Baby By Accident(78)

Slipping the suitcase strap over his muscled shoulder, he answered only one of her questions. “I find I no longer want to be married to you.”

A gasp of pain swept into her throat and down into her burning lungs. “But you said—”

“A man can change his mind.” He prowled around the desk and without thinking, she moved away. Menace encircled him, an aura of deep rage. “I remind myself that there are other women in the world. Other women who are not quite as conniving or vicious. I find I no longer wish to be attached to a woman who is nothing more than a money-hungry bitch.”

“I am not interested in your money.” Her temper flared, flushing her cheeks. “I never have been.”

“That was cunning, mia dolce. To pretend to be unimpressed with my wealth. To even be dismissive of it.” He leaned on the desk, crossing his arms in front of him. His forearms bunched, bulged, highlighting the dark trace of hair. “I bought the entire act. Amazing, as I have dodged many women with the same intent. I must admit, you are the only one to ever fool me.”

Instant need to reach out and touch him, soothe him and calm him, crashed into her budding anger, her flooding fear, making it hard to focus. The only words that came to her mind were simple truths, not the complicated explanations she obviously needed to convince him of how wrong he was. “I’m not trying to fool—”

“This says something entirely different.” He tapped a long finger on the papers. “I must say our conversation about the prenuptial agreement was a masterstroke. Manipulating me into believing it was my idea not to have one—why, your skills are impressive.”

“I don’t want your money.” I want you. Can’t you see I want only you?

“Yet you will have it, won’t you? Fool that I am.” His chuckle was rough, raw with rage.

She stared at him, trying to think, trying to stop her heart from shrinking into a ball of agony and dazed fear. What could she say? How could she fix this? The words stumbled, fought for coherence, struggled for voice. For a frantic moment, she thought about blurting out her ultimate truth.

I love you.

But the hard, cold core of his eyes told her it would be useless right now.

Abruptly, he stood, his body now stiff. As if he’d aged in one moment.

“Vico—”

“Arrivederci, Princesse.”

“Where are you going?” Her voice sounded reedy, thin and sick.

“I find that I need some space.” He strode to the office door. “Some distance.”

“But then we won’t be able to talk.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “I won’t be able to explain.”

“There is nothing more to say.” He opened the door and stepped out.

“Wait!”

“I no longer want to wait, Lise.” He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes now dull and dead.

The door slammed shut behind him.





Chapter 18





Her head ached. Her back hurt.

Her heart bled.

Lise stood in the shower, letting the balmy water wash down her skin. The warmth did little to dispel the chilled knot twisting inside.

Why did she expect it would?

Last night’s dinner of hot stracciatella soup served with oven-fresh polenta had done nothing to melt the deep ice inside her. Eating it might have helped. But she’d sat in the empty dining room alone. No laughing family surrounding her and no husband looking at her with a warm and wicked gaze.

The worried chef fluttering behind her had been the only reason she’d even taken one sip.

The Italian sun this afternoon had been of no use either in breaking her free from the permafrost glazing her soul. The gleam of the rays had glistened on the lilting waves of Lake Como. The heat had shimmied down her spine and arms. The warmth had slid on her hair and face. Yet the sun had been unable to touch even one of the icicles slashing inside of her.

Not one.

She lifted her head and stuck her face under the rain of water. The warm flow mixed with the cool tears on her cheeks. The water filtered through her closed lashes, soothing the redness around her eyes. Still, soothing the clang in her head and the panic in her heart were beyond its capabilities.

What was she going to do?

Twenty-four hours ago, she’d gone numb with shock. The whole thing had happened so fast. The confrontation had been more brutal and destructive than she’d imagined in her deepest nightmares. He’d been more furious and dead to her than she’d ever thought she’d see. Only one week ago, she’d been joyful and happy and in love. Only one week ago she’d thought, dreamed, hoped. A simple seven days ago, she’d thought they’d found a way to come together for a lifetime, building a bridge over the hateful words and painful demands.