The Unwanted Wife (8 page)

“Why are you crying?” He asked hoarsely as he readjusted his clothing.

“I hate you,” she despaired, dashing at the tears.

“What we just did didn’t feel like hatred to me,” he pointed out.

“Just another…” her mouth started to form the ugly word but he cut her off.

“
Don’t
say it,” he snapped. “Don’t you
dare
say it!”

“Why
not
?” She protested. “It’s the truth and don’t you try to pretend otherwise at this stage of our so-called marriage, Sandro. Do you think
sex
makes things better? It makes everything worse, like adding petrol to an already raging fire. All
you’ve
proved is that I am humiliatingly unable to resist you!”

“
That
is entirely mutual,” he responded dryly and she went still.

“Oh, please…” She choked. “Of
course
you can resist me. I’m just another woman to you. I’m of no particular consequence, so don’t try to play yet another game with me, Sandro! I’m sick of your lies and deceit.”

“
Dio
,” he hissed furiously. “You’re
not
just another woman, you’re my
wife
! You hold a position of great consequence in my life.”

“A wife you’re ashamed of? I don’t think so!”

“Whoever told you that I was ashamed of you?” He seemed outraged by the very notion.

“
You
did…”

“Theresa, everything else that you’ve accused me of so far has had some element of truth to it. But this is just plain ludicrous! I have
never
, not once, told you that I am ashamed of you…”

“You never
said
it; you didn’t have to…” she slid off the desk, making sure that her skirt was straight before looking up at him again. “You show me every day.”

“
What
?”

“I’ve never met your family, the large and extensive family that means the world to you, I know that you have two close friends, Rafael Dante and Gabriel Braddock, they’re university buddies if I’m not mistaken, you play football with them every week. You didn’t think I knew that, did you? I haven’t met any of those people of
consequence
in your life,” and there was Francesca, of course but Theresa wasn’t ready to confront him with that bit of knowledge yet. “They are the people who matter to you and if I’d been the wife you wanted, a wife you were
not
ashamed of, I would undoubtedly have met them by now!”

“It’s not like that,” he denied, almost stumbling in his haste to reach for her but she stepped away before he could touch her.

“Yes it is. Please don’t insult my intelligence by denying it…” she desperately looked around for her panties and finally saw them lying beside her drawing board. She very quickly swooped them up before turning back to face him.

“I need a shower,” she whispered bitterly. “
You
know what it’s like when you have an overwhelming urge to scrape the touch, the scent, the very
essence
of someone off of your skin, don’t you? After all, that’s what
you
usually do thirty seconds after your orgasm and I can finally relate to that” She turned and left the room before he had the opportunity to respond.

Chapter Four

They barely spoke over the next week or so, merely co-existing in the same house. Sandro still insisted that they take breakfast and dinner together and that they sleep together but he never touched her in bed, maintaining the distance that
she
had insisted on. Some part of Theresa was relieved while another, even larger part, bemoaned the loss of the one bond they had shared. Still, she kept telling herself that it was just sex and it had never meant anything.

Besides she had other, more immediate, concerns. Like the fact that she had thrown up every day for the last week and the fact that she was still stricken by dizzy spells at the most unexpected times… like the fact that her period was now than it had ever been before. She was relieved that the intimacies between her and Sandro had ceased, because he was as familiar with her cycle as she was and she would really prefer absolute certainty before telling him anything. She also wanted time to figure out what her next move would be.

Yet
another
decision taken from her, she reflected bitterly but at least she could decide the time and place to tell him, if indeed she
was
pregnant, which she desperately hoped was not the case. She worried at her lower lip with her teeth, staring blindly at the design she had been working on for most of the week. It was supposed to be a necklace but it looked like no necklace she had ever seen before. She shook her head in disgust; she could not seem to get anything done. It was the equivalent of writer’s block and it was extremely frustrating. Her cellphone buzzed discreetly and she snatched it up, welcoming the distraction. She had been exchanging text messages with Lisa all day and was expecting the message to be from her cousin. She was rather unpleasantly surprised to see Sandro’s name in her inbox. He usually refrained from contacting her during the day. She frowned down at his name, not all that keen on reading the text. Finally she exhaled gustily and clicked on the message.

“Eating out tonight. Dress: casual. ‘Business thing’. Will be home by 6. Dinner @ 7:30”

She groaned, Sandro and his damned “appearances”! She was tempted to simply refuse but didn’t have the energy for the argument that would ensue. At least he’d forewarned her this time, there had been a few incidences in the past where he had simply come home and told her that they were going out in an hour. A couple of times the events had been formal, leaving Theresa to scramble for appropriate dresses and silently cursing the fact that she hadn’t even had the opportunity to have her hair professionally done. Sighing softly, she gave up on work for the rest of the afternoon and instead decided to get her hair done. Looking good tonight would give her ego a boost if nothing else.

Sandro was home promptly at six. Theresa was curled up on the sofa, flipping through the coffee table book by an extremely popular photographer, which she had just purchased on her afternoon excursion. He was a wildlife photographer but his subject matter this time round was a lot closer to home. His latest anthology, entitled “Man’s Best Friend” was all about dogs. Theresa, being a huge sucker for dogs, hadn’t thought twice before buying the book. Sandro paused in the doorway and she looked up to see his arrested gaze on her hair. She lifted a self-conscious hand to her newly-cut hair, knowing that it was a big change. She had had her waist length fall of Titian hair cut to just below her jaw. The style was straight and sleek, with a feathery fringe and Theresa loved the way it made her look and feel like a new woman. Something she was so desperately striving to be.

Her hair had
always
been long, her father had absolutely forbade her to cut it and Theresa knew that the one thing Sandro absolutely adored about her, aside from her rather small breasts, was her hair. When he was having sex with her he was always touching, stroking or tugging at her hair. Now she waited with bated breath for his inevitable negative reaction to the cut which framed her face and emphasised her large, grey-green, eyes and high, delicate cheekbones. His hands clenched and he seemed to swallow with visible effort.

“You look…” his voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat before starting again. “You look
bellisima
,
cara
.” His quiet voice seemed to ring with sincerity and something which, in any other man, would be akin to reverence. “Absolutely stunning…”

She blinked.

“Oh,” was all she could think of to say and he came further into the room, still so riveted on her hair and face that he very nearly tripped over a small footstool placed beside an easy chair. He frowned down at the offending piece of furniture before sinking down into the leather easy chair opposite the matching sofa Theresa was curled up on.

“Uh…” he dragged his gaze down to the book in her lap and seemed strangely desperate to make conversation. “What are you reading?” His sharp eyes honed in on the title before he raised his gaze to hers in consternation. “
Dogs
?” He sounded so insultingly nonplussed that she hugged the book defensively to her chest.

“I happen to
like
dogs,” she said fiercely and his strangely gentle gaze swept over her tight features before coming to a rest on the book she had clutched to her chest. He leaned forward and extended his right hand palm up.

“May I?” He kept his gaze steady until she reluctantly let up on the death grip she had on the book and handed it over to him. “Thank you.” He leaned back and flipped through the glossy pages, pausing here and there before grinning almost boyishly up at her. He looked so breathtakingly handsome that for a long moment she didn’t realise that he was talking to her.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” she whispered and his grin widened as he flipped the book toward her, tapping his long index finger on the picture of a grinning black Labrador retriever.

“I had one just like this,” he informed and she frowned.

“One what?” She asked blankly and his grin widened into a fully-fledged, devastatingly appealing smile.

“Dog,” he informed patiently, turning the book back towards himself. His expression was gently reminiscent. “I like dogs too… the way I see it, anyone who
doesn’t
like dogs is not to be trusted. My retriever was called Rocco. He died just before I started university. I’d had him for sixteen years. I suppose you could say that I grew up with him.” She smiled reluctantly at his obvious affection for what must have been a well-loved pet.

“You must have had a dog too, growing up?” He prompted and she nodded slowly. “What breed?”

“She was a bit of a mutt,” Theresa whispered, more than a little reluctant to continue.

“What was her name?”
Why
was he being so damned persistent?

“Sheba,” she supplied, her voice going even quieter and his smile faded as he leaned forward intently, his eyes fixed on her downcast face.

“Tell me more,” he invited quietly.

“Nothing much to tell,” she shrugged, clearing her throat. “My mother took me to the SPCA for my eleventh birthday and told me to choose any dog I wanted. I’d been going on and on about getting a dog for months before that, promising that I would take good care of it. It was getting to the point where, I guess, she would have done
anything
to shut me up. So I chose Sheba, with her soulful brown eyes, her scruffy black and white coat and her happy, wagging tail.” He smiled slightly at that and so did she. “She wasn’t much to look at but I adored her.” She sighed heavily before stopping and shrugging, finally lifting her eyes to meet his. “Time to get ready for that dinner now, isn’t it?” He frowned before shaking his head.

“How long did you have your dog?” He asked softly in a tone of voice that said he wouldn’t rest until he knew everything and Theresa tugged at her full lower lip with her teeth.

“About three weeks,” he smothered a soft curse at the whispered confession.

“What happened?”

“Mom and Daddy didn’t agree on most things and apparently my getting a dog was yet another excuse to fight. Getting Sheba was Mom’s way of scoring points against Daddy and getting
rid
of Sheba was Daddy’s way of scoring points against Mom,” she strove to sound flippant but the tremor in her voice made a liar out of her. Sandro said nothing but he seemed to be struggling with something, his jaw was so tightly clenched that she could see the little muscles knotting just below his ears and his knuckles showed white where his grip had tightened on the book.

“What did he do to the dog?” He finally gritted out, sounding like he was chewing nails.

“I never knew for sure,” she confessed. “Mom said Sheba went to a new family and was happy with them. But I don’t know… I always feared that he took her back to the pound.” Despite her best intentions, tears of long-remembered pain flooded her eyes and she averted her gaze and tilted her chin in an effort to appear casual. “I couldn’t sleep for the longest time afterwards, imagining how confused Sheba must have been and on the really bad nights I pictured them taking her into the vet’s surgery to be put down… because even though
I
loved her, she really wasn’t cute, or clever or all that special. If she went back to the pound, I don’t think she would have gone to another home.”

“You mustn’t think like that,” he admonished.

“I
know
. Never mind, it’s so far in the past that the wound has healed long ago. Not even a scar,” his intent gaze told her that he didn’t believe a word of it but fortunately he didn’t challenge her on it. He handed her book back to her and she took it with a nod, making sure to avoid all contact with his large hands. He noticed the evasion and, while his eyes narrowed, he chose not to say anything about it.

“So how casual
is
this business thing?” She asked, getting up carefully, not wanting another revealing attack of dizziness in front of him.

“Extremely casual,” he responded. “Jeans, t-shirt and jacket will do.”

“You mean I had my hair done for nothing?” She frowned, rather disgruntled that she wouldn’t be showing off her new look in the best possible setting.

“I hardly think it was for nothing,” he protested with another one of those rare, breathtaking smiles of his. “I think the result was well worth the effort. I loved your long hair,
cara,
but this new chic, sleek little cut… words fail me… you look…” he shook his head and in a quintessentially Italian gesture, raised his fingertips to his lips and kissed them to signify his approval. For some reason that struck Theresa as funny and she stifled a giggle with her hand. Her eyes, above the hand she held over her mouth, were iridescent with laughter and he stood for a long moment, simply staring at her, before he cleared his throat.