The Arranged Marriage Read Free Page B

years ago his father, Robert King, had financed the Terlizzi family venture into fishing. His great-grandfather, Frederico Stefano Valeri, had begun the tradition of financing Italian immigrants into businesses when the banks had denied them loans. Everyone knew that the Kings would listen to a deal when more conventional financial institutions would not. Judgement was made more on the capability to succeed than on up-front money, and as far as Gina knew, no one had ever failed to pay back the Kings’ faith in them.
    “And you’re Angelo’s widow,” Alex King went on, his tone softening with sympathy.
    She nodded, even more astonished he knew her husband’s name.
    “I remember reading about him going to the rescue of a lone sailor whose yacht had broken up on the reef.”
    “The storm beat him. They both drowned,” she choked out.
    “A brave man. And a very sad loss to you and your son.” The caring in his eyes squeezed her heart. “I trust your family has looked after you?”
    “Very well.”
    “Good! My grandmother tells me you’ve come to sing for her. You must want a drink first. Please...” He gestured to the empty chairs on the near side of the table, opposite to where his fiancée sat. “What would you like...wine, fruit juice, iced water?”
    “Water for me, thank you.”
    “And you, Marco?”
    “Juice, please.”
    “Only half a glass for him,” Gina quickly warned as she settled them both on chairs. Her eyes appealed for understanding. “He tends to spill from a full one.”
    Another warming smile. “No problem.”
    “So...you’re a professional singer,” Michelle Banks drawled, focusing Gina’s attention on her.
    “I do get quite a few engagements—weddings, birthdays, other functions—but I can’t say I make a living from it,” Gina answered truthfully. No point in pretending to be something she wasn’t. In fact, more often than not she was asked to sing by family or friends with no fee offered at all.
    “I presume you have had some training,” the woman pressed in a slightly critical tone that niggled Gina. What business was it of hers?
    “If you mean singing lessons, yes. And I’ve competed in many eisteddfods over the years.”
    “Then why didn’t you pursue a career with it?”
    “Not every woman puts a career first,” Isabella dryly interposed.
    Michelle shrugged. “Seems a waste if your voice is good enough.”
    She raised her perfectly arched eyebrows at Gina who bristled at the implied put-down. Why did Alex King’s fiancée feel the need to put her on the spot like this. She was a woman who appeared to have everything other women might envy, including the man whose ring she was wearing.
    “It wasn’t the kind of life I wanted,” she answered simply. “As to whether my voice is good enough, I’m here—” she transferred her gaze to Isabella “—for Mrs. King to judge if it meets her requirements.”
    “And I’m looking forward to hearing it,” the older woman said, smiling encouragement. “Indeed, if it is true to your performance on tape...” She looked directly at her grandson, “...you may very well want Gina to sing at your wedding, Alessandro.”
    Silence. Stillness. For the first time Gina lost her own self-consciousness enough to realise there were tensions at this table that had nothing to do with her. Or perhaps she had become an unwitting focus for them. Very quietly she picked up her glass of water and drank, grateful to be out of the direct firing line.
    Michelle Banks glared at Alex, clearly demanding his support. He stirred himself, addressing his grandmother with an air of pained patience.
    “Nonna, we have already discussed this. Michelle wants a harpist, not a singer.”
    “I heard what Michelle wants, Alessandro,” came the coolly dignified reply. “Did I hear what you want?”
    “It is the bride’s day,” he countered with a slight grimace at the contentiousness behind the question.
    Isabella regarded his fiancée with an