Baby By Accident(52)

They were good together. They could be even better together.

The stubborn woman had spent the last night in Paris pouting in the bedroom. Then she’d given him the silent treatment all through the flight back to England. But her dictate to be dropped off at her own place as they drove away from Heathrow had delivered the final cut on the last string of his patience.

“You can drop me off in Mayfair.” Her cool instruction from the backseat of the limo had elicited a short nod from driver.

Vico's shock had quickly turned to determination. “Your clothing and personal items have been moved to my home while we’ve been away. There’s no need to go to your old place.” He met the driver’s gaze with a stony contradiction to her demand. The driver acknowledged this with another nod.

“What?” She went rigid beside him, her spine as inflexible as the Queen’s. “I didn’t give you permission to do that.”

“I wanted to make this transition as painless as possible.” Leaning over, he pressed the button and the darkened glass zoomed up, cutting them and their inevitable argument off from the driver. “Your friends agreed and helped with the packing.”

“That’s where you got the key to get in.” Her arctic tone slashed a cold streak up his spine.

“Si.” If he didn’t tread carefully here, the peace and companionship he’d cultivated in Paris would disappear. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“What I’ll worry about is how to get my things returned to my own home.”

Keeping the peace didn’t mean he’d sacrifice his pride. He turned from the window to stare into her glacial gaze. “You’re my wife. Your place is with me.”

“This is a sham of a marriage.” Her elegant fingers went white as she curled them into fists. “I don’t need to live with you.”

“You can call our marriage anything you want.” He settled back into the seat, trying for casual. “However, we were married in front of family and friends and business associates. All of them think this marriage is real. I want them to continue to do so.”

“You want. But it’s not what I want.”

“Lise.” He rubbed a hand across his face in frustration. “Be realistic. What will the tabloids print? What will the company directors say?”

“I don’t care.” Her stubborn words plunked between them making him look over to gauge his next step.

“I do.” His heart pounded in his chest as the realization washed through him. He’d lost any ground he’d gained during their honeymoon. He saw it in her eyes.

“That wasn’t part of our agreement.” The tightness of her lips told him he’d already tread across her line and right into the battle zone.

So be it. If he couldn’t save the peace, he’d at least save some time. “Taverwood Grange.”

There’d been no more objections.

There’d also been no remnants of any lingering Paris peace.

He’d known what was going on. Instantly. She was avoiding this sexual connection bubbling between them, exactly as she’d stubbornly ignored it through the honeymoon. He’d seen it in her eyes as she watched him from across a cafe table. He’d sensed it in the way she moved away from him when their shoulders touched as they explored the Latin Quarter. Her need had scented the air between them, driving him into one cold shower after the other in his Paris bathroom.

She was afraid of what would happen if they lived together.

His wife was nothing if not stubborn.

Vico stood and strode to the windows. The mid-September sun blazed down on the humid London streets jammed with traffic. The sun had been hot in France too. Still, there it had seemed hazy and dreamy and warm. Maybe his ever-increasing hope as the honeymoon proceeded had been the difference.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and fiddled with the few coins.

Had he really won when he’d forced her to live with him? Or as in every other fight between them, had he walked away with the medal but not the prize? Lise Helton Mattare was now physically ensconced in his home. True, it was in the bedroom farthest from his, yet she was there. In every way that mattered, though, he’d lost ground in his ultimate fight to make this marriage a good one.

She never let him take care of her now. She never smiled anymore. She never looked at him with anything other than hate once again. And she’d used his demand to live with him as an excuse to live at work.

Which had to stop. Today.

He had a responsibility to the bambino—and to her—to make sure she was well. Make sure she was taking care of herself. If the mulish woman wouldn’t do it herself, then he would make her. If it made her hate him more that was the price he would pay.