The Unwanted Wife(20)

“So you see, Sandro? You’re just a few short months away from getting rid of your unwanted wife, child, and life. No more need for pretense, no need to humor your sham-wife with Friday night football games or introductions to your friends.” Her voice trembled with the effort it took to sound casual, while Sandro looked anything but fooled by her attempt to appear cavalier. His hands went to the arms of her chair and he seemed to be holding on for dear life, not touching her at all but still uncomfortably close.

“You still need to see a doctor,” he said softly, sounding strained, and she nodded.

“I’ve already made an appointment with Lisa’s doctor.” He sighed softly before agilely getting up and moving away from her chair and back to his own.

“They would like you,” he suddenly said, his eyes intent on her face.

“What?” she asked distractedly.

“My family,” he elaborated, and she frowned, not sure why he’d felt the need to say that.

“I doubt that, Sandro. I don’t think I’d feel any kind of charity toward someone who deliberately set out to trap my brother or son in a marriage he did not want, and I can’t imagine your family doing so.”

“But you didn’t…”

“They think I did, and once you’ve made up your mind about someone, it’s pretty hard to change it again.”

“It’s not as hard as you think,” he said, half under his breath.

“I don’t know why you think you have to say stuff like this.” She shrugged dismissively. “Soon we’ll both be getting what we want: freedom from this awful situation.”

“What about the baby?”

“If I have a boy, you would have fulfilled the terms of your contract with my father. You’ll be free. Of course, the baby won’t be any of your concern, but you can be quite certain that my father won’t be getting his paws on my child either. I ask only that you leave us this house and support us while I study jewelry designing. I don’t think we’ll need your support for much longer than two years. After that, I think I’ll be able to manage on my own.”

“You seem to have given this some thought,” he said tonelessly, his face back to the familiar icy mask that she despised so much. She nodded nervously.

“I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon. Please, Sandro, after two years I’ll be completely out of your life, and while you’re supporting us, I won’t bother you for anything. You won’t have to talk to me or hear from us, and it doesn’t have to be too much.”

“You think I give a damn about the money?” He suddenly exploded, losing his icy reserve in spectacular fashion. “Do you think I would nitpick over pennies when it came to my wife and child’s welfare?”

“Ex-wife,” she reminded tentatively, fascinated by the incandescent fury she could see in his eyes. It flared even hotter after her timid correction.

“Nothing’s set in stone,” he gritted. “It could be a girl.” She went dramatically pale at his words; oddly enough she hadn’t even considered that possibility.

“No,” she whispered. “It’s a boy, it has to be.”

He swore shakily beneath his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured quietly. “I know that this has to be stressful for you. Theresa…whatever the future holds, you can rest assured that I’ll support you in every way possible for as long as you need me.”

“It won’t be for long,” she assured earnestly. “I know you want to move on with your real life. Probably get married and have children.”

“This is my life,” he growled. “I am married and having a child.”

“But it’s not the life you wanted,” she reminded. “Not the wife and child you wanted. This is certainly not the life I wanted.”

“So, what the hell are you saying? That you’re looking forward to getting married to someone else and having his kid?” he suddenly snapped, and she jumped, astonished by his unpredictable mood.

“Why are you being like this?” she asked in confusion. “I thought you’d be happy. It’s what you’ve been asking me for since the day we married. Every time we had sex, without fail you’d ask me—”

“I know,” he interrupted savagely. “You don’t have to remind me of it again.”

“Well.” She got up yet again and he jumped to his feet, braced to catch her if she fell. She sent him an amused sidelong glance. “I’m off to bed.”

“Have you eaten?” he asked in concern.

“Some toast.” She shrugged.

“I don’t like the way you’re managing your meals, Theresa,” he growled. “If you’re serious about getting through this pregnancy healthy, you should eat better than you have been.”

“I know that but I think my body might be adjusting to the pregnancy, so things are probably going to be a bit out of sync for a while. I’m sure my appetite will come back with a vengeance. Don’t worry about it, Sandro. The baby will be fine.”

“Yes, babies are resilient.” He nodded. “I have no doubt he will be fine, but what about you? You won’t be able to enjoy your newfound freedom if you damage yourself irreparably during this pregnancy.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said dismissively, with a flick of the hand.

“How the hell can you be so goddamn cavalier about your health?” he snapped, and Theresa lost all patience with him.

“I really don’t see how any of this is your business, Sandro. My pregnancy, my body, and the rest of my life are no longer issues you need to concern yourself with. For all intents and purposes, you’re free to go off and have a blast. In fact, why don’t you go out with a couple of the floozies you so enjoy dangling from your arm every time there’s a photographer nearby? Go out, get wasted, and bang a bimbo. Celebrate your impending freedom in the time-honored tradition.”

“What time is your doctor’s appointment tomorrow?” he asked calmly, ignoring her rant as if it hadn’t happened.

She glared at him before turning away and heading toward the door. She had her hand on the doorknob when he spoke again.

“I never, not once, was unfaithful to you during this marriage, Theresa.”

She halted at the door, her back stiffening as his words sank in and she found herself caught between wanting to open the door and turning around to meet his eyes. In the end she just stood there with her hand on the doorknob and her head bowed. He came up behind her and she cringed when his hands dropped down onto her shoulders and his large body brushed against her narrow back.

“What makes you think I believe you or even care anymore?” she asked quietly, fighting to keep the anguish from her voice.

“I don’t blame you for not caring.” His lips were practically brushing against her ear as he whispered. “But I wanted you to know. I know how it looked, but I wasn’t thinking about the consequences. I wanted to show your father how little his damned contract was affecting my life, and very selfishly didn’t spare much thought to what it was doing to you. I want you to know that it wasn’t you I was trying to hurt.”

“So you keep saying.” A betraying quaver crept into her voice. “But guess who always wound up getting hurt anyway?”

“I know…” His lips were doing more than just accidentally brushing up against her ear now, they seemed to be nuzzling the sensitive flesh beneath her ear, and they were definitely moving down her neck. “It was stupid and I know that it was a bad move from the first, but once the papers sank their teeth into the juicy story of the recently wed Alessandro De Lucci playing away from home, everything I did came under scrutiny, and any woman I had even a passing conversation with became my latest ‘mistress.’ It got completely out of control.”

“Let me go,” she demanded weakly when his lips trailed down to her collarbone.

“Cara,” he groaned. “I honestly don’t think that I can.”

For a moment she was tempted to let him keep going, especially when one of his hands circled her waist to rest on her ribcage just below the upward curve of her breast. Her entire body tensed as her mind rebelled against what she was about to do, but she lifted her foot and deliberately trod down on his instep a little harder than she’d intended. He swore and leaped back, leaving her feeling momentarily bereft, before she came to her senses and fled.





CHAPTER SIX

What are you doing here?” Theresa paused at the threshold to the kitchen and stared at the gorgeous man who stood in front of the open refrigerator wearing only baggy sweatpants. No shoes and no shirt. He turned around slowly to meet her eyes, and she swallowed past the huge lump in her suddenly dry throat; God, he was so much more beautiful than she remembered. Of course, she felt unattractive and sloppy in the Sylvester the Cat silk shortie pajamas that she was wearing. She knew that there was a sleep crease down the side of her face and that her hair closely resembled a bird’s nest.

“I live here,” he replied casually, one hand grasping a carton of orange juice and the other lazily rubbing back and forth over the rippled contours of his abdomen. Her fascinated eyes fell to that hand, and she imagined her own hand replacing his. She shook her head slightly to rid herself of the erotic image and focused on her outrage at seeing him so casually standing in the kitchen.