Shrugging his shoulders, he turned to see the door open behind him.
Fragile was the word that leapt to mind when he saw his wife. The rose of her Paris cheeks was now pasty. The gloss of her blonde hair, shining in the Paris sun, was now drab once more. The weight, the curves that had developed in Paris, the curves that had driven him to lusty distraction, had disappeared.
He was right to put his foot down. It was needed.
“Vene.” He gestured at her with impatience. He’d thought about having this conversation at home, but decided perhaps the office would provide more neutral territory. Maybe the fact she was still his employee would carry more weight in his demands.
“What is it you want?” Her words were clipped and cold. Yet she did step into the room and close the door behind her.
“Take a seat.” Before you fall down.
A streak of wry amusement ran through him as he realized he was always telling this woman to sit and she always fought him. The typical humph he expected came from her, but she did follow his terse instructions. Placing her hands primly on her lap, she lifted her chin and stared at him with icy disdain.
Vico strode to his desk and stood behind it. Stared right back at her. This was the right thing to do. The only thing he could do. “I have moved some of your responsibilities to another department head.”
Her spine straightened, her jaw locked. “You can’t—”
“I can. And I have.”
“The quality of my work—”
“Is not the issue.” He kept his gaze on her and kept his temper in check.
When they’d returned from the honeymoon, he hadn’t objected to her continuing to work. Dio, he had to admit the thought of sitting on a couch for months on end would drive him to distraction also. Plus, she’d recovered much of her health and he’d expected she’d realize she needed to take life a bit easier.
His expectations regarding the Princesse always seemed to be disappointed, didn’t they?
“Then what is the issue?” Her voice cut through his thoughts.
“Your health.”
“My health is perfectly fine.” She jumped from the chair with a jerk.
The wobble of her legs, the wash of white on her cheeks, proved his point better than his words could.
Folding his arms in front of him, he raised a disbelieving brow.
“I’m fine.” The mule of a woman kept fighting. “What right do you have to say any different?”
“The right of a husband? The right of a father?”
“Those are mere titles, not rights.” She waved his claim away. “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
His temper surged, tugging at the leash of his control. “Eight-hour days at the maximum, Lise.”
“You can’t really believe—”
“No work on the weekends.”
“I will not—”
“You will.” He gritted his teeth, intent on keeping this as calm as possible. This could not be good for her or the baby, this confrontation. It was his duty to keep this as low-key as he could. Which was impossible with her. Still, he would try. “You will take care of yourself if I have to force you.”
“I am taking—”
“You are not. Look at you.” He cut the air with a curt hand of his own. “You look like a wet dishrag.”
“How dare you—”
“You will rest. You will eat. You will do what I tell you to do.”
His wife’s eyes widened, her brows shot up, and her body went taut. With a snap, she broke out of her frozen stand and stormed to his desk. Leaning over it, she spat the words in his face. “Are you for real, Vico? Or did you sprout from some ancient Stonehenge as a primitive philistine?”
Her attack was typical and expected, yet it prodded and poked his pride. “Call me any name you want. But you’re going to rest if I have to chain you to a bed.”
“Chain me to a bed?” She must have realized how the words sounded because a sudden rush of color came to her cheeks and she stepped away from the desk.
He was not a man to look a gift horse in the mouth. She was thinking of sex and he was happy to oblige. “The thought intrigues you?”
“Not in the least.” Her blush deepened. She took another step back.
A bitter laugh escaped him at her continued rejection of them. Of him. Irritation and annoyance turned and twisted into something else. “Why is it I don’t believe you?”
“You don’t believe anything I say.” She backed away again. “Why should this be any different?”
The twisting inside him screwed tight into a ball of ballooning resentment. Of tortured hurt. Mixed in with his ongoing lust, it ate right through the last line of mastery over his temper. He verbally struck out at her. Struck back at what she did to him inside. “Why should I believe a liar and a cheat?”