Hired: The Italian's Convenient Mistress by Carol Marinelli

Author:Carol Marinelli [Marinelli, Carol]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780373823758
Google: fk6hybiYNrsC
Goodreads: 5044978
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2008-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

NOT on Christmas Eve.

Standing in the cemetery, for a crazy second Ainslie wanted to shout it out. Tell the priest to stop.

Because someone somewhere had surely got it wrong?

Christmas was about love and laughter and magic. Not this—never this.

The coroner had released the bodies, and, as Elijah had wearily conceded, it was either today or wait till after the festivities—delay the agony a while longer.

She couldn’t fathom his pain.

Couldn’t fathom it because even though she’d never met them, as she watched two coffins being lowered into the ground, saw the dark mound of earth that would cover them rising out of the snow, heard Guido innocently sing and chatter to the shell-shocked gathering, Ainslie was overwhelmed with the horror of it all.

She understood exactly what Elijah had said—it was as if a terrible mistake had been made, as if the universe had, on this occasion, got it terribly, terribly wrong.

Yet somehow he held it together—as he had over the last few days, as he had during the service—his deep low voice breaking just once as he’d delivered the eulogy. Returning to her side afterwards he’d sat rigid, staring ahead, somehow doing what had to be done, getting through this most vile of days.

And she wanted to comfort, to offer support, but he neither sought nor accepted it. The hand that she had slipped into his when he came back to his seat had been quickly returned to her own lap unheld—and now, seemingly together but utterly apart, they stood at the graveside as the burial was concluded.

‘I will talk to them now.’ Holding Guido, instructing her to wait there, he made his way over to the Castellas—to the people he hadn’t seen in years but had hated from a distance.

Ainslie’s heart was in her mouth.

‘How are things?’ Ms Anderson was watching too.

‘Difficult,’ Ainslie admitted. ‘But Elijah is making an effort.’

‘As he should,’ she said tartly. ‘The Castellas are Guido’s family too.’

But Elijah wasn’t up to performing for the cameras, or rather for Ms Anderson. After the briefest of conversations he turned away, his black coat like a cloak billowing behind as he quickly marched. His face was a mask of rigid muscles as he reached Ainslie and Ms Anderson.

‘Let’s go.’

‘You’re supposed to—’ Ainslie started, but he was already gone.

The undertaker was forming relatives into a line, on the premise that the mourners could shake their hands, or kiss as was the Italian way, and offer their condolences, but Elijah was having none of it.

‘Come on!’ he called over his shoulder.

‘We can’t…’ He was in no mood to be argued with, but Ainslie tried. ‘You’re expected to line up—people want to see Guido.’

‘They’ve seen enough!’ Elijah retorted, stalking off. ‘He’s seen enough! I do not need their condolences!’

‘That must have been extremely hard for you!’ Speaking in her best social worker voice, but slightly breathless, Ms Anderson caught up with them as they reached the car. But Elijah clearly had more on his mind than winning favour with the social worker, because he didn’t even deign to give a response.

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