‘Hassle?’
‘If we’d had to go for the artificial insemination, it might have been a bit...icky,’ she mumbled, momentarily losing her grip on her relentless falsely cheerful front.
Icky, Cesare repeated inwardly. It was a pretty good description of how he was feeling. Icky. He had suffered a Damascene moment of revelation while he was with Serafina the previous night. A blinding light that even he could not ignore or sensibly explain away had shone over the events and emotions of the past month and he had finally understood how everything had gone so very wrong. Unfortunately for him, since Lizzie had joined him for breakfast, he had realised that ‘wrong’ was an understatement. He had dug a great big hole for himself and she was showing every intention of being perfectly happy to bury him alive in it.
Cesare went upstairs, ostensibly for a shower but he wanted privacy to make a phone call. In all his life he had never ever turned to Goffredo for advice but his father was the only touchy-feely male relative he had, who could be trusted to keep a confidence. His sisters were too young and out of the question. Each would discuss it with the other and then they would approach Lizzie to tell all because she was one of the sisterhood now and closer to his siblings than he was. Goffredo had one word of advice and it was an unpalatable one. Heaving a sigh, he then suggested his son imagine his life without her and take it from there. That mental exercise only exacerbated Cesare’s dark mood.
Lizzie wore a floaty white cotton sundress to travel out to the island and took great pains with her hair and make-up. She knew that in the greater scheme of things her appearance was unimportant but was convinced that no woman confronted by a beauty like Serafina could remain indifferent to the possibility of unkind comparisons.
Close to running late for their flight, Cesare strode down the steps, a cool and sophisticated figure in beige chinos and an ivory cotton sweater that truly enhanced his bronzed skin tone and stunning dark eyes. Climbing into the car, he barely glanced at Lizzie and she knew all her fussing had been a pathetic waste of time.
Archie sat right in the middle of the back seat, halfway between them like a dog trying to work out how he could split himself into two parts. To Lizzie’s intense annoyance, her pet ended up nudged up against a hard masculine thigh because Cesare was absently massaging Archie’s ear, which reduced her dog to a pushover.
By the time they reached the airfield and boarded the helicopter, Lizzie was becoming increasingly frustrated. Cesare’s brooding silence was getting to her and she wanted to know what was behind it. How could he simply switch off everything they had seemed to have together? It hadn’t ever just been sex between them. There had been laughter and lots of talking and an intense sense of rightness as well. At least on her side, she conceded wretchedly.
His long, powerful thigh stretched as he shifted position and a heated ache blossomed between her thighs. That surge of hormonal chemistry mortified her. She reminded herself that that side of their marriage was over, she reminded herself that she was pregnant and she still ended up glancing back at that masculine thigh. Suddenly she was remembering that only the day before she would have stretched out a hand and stroked that hard male flesh, taking the initiative in a way that always surprised and pleased him. How had they seemed to be so attuned to each other when they so patently could not have been? Had she deceived herself? Had she dreamt up a whole fairy tale and tried to live it by putting Cesare in a starring role? Was this mess all her own wretched fault?
With such ideas torturing her and with a companion, who was almost as silent, it was little wonder that Lizzie had been airborne for over an hour when she was jolted by Cesare simply and suddenly turning round from the front passenger seat of the helicopter and urging her to look down at what he called ‘her’ island.
‘And Chrissie’s,’ she said unheard above the engine noise, stretching to peer over his broad shoulder as the craft dipped. She saw a long teardrop-shaped piece of land covered with lush green trees. ‘That’s Lionos?’ She gasped in astonishment for it was much bigger than she had expected. In her head she had cherished a not very inviting image of a rocky piece of land stuck in the middle of nowhere, for her mother had not made it sound an attractive place. At the same time their inheritance had never seemed very real to either her or her sister when they could not afford even to visit it.
Within minutes the helicopter was descending steeply to land in a clearing in the trees and for the first time in twenty-four hours a feeling of excited anticipation gripped Lizzie. Ignoring Cesare’s extended hand, she jumped down onto the ground and stared up at the white weatherboard house standing at the top of a slope. Like the island, it was bigger than she had expected.
‘Athene told me that her father built it in the nineteen twenties and she had five siblings, so it had to be spacious,’ Cesare supplied as he released Archie and the dog went scampering off to do what dogs did when they’d been confined for a long time. ‘Primo says it really needs to be knocked down and rebuilt but he’s done his best within the time frame he’s had.’
‘He’s frighteningly efficient,’ Lizzie remarked, mounting the slope, striving to ignore and avoid the supportive hand Cesare had planted to the base of her spine and a little breathless in her haste.
‘Take it easy. It’s hot and you’re pregnant,’ Cesare intoned.
‘For goodness’ sake!’ Lizzie snapped. ‘I’m only a tiny bit pregnant!’
In silence, Cesare rolled his eyes at that impossibility. He had all the consolation of knowing that he was reaping what he had sowed. Lizzie was not naturally either moody or short-tempered. In fact, in spite of her troubled childhood she had a remarkably cheerful nature, he conceded grimly. At least she had had a remarkably cheerful nature until he had contrived to destroy everything in what had to be an own goal of even more remarkable efficacy.
Primo greeted them at the front door and spread it wide. ‘Workmen are still finishing off the utility area,’ he admitted. ‘But I believe the house is now presentable.’
Wide-eyed, Lizzie drifted through the tiled hall, which had been painted white, and moved on into a spacious reception room furnished with pieces that were an elegant mix of the traditional and the more contemporary. French windows draped with floral curtains opened out onto a terrace overlooking a secluded sandy cove. The view down the slope of a path through the trees to the beach was incredibly picturesque and unspoilt.
She walked through the house and as she peered into rooms some of her tension began to evaporate. In the wake of her mother’s unappreciative descriptions, she was surprised to discover that it was actually a very attractive house and full of character. A room with a bathroom had been prepared for Athene’s use on the ground floor. Lizzie mounted the stairs, which had wrought-iron ornamental balusters and a polished brass handrail. A bedroom had been sacrificed to provide en-suite bathrooms. Everywhere had been freshly decorated and kitted out, fabrics stirring softly in the breeze through open windows.
‘What do you think?’ Cesare asked from his stance on the landing.
‘It’s magical. I can understand why your grandmother never forgot this island. It must’ve been a wonderful house for kids,’ she confided.
‘Soon our child will follow that same tradition,’ Cesare said gruffly.
‘Well, possibly when he or she is visiting you. I won’t be here as well,’ Lizzie pointed out, quick to puncture that fantasy.
Cesare hovered in the strangest way, moving a step forward and then a step back, lashes suddenly lifting on strained dark golden eyes. ‘And what if I wanted you to be here as well?’
‘But you wouldn’t want that,’ Lizzie countered with unwelcome practicality. ‘You will either have remarried or you’ll have a girlfriend in tow.’
‘What if I don’t want that? What if I want you?’ Cesare shot at her without warning, unnerved by that veiled reference to the divorce that would be required for his remarriage.
Lizzie lost colour, wondering what he was playing at, wondering if this was some new game on his terms. ‘But you don’t...want me, that is. You made that quite clear last night.’
‘I do want you. I want to stay married,’ Cesare bit out almost aggressively. ‘Last night, you took me by surprise and I was confused. I made a mistake.’
Lizzie shook her pale head slowly and studied him in angry wonderment, temper stirring from the depths of the emotional turmoil she had been enduring since he had blown all her hopes and dreams to dust. ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. First you ask me for a business-based marriage, then you ask me to give our marriage a try and then you tell me we don’t have a real marriage. As I see it, that’s pretty comprehensive and not open to any other interpretation!’
She swivelled on her heel and deliberately walked past him to enter the room on the other side of the landing.
‘I’m trying to say I’m sorry and you’re not even listening!’ Cesare growled from behind her.
‘You can’t apologise for what you feel...neither of us can,’ Lizzie parried curtly as she lodged by a window, hoping to look as though she were entranced by the view when in actuality all she could think about was escaping this agonising going-nowhere conversation with Cesare, who seemed not to have the first clue about how she might be feeling. ‘I’m going to get changed and go off and explore.’