“That is entirely mutual,” he responded dryly, and she went still.
“Oh, please…” she choked out. “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, and 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. “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 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 smell, the very essence of someone off 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 coexisting in the same house. Sandro insisted that they take breakfast and dinner together still and that they sleep in the same bed, but he never touched her, maintaining the distance that she had insisted on. Some part of Theresa was relieved while another bemoaned the loss of the one bond they had shared. 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 she was still stricken by dizzy spells at the most unexpected times and that her period was now later 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. She seemed to be experiencing the equivalent of writer’s block, and it was extremely frustrating. Her cell phone buzzed and she snatched it up, welcoming the distraction. She had been exchanging text messages with Lisa all day. Her cousin was feeling under the weather and Theresa had been trying to cheer her up with silly little jokes—a difficult feat when Theresa herself wasn’t feeling all that great. She was expecting her cousin’s response to her latest message but 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.’ Home by 6. Dinner @ 7:30”
She groaned. Sandro and his damned “appearances”! She was tempted to 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 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 headed for the kitchen for some company. Phumsile was bustling around efficiently, but when she turned and saw Theresa she grinned.
“Teatime?” she asked, and Theresa nodded, settling onto a kitchen stool while Phumsile gathered a couple of teacups and set the kettle to boil.
“You finished with your work already? It’s a little early,” the older woman asked, while she prepared the teapot. Theresa’s relationship with Phumsile was warm and friendly. Theresa knew that Phumsile had long ago discerned the unusual nature of her marriage and while the woman remained discreet and never brought it up, she tended to mother Theresa as a result.
“I couldn’t concentrate, and Sandro and I are going out tonight, so I should probably think about getting ready for that.” Phumsile made a noncommittal sound as she poured the hot water into the teapot and set it onto the counter between them to steep before putting a plate of freshly baked gingerbread biscuits next to it.
“Is it going to be another fancy night?”
Theresa smiled at the terminology and shrugged.
“He said casual. Not sure what that means.” She picked up a biscuit and took a tentative bite.
“The ginger is very mild, it won’t upset your stomach,” the woman said quietly, and Theresa raised her startled eyes to Phumsile’s wise ones. She should have known that Phumsile would notice her nausea over the last few days. The woman rarely missed much.
“Does Mr. De Lucci know?” Phumsile asked.
“I don’t even know,” Theresa admitted.
“A baby is a blessing. Mr. De Lucci will be very happy.”
“He will,” Theresa acknowledged bitterly.
“You’re not happy?” Phumsile seemed confused, and Theresa forced a smile.
“I’m not sure there is a baby, Phumsile, it could just be a stomach bug.” She took a sip of the chamomile tea Phumsile always prepared to perfection and another nibble of the biscuit.
“So what do you want to wear tonight?” Phumsile tactfully changed the subject and Theresa shrugged again.
“I don’t know exactly how casual he means. Jeans maybe. What do you think I should do with my hair? Up or down?” Phumsile tilted her head as she considered Theresa’s long fall of hair.
“Why don’t you go to the hairdresser?” Phumsile asked. “It will cheer you up.”
Theresa smiled at Phumsile as she considered the thought. Looking good tonight would give her ego a boost if nothing else.
“You know, I haven’t had it styled in some time,” she admitted, and rounded the counter to give Phumsile a quick squeeze. “That’s a brilliant idea. Thank you. What would I do without you, Phumsile?”
“Starve,” the woman joked. “You don’t eat enough when I’m not here and you know it.”
Theresa laughed, feeling immeasurably better after her exchange with the housekeeper. Nothing had been resolved, but she felt less alone now that Phumsile was aware of her possible pregnancy.
Sandro was home promptly at six. Theresa was curled up on the sofa, flipping through a 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 around 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 eyes 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 emphasized her large gray-green eyes and high, delicate cheekbones. His hands clenched and he seemed to swallow with visible effort.