clearly affected by the little scene, her face softened with the pleasure that old people invariably found in the artless joy of little children.

“Yes, we must hear more,” she called out supportively.

Gina nodded, took a deep breath and started the tape again.

It was certainly no hardship listening to her. As she sang what Alex considered a great rendition of Frank Sinatra’s old song, “All The Way,” he looked back at Michelle, expecting her to be enjoying it as much as he was. She returned a petulant glare that really riled him. Couldn’t she concede Gina Terlizzi was worth listening to?