Fran waved a hand. ‘Whatever! You two can argue it out—or each have foundations of your own, if you insist. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you co-operate, Nic. You and Vito. For a common goal.’ Her voice changed, softened. ‘It’s what brought you to what you are today—a man made good. Made very, very good.’
There was a little choke in her voice and Nic caught her hand, pressed his mouth against it, then against his heart. ‘You’ve made me good, mio amore.’
His eyes poured into hers and hers gazed up into his. She felt her heart flowering with the love she had for him. The rest of the world disappeared.
Then a voice beside them sounded. ‘Save your canoodling for later, you two love birds, and have some champagne.’
Her aunt’s voice was genial, and she was handing them two brimming flutes. Then, looking at her niece, she hesitated a moment.
‘Should you?’ she queried. ‘I had a very excited phone call this morning from my sister-in-law. Telling me she’s going to be a grandmother.’
‘What’s this?’ Harry sauntered up, catching the last of the sentence. ?
??Fran—you’re never preggers, are you? Wow, fast work, Falcone. Still, all the more champers for me!’ he said cheerfully, helping himself to Fran’s glass.
Then he looked across at Nic.
‘Don’t overdo it on the fizz tonight, old chap. There’s a training session first thing tomorrow morning—we need to see what position is best for you. Put you through your paces. Dad and I are thinking forwards, definitely, but just where is the question. I’m thinking back row, so—’
Fran silenced him with a hand over his mouth. ‘Shut up, Harry,’ she said amiably.
‘OK,’ he said good-naturedly, removing her hand. ‘So, tell me more about this private island for the wedding? Sounds cool. I can’t wait to party there.’
Fran laughed. ‘Well, you won’t be partying with us, Harry. We’ll be in the honeymoon cabana at the far end of the island! Totally private,’ she warned with a smile.
Her uncle was approaching, bearing a glass of orange juice which Fran took gratefully. Then the Marquess called for silence. ‘I believe my father has a few words to say,’ he announced.
Immediately everyone dutifully turned towards the Duke, seated as if he were enthroned.
‘Raise your glasses, if you please,’ he instructed, in his must-be-obeyed fashion. Everyone duly did, apart from Fran and Nic. ‘And now,’ he continued, in his stentorian voice, belying his years and his frailty, ‘I am formally welcoming the newest member to our family. He’s shown the amazingly good sense to choose my granddaughter for his wife, and for that alone I approve of him.’
A ripple of laughter went around the room.
‘As for my granddaughter—well...’ His voice changed, and with a sense of shock Fran realised he was suppressing emotion. ‘Any man who can start with nothing and end up with a great deal more than anyone in this family has must have something to him. And whatever that is my granddaughter has had the good sense to see it, want it, and wish to marry him for it.’
He took a breath, held all their eyes. Then gave his toast.
‘To Francesca and her husband-to-be. And...’ there was a discernible note of satisfaction in his voice now ‘...to my next descendant—my great-grandchild!’
There was a general echoing of his toast, with much joviality, especially on his grandson’s part, and then Fran was turning towards Nic. Her eyes were lambent with the emotion that she would always feel for him. Joy. Pure, overwhelming, incandescent joy.
‘To us, Nic. To you and me and our precious, precious baby. Together for ever.’
Nic’s sapphire eyes were for her and her alone. ‘To us both,’ he breathed. ‘To us all.’
And then his glass was tilting against hers, and hers to his, and their toast was simple.
‘To love,’ they said in unison.
As it always would be, now and for all eternity.
* * *
The sun was setting over the Caribbean. Nic and Fran stood hand in hand as the priest said to them the words that would unite them in holy matrimony.
In the little open-air chapel, just behind her, Fran could hear her mother sobbing quietly. She knew, too, that her father would not have a dry eye either. Apart from her elderly grandfather, the Duke, all her family were here, on her father’s side and her mother’s, and though she knew they were all here for them both, she had spoken quietly to Nic before the ceremony.
‘I want this to be for your mother too, Nic—the mother who raised you to be the man you are now. Strong and courageous and determined. I want—’ her voice had choked a little ‘—I want this to be, as well, for the father you never knew. We don’t know, Nic, just what made him turn his back on you, and maybe there were reasons neither you nor your poor mother knew about, but one thing I do know...’ her voice had been fervent ‘...is that you are going to be the father to your child—our child—that he should have been. Your child and its siblings yet to come will have a father to be so proud of. So beloved. We’ll make that happen, Nic. You and I. Together. And whether our children grow up to be star-gazers like me, or hoteliers like you, or something completely different, we shall love them for all their lives. And we shall love each other too.’