The Innocent's Forgotten Wedding Read online

  Her sister was dead and Milly had been mistaken for her. How had that happened? But the more she thought about it, the easier it became to understand. After all, she had been wearing Brooke’s jewellery and Brooke’s clothes and she had had facial injuries. The strong resemblance between the two women had gone completely unnoticed, presumably because Brooke had been seriously injured too. Her reddened eyes stung with fresh tears.

  How on earth could she ever put right all that had gone wrong?

  Lorenzo would be devastated.

  Lorenzo didn’t even know he was a widower. How could he? He had spent months looking after his injured wife’s needs, caring for her because she had no one else and then, ultimately, living with and having sex with the woman he naturally believed to be his wife. But she wasn’t his wife, she was a stranger, just as he had been a stranger to her when she first wakened out of the coma. Only, sadly, neither of them had recognised that reality.

  Trembling, retreating fast from Lorenzo’s attempts to soothe her, she hurried into the bathroom, for once taking no pleasure in her surroundings. She ran a bath as an excuse to stay there alone. Lorenzo appeared in the doorway, tall, dark and bronzed, and she chased him off again, telling him she just needed a warm bath and a little space to relax. Tears ran down her cheeks then as she sat in the warm water, all the mistakes she had made piling up on top of her, and she didn’t know, she really didn’t know how to go about telling Lorenzo the truth. He had said nothing was real in her nightmare, but he was wrong—it was all too real and the harsh facts could not be ignored. She had wakened from a nightmare to find herself entangled in a worse nightmare, because she was living her dead sister’s life with a man she loved, who did not love her. Lorenzo was wrong: nothing was OK and it never would be again...

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘DON’T TELL ME that you’re fine again,’ Lorenzo warned her in a raw-edged undertone, his lean, darkly handsome features set in stern lines as the limo wafted them through the London traffic from the airport. ‘Obviously you’re anything but fine. Something has upset you a great deal and it’s time that you shared it with me.’

  ‘We’ll talk when we get back...er...home,’ she told him shakily, in no hurry to get there and deal with his outrage, his disbelief and his belated grief.

  Lorenzo had never been hers and her tummy lurched at the knowledge that everything that had happened between them had been based purely on his conviction that she was his wife. His every word, his every decision, his every caress had been bestowed on Brooke, not Milly, she reminded herself doggedly, shrinking guiltily from the knowledge that she had encouraged him into sharing a bed. Brooke had hated Lorenzo, she reminded herself, reluctantly thinking back to her sibling’s conviction that Lorenzo was a possessive tyrant, who had unjustly accused her of infidelity in order to divorce her.

  Obviously there had been a great deal of bitterness in their relationship by that stage. But Milly liked to think that, had Brooke seen how very supportive Lorenzo had been in the wake of the crash to the woman he believed to be his wife, she would have forgiven him for their differences. On that score, his behaviour had been above reproach. He could’ve walked away, let the divorce go ahead, leaving her to the tender mercies of the healthcare system and some legal executor. But Lorenzo hadn’t done that. He had stood by the vows he had once taken...in sickness and in health.

  Her head was aching again with all the stress of her feverish thoughts and she rubbed her brow, wishing foolishly that there were some miraculous way of avoiding what lay ahead of her. Obviously, she would have to leave Lorenzo’s house and as soon as possible. Unfortunately for her, she had nowhere to go and not a penny to her name and no close friends either, because she had moved around too much to form lasting friendships.

  It was a shame that she hadn’t worked harder at the many different schools she had attended during her years in foster care, she reflected with regret. Sadly, the knowledge that she would inevitably be shifted to a new foster home and a new school with different exam boards and course content had removed any enthusiasm she had had when she was younger for studying. The continual changes had made her unsettled, undisciplined and distrustful of forging close relationships with anyone because, sooner or later, everyone seemed to leave her and move on.

  Perhaps that was why she had repressed every qualm to stay friendly and involved with Brooke, generally accepting whatever treatment Brooke dealt out. She hadn’t wanted to lose that all-important link with Brooke and had been eager to offer her half-sister all her love and support. Hadn’t she clung to Lorenzo in much the same way? Pathetically eager to offer love even when he wasn’t looking for it? Inside herself, she cringed for her weakness and susceptibility. But then had she ever been loved?

  Her memories of her mother were very hazy because Natalia had died when Milly was only eleven years old, but Natalia had been affectionate and caring. Her father, however, had never paid her any attention when he visited them, hadn’t seemed to have the slightest interest in her, she recalled sadly, although possibly his apparent indifference had come from his guilt at cheating on his wife. Had her mother not told her that William Jackson was her father, she would never have known because his name wasn’t on her birth certificate. Although he had supported her mother financially, he had refused to officially acknowledge Milly as his daughter.

  ‘We’re home,’ Lorenzo imparted flatly.

  But Madrigal Court was his home, not hers, Milly ruminated, and immediately wanted to kick herself for that forlorn thought. Like many children raised by the state, she had always longed for a stable and permanent home. It was not a bit of wonder that when she had been deprived of her memory that deep-based need had surfaced and made her latch onto Brooke’s home and husband like a homing pigeon eager to find a permanent roost.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t understand how a bad dream can cause you this much stress,’ Lorenzo breathed impatiently as he herded her into the pristine white drawing room and closed the door behind them. ‘What on earth is the matter?’

  Milly breathed in deep and slow to steady her nerves. ‘I remembered the accident,’ she admitted. ‘And then my memory came back.’

  Lorenzo paled and his lean, powerful frame went rigid. ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Just like that,’ she confirmed sickly. ‘But the real problem is that when I regained my memory I realised that I’m not the person everyone assumed I was...’

  His brow pleated as if he was still trying to penetrate the meaning of that statement. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m not Brooke Tassini, Lorenzo. I’m not your wife. I’m Milly Taylor.’

  The fringe of his lush black lashes shot up over incredulous dark golden eyes and then he swung round and headed back to the door, pulling out his phone. ‘That’s not possible.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ she gasped.

  Lorenzo compressed his lips. It was obvious to him that his wife was having some sort of nervous breakdown. He had not a clue how to deal with such an astonishing statement, but he was convinced that her psychiatrist would know. ‘I’m contacting Mr Selby so that you can discuss this with him.’

  ‘I don’t want to see Mr Selby right now. I need to get things straight with you first,’ Milly declared tautly. ‘That’s more important.’

  ‘There is nothing more important than your mental health,’ Lorenzo contradicted, sending her a censorious glance from his position by the door. ‘Why did you keep quiet about this? Why didn’t you immediately tell me what you were going through last night?’

  ‘I had to get my head straight,’ she protested. ‘It was a big shock for me too and I feel terrible about everything that’s happened. I don’t know how the heck you’ll ever sort out all the legal stuff.’

  An imperious ebony brow elevated. ‘What legal stuff?’

  Milly dragged in another steadying breath. ‘Brooke’s... Brooke’s dead, Lore
nzo, and I’ve been declared dead but I’m still alive. That mistake will have to be rectified...somehow.’

  Lorenzo was holding his phone so tightly between his fingers that he almost crushed it. Was she suffering from what he had heard referred to as a psychotic break? He studied her pale, rigid face, reading her distress. She really believed this stuff she was telling him, he registered in consternation: she had decided that she was not his wife, that she was the other woman in the car. Why would she do that?

  ‘Brooke was my sister,’ she murmured tautly.

  ‘Brooke doesn’t have a sister,’ he overruled.

  ‘Not officially. I’m illegitimate,’ Milly admitted stiffly. ‘William Jackson had an affair that went on for years with my mother and I was born during their affair. He never recognised me as his child and never treated me as if I was his and I didn’t know back then that he was a married man with another family. Brooke traced me and came to see me out of curiosity when I was eighteen and just leaving foster care. She was my half-sister...’

  Lorenzo released his breath in a slow, measured hiss. He hadn’t had Milly Taylor’s birth and background checked out, hadn’t considered her past relevant in establishing who she had been to his wife. He could not yet accept the enormity of what he was being told but he also could not imagine how or why his wife could have come up with such a detailed and fanciful story overnight.

  ‘Brooke would’ve mentioned a sister.’

  ‘She didn’t tell anyone about me and was careful never to be seen in public with me. My very existence was...’ Milly hesitated before forging on with a frown ‘...pretty much a source of resentment and annoyance to her. She knew about the affair and the amount of unhappiness it had caused her mother. My mother was dead by the time Brooke sought me out, but I suspect that the bitter anger she felt towards my mother transferred to me to some extent.’

  Lorenzo was frowning. ‘A half-sister? But that doesn’t explain anything! If Brooke didn’t like you or find you useful in some way, what would you have been doing in that car with her on the day of the crash? Nothing about this story makes sense!’

  Milly stood up slowly, her violet eyes deeply troubled. ‘I can help it make sense but you have to try to keep your temper.’

  Lorenzo flung his arrogant dark head back and dealt her a scorching appraisal. ‘Of course, I can keep my temper, but I still don’t think you’re going to be able to explain this nonsense, and discussing it as if it’s true fact isn’t helping the situation or you.’

  ‘Brooke used me as her stand-in on several occasions,’ Milly admitted starkly. ‘We looked very alike, even more alike after I had had cosmetic surgery done on my nose,’ she continued doggedly as Lorenzo continued to stare at her as though she had sprouted horns and cloven hooves. ‘Brooke paid for the procedure and I didn’t want to get it done but when I said no, she dropped me, and I was so desperate to hang onto our relationship that eventually I agreed.’

  Lorenzo was frowning in disbelief. ‘You looked alike? What was wrong with your nose?’

  ‘It was too big. Nobody would have mistaken me for her if I hadn’t agreed to the surgery. After that, she used me a couple of times to stand in for her at charity events where I didn’t have to do much pretending. I’m no actress,’ she confided tightly. ‘Sometimes, she didn’t want to attend events or she wanted to mislead the press about where she was and then she would phone me up and ask me to go in her place. She would give me her clothes and her jewellery to wear.’

  His frown had laced his bone structure with hard lines of tension. ‘You are telling me that you engaged in deception with Brooke to trick other people, including me?’

  Milly bridled. ‘That isn’t how I saw it and you were never involved. I was just helping my sister out. Smoothing out her life when she was too busy to meet all the demands on her time,’ she protested.

  ‘You were deceiving people,’ Lorenzo contradicted with glacial disapproval. ‘If this far-fetched story is true, tell me where you were going on the day of the crash.’

  Milly winced. ‘I was to go to a hotel and stay there for several days pretending to be Brooke while she was away somewhere on holiday, having travelled on my passport. But, of course, we never got as far as the hotel or the airport...’

  ‘She was using your passport?’ Lorenzo demanded incredulously. ‘But that’s illegal! Where was she going?’

  ‘I don’t know. She didn’t tell me,’ Milly replied numbly. ‘Sometimes she told me stuff, sometimes, she told me nothing. It depended on her mood.’

  And that was a startlingly accurate description of Brooke’s unpredictable, temperamental nature, Lorenzo conceded grudgingly, because in spite of all logic he was beginning to listen, beginning to put facts together to finally see a picture forming that could make some kind of sense. He could certainly check out whether a Milly Taylor had failed to turn up for her flight that day and he could look deeper into her background to see if he could establish an official link that would bear out her story.

  From Milly’s point of view, Lorenzo’s attitude seemed oddly detached. He was dealing with the facts, avoiding the harsher realities of their situation, she suspected ruefully.

  ‘Well, anyway,’ she mumbled. ‘That’s what I was doing in the limo on the day of the crash. Brooke gave me the clothes she was wearing and her jewellery and I put them on while she got changed. I expect that is how I came to be identified as her.’

  ‘You were unrecognisable,’ Lorenzo admitted starkly, shifting his attention away from her as if he could no longer bear to look at her, his big, powerful frame rigid. ‘You are telling me that my wife is dead, that she actually died eighteen months ago in the accident...’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about everything that’s happened!’ Milly muttered in a driven rush of regret. ‘If I hadn’t been suffering from amnesia, I could have identified myself and you would have known the truth months ago...’

  Lorenzo expelled his breath and raked a long-fingered brown hand roughly through his cropped black hair, his emotional turmoil palpable. ‘Brooke is gone...’

  ‘Yes,’ Milly whispered, tears lashing her eyes. ‘Do you believe me now?’

  ‘Only once I have had time to confirm the extraordinary facts you have given me,’ Lorenzo told her flatly.

  Milly suppressed a shudder, feeling dismissed, sidelined, set back at a new and disturbing distance from him while he worked out whether she was a fantasist or a woman having a breakdown. All of a sudden everything had changed between them. Lorenzo was changing before her very eyes. It was as though their personal relationship had never happened, she acknowledged painfully. But then it had all been a lie, based on the false premise that Brooke was still alive, and at this moment Lorenzo was fathoms deep in shock and struggling to deal with the reality that his wife was dead. That was all he had the ability to consider right now and how could she expect anything more from him?

  She studied his tall dark figure and the forbidding tension locking his facial muscles tight. It was selfish of her to feel rejected by his new reserve when she had no claim on him or his attention. She was nothing to him, never had been. Everything he had done for her had really been done for Brooke. On his terms she didn’t really exist. And now that he knew that she did exist, he would never touch her again and would never look at her again as he once had.

  And she had to deal with that reality and come back down to earth again, which would be challenging. After all, she had been living a kind of fantasy life with Lorenzo, a waitress from a very ordinary background, suddenly swept off into a billionaire’s luxury lifestyle with private jets, servants and a level of wealth and comfort previously beyond her imagining. But it wasn’t those expensive trappings she would miss, she conceded wretchedly, it would be Lorenzo.

  Lorenzo, whom she loved to pieces, who didn’t want her any more, who would never want her again. She felt as though her heart we
re breaking in two inside her and, tensing her slight shoulders, she compressed her lips, determined not to say or do anything emotional. Right now, Lorenzo didn’t need that added stress and probably didn’t even want to recall that he had had sex with her believing that she was his wife. No, the faster she got back out of his life again, the happier Lorenzo would be.

  * * *

  Lorenzo was looking back down through the months and marvelling that he had allowed the medics to silence his every misgiving about the woman who had come out of the coma. From her first wakening every atom of his ESP and intelligence had combined to send him continual warnings that Brooke’s personality and character had apparently changed out of all recognition. He had listened to the doctors because it had naturally never occurred to him that the woman in the convalescent clinic could be anyone other than his wife.

  Dio mio, she had been identified as his wife at the scene of the crash, presented to him as his wife when he was handed her jewellery for safekeeping before surgery. That an appalling mistake could’ve been made had not once crossed his mind or anyone else’s. How could it have done when nobody had been aware of the striking resemblance between the two women? Of course, he hadn’t had access either to her clarifying explanation about the nature of her relationship with Brooke. Brooke, indeed, had probably only latched onto her half-sister in the first place because of that resemblance, seeing how she could use that to her advantage. Milly had been acting as Brooke’s stand-in, her lookalike. Distaste with her for having taken on such a deceptive role flared inside him, chilling his hard dark eyes to granite.

  ‘I’ll move out as soon as I can,’ Milly muttered in a rush.