The Unwanted Wife(17)

Theresa was tensing more and more in his arms, not sure how to react. First the kisses, then the shattering sex, then the absence of those five words, and now this unprecedented display of affection. It was as if, just when she’d found a way to protect her already battered, bruised, and fragile heart from him, he found some other way around her defenses, leaving her vulnerable to even more pain.

He was still whispering into her ear, half-broken Italian words that she didn’t understand at all, trying to pull her closer, but Theresa resisted, snapping out of the trance that she had been in. She could not let him do this to her…not again! He had hurt her too many times in the past with his careless disregard, his other women, and his contempt. She would not allow him into her heart again. Finally clueing in to the fact that Theresa was not as into the cuddling as he was, Sandro lifted himself up onto his elbow, resting his head on his hand and looking absolutely gorgeous in all his naked splendor.

“Cara, what’s wrong?”

She nearly laughed out loud at the ridiculous question before struggling in earnest to escape from beneath his heavy arm. For a few seconds his hold tightened, but he raised his arm and allowed her to scurry off the bed.

“The sheets are soaking wet,” she said breathlessly, refusing to meet his eyes. “I need to change them.”

“Leave it for the maid in the morning.” He grinned lazily.

“The cleaning service doesn’t come in on a Saturday, and besides, I can’t sleep on a wet bed.”

“Don’t be silly, Red,” he admonished gently, sitting up gracefully. “You’re sleeping with me in our bed!”

“I’m not.” She shook her head adamantly, and his grin widened indulgently.

“Stubborn cat.” He swung his legs off the edge of the bed and stood up with the lethal grace of a predator, stalking her languidly. “Of course you are.” Theresa backed away but he pounced before she could get very far, his hands on her shoulders, applying just enough pressure to keep her from fleeing.

“Look at me,” he demanded softly when she kept her eyes glued to his chest. When she refused, he muttered something beneath his breath before lifting one hand from her shoulder to tilt up her jaw until her eyes met his. Whatever he saw on her defiant face made his eyebrows lower and his eyes darken.

“I’m trying to fix this, cara,” he whispered, the words sounding almost ripped from his throat.

“You can’t.” She shook her head sadly. “This…whatever it is…it’s irreparable.”

“Why?” He shook his head slightly in confused frustration.

“Because everything you do now feels insincere and forced!” she hissed in sudden fury. “Every touch, every apology, every endearment…it’s like you brushed up on the ‘Theresa Noble User Manual’ and learned what makes me tick!”

“First, it’s Theresa De Lucci, and second, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” he practically shouted, shaking her slightly.

“The kisses for one,” she said, itemizing.

“What?”

“A year and a half of marriage, Alessandro, and tonight was the first time you’ve ever kissed me,” she pointed out. “You must have known how much it hurt me to know that you despised me so much that you couldn’t even bring yourself to kiss me.”

“That’s not—”

“So of course tonight,” she interrupted him, not at all interested in whatever he had to say, “after making me feel so special by finally doing me the honor of introducing me to your friends, this is when you decide to sweeten the pot with a few of your kisses! It probably struck you as a pretty effective way to keep the bitch muzzled and content, right?”

“You’re misreading the entire situation, cara.”

“Don’t call me that! I am not your darling. I’ve never been your darling and I’m not going to be naïve enough to fall for your so-called charms again!”

“What do you want from me?” He suddenly demanded desperately, releasing her shoulders so abruptly that she stumbled and fell. He froze in horror, staring down at her with a look of such abject misery, contrition and despair that she almost felt sorry for him. She sat up and stared into his distressed face.

“I want a divorce,” she whispered and he sank down to his knees beside her, lifting a hand to caress the curve of her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I’m so sorry for more things than you could possibly imagine but that’s the one thing I can’t give you.”

“Then we have nothing more to talk about,” she pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the hand he offered to help her. She suddenly realized that they were both naked and sighed heavily.

“Please, just go back to your room, Alessandro,” she pleaded, and he hesitated, his eyes lingering on her face for a few long moments, before he turned abruptly and left.




She woke up in the guest bedroom the following morning…alone. She was both saddened and relieved by that. A quick glance at the clock told her that it was well after ten in the morning, and the gloom told her that it was probably raining. Theresa was shocked that she had slept so late and rushed through her morning ablutions while trying to ignore the ever-present queasiness. She gingerly made her way downstairs, feeling like someone with a hangover as she headed for the kitchen.

Fortunately, no food smells were emanating from the room, but when she walked in, it was to find Sandro sitting at the breakfast bar and staring thoughtfully down at his full coffee mug. He looked up when she stepped into the room his eyes sweeping over her figure, taking in the worn old jeans, faded sweatshirt, and battered little sneakers.

“How are you feeling, ca…Theresa?”

“Fine,” she mumbled, getting herself a glass of orange juice before turning toward the breakfast bar and taking the seat opposite his on one of the quaint wooden chairs.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” he asked softly, and Theresa grimaced, the thought of food making her stomach churn queasily.

“I’m fine.”

He swore softly.

“You’re obviously not fine,” he growled. “I don’t know what you think starving yourself will achieve.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, I’m hardly starving myself, just skipping breakfast.”

“You look like you’ve skipped entirely too many meals recently.” He shook his head and sent a scathing glare up and down her thin frame.

“If it’ll get you off my back, I’ll have some toast,” she said, bristling, before slamming her glass down. She used too much force and must have placed it right on the edge because the glass went tumbling down to the floor and shattered on impact, spilling the bright contents all over the pale blue tile of the floor. The jarring noise completely unraveled Theresa and frayed her nerves to the breaking point.

“Oh.” Her eyes flooded with tears. “I’m sorry…”

“Theresa.” Sandro was beside her in seconds, his hands on her shoulders and his face peering down into hers in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she whispered, shrugging out of his grip, and he dropped his hands abruptly.

“Are you sure?” he demanded. “You’re as white as a sheet.”

“Just a bit of a shock.” She waved his concern aside. “It’s raining,” she observed inanely in a very weak attempt to change the subject, and her eyes fixed on the dull grayness of the world outside.

“Yes.” He stepped farther away from her and knelt down to pick up the shards of glass from the floor. “It is.” She started to get up, but he looked up at her from where he was squatting at her feet and dropped a large hand on her thigh to keep her from moving.

“The floor’s slippery and covered in glass; let me clear it up before you get off the chair.” She shrugged and silently watched as he efficiently went about cleaning up her mess.

“What are you doing today?” he asked casually, keeping his back to her as he discarded the glass and paper towels he had used to sop up the excess juice.

“I need to do some shopping,” she answered distractedly. “I was thinking of heading to the city for some stuff.” She intended to buy about a dozen different home pregnancy kits, a task which she had delayed for much too long.

“I’m running low on some things too,” he responded casually, turning around to face her. “I’ll drive you.”

Theresa came out of her daze with a wry smile.

“Wow. That lie was so transparent that I’m almost embarrassed for you.”

He chuckled wryly in response to her dry wit and shrugged slightly.

“I know it wasn’t up to scratch, but give me a break, it’s been an eventful twenty-four hours and I’m not in top form,” he joked lightly, even though his eyes were still running over her face and body in concern. “I don’t want you to drive, Theresa; you look a bit out of it. Do you think you’re coming down with something?”

Yes. Pregnancy.

“I’m fine but I do feel a bit out of sorts this morning, probably the whiskey in that Irish coffee I had with the ladies last night.” Right, she’d barely made her way through a quarter of one mug before realizing that, if she was pregnant, drinking would probably not be such a great idea. Still, Sandro didn’t know how much she’d had, so it was a perfectly acceptable excuse. He seemed to fall for it and nodded his acceptance of her explanation.