She couldn’t respond to that with much more than a nod and another emotional grazie, overwhelmed by the perception that had allowed the sick old man to see how much she loved his son. He and Sandro were now having a solemn conversation, and the older man started pausing more and more frequently, seeming to lose track of his thoughts more and more until his wife stepped in and called a halt to the conversation.
“Mama says he is tired and needs to take his medication and rest,” he whispered to Theresa, as they watched the older man protest before allowing himself to be wheeled, for he was in a wheelchair, out of the room with a few last farewells to Sandro and Theresa. Sandro’s hand was squeezing hers so hard that it stopped the blood flow into her fingers, but Theresa didn’t protest, knowing that Sandro was probably wondering if it would be the last time he would ever see or speak to his father. They watched in silence as the door closed behind his mother’s elegant form before they became aware of the fact that another person was in the room on screen. A wizened old woman suddenly plonked herself into the seat Sandro’s mother had just vacated, and Sandro’s entire face lit up.
“Nonna!” he greeted with warm enthusiasm and turned to Theresa, who had already gleaned who the little old lady was. She was tentatively starting to smile, when the woman launched into speech, her voice low and furious. Whatever she was saying wiped the smile off Sandro’s face in seconds, and she watched as his eyes darkened in fury and his lips tightened in an expression she was more than a little familiar with. He released Theresa’s hand and hissed something equally dire sounding back at his grandmother, who gasped in horror before launching into an even angrier-seeming tirade. By this time two younger women, whom she recognized as Sandro’s sisters, had stepped into the room and upon hearing whatever it was their grandmother had said added their own two cents’ worth until there was nothing but unintelligible squawks coming from the speakers. Suddenly the old woman’s words turned to English, and her eyes were seemed trained on Theresa.
“You make my family miserable! You take my grandson and keep him away from his family, keep him away from his dying father. You nothing but selfish. Why you want a man who no love you? No pride…you no pride. He love a good woman, he no love you!”
Theresa gasped in horror and raised her hands to her mouth, defenseless against the hatred she saw burning in the old woman’s eyes. Her eyes flooded with tears, and Sandro swore shakily before saying something soft and dangerous sounding to the three women on the other end of the camera, but Theresa had blocked them all out and was struggling to her feet, ignoring Sandro’s desperate protest.
She was out the door and halfway up the stairs before he caught up with her.
“She’s old, cara,” he said desperately, holding on to her arm as she tried to wrest herself away from him. “She’s old and stubborn. What she said was not true.”
“I didn’t make your family miserable?” she asked brokenly. “Of course I did, Sandro. You know that’s true. I didn’t keep you away from them? Or away from your dying father? I did that too. You don’t love me? No news there. You’re in love with someone else? Again: old news…and she was right. I have absolutely no pride. None whatsoever. If I did I would never have stood for this sham of a marriage. Everything she said was true. So she was just being honest…and that’s my shame to deal with.”
“Theresa, please…” She didn’t know what he wanted from her. She yanked her arm from his grip and found herself teetering desperately on the edge of the step, nearly falling until he yanked her back toward his strong body and braced himself to absorb her weight.
“You foolish woman, stop fighting me and just listen, damn it!” he hissed into her ear. Shocked by her close call she could do nothing but stand trembling in his arms. “She didn’t get it all right; you have more stubborn pride than any person I have ever met. You did not keep me away from my father, I chose to stay.”
“Because of me,” she inserted despondently.
“Because I chose to be with you,” he emphasized but not really seeing the difference, Theresa remained quiet. “Don’t you see, Theresa? I wanted to be with you!”
“I’m tired, Sandro,” she whispered after a long pause, sending a pointed glance down at the restraining hand he had on her elbow. His grip tightened slightly before he reluctantly released her and stepped back to allow her to proceed up the stairs.
When Theresa woke from a restless sleep a few hours before dawn, it didn’t take her long to discover that Sandro was lying in bed with her. His big, hard body was curved around hers, his knees spooning in behind hers. He had one arm curled under her neck and the other slung heavily across her waist, his hand cupped protectively over her swollen abdomen. She could feel his deep breath against the nape of her neck, indicating that he was asleep and it had been so long since she’d found herself in bed with him that she allowed herself to enjoy his relaxed warmth and closeness without the tension that was usually between them when he was awake.
Even before they’d started sleeping apart, he’d never held her in his sleep. So this was a novel and overwhelmingly enjoyable experience that she couldn’t deprive herself of. She was just about to doze off again, when the telephone buzzed quietly from the nightstand beside her bed. She jerked slightly, and the movement woke Sandro, who was instantly on alert behind her.
“You okay?” he asked groggily, and she nodded just as the phone buzzed again.
“Hmmm. Who could be calling at”—she squinted at the digital clock beside the phone—“four in the morning?” She knew the answer the instant the question escaped her lips and from the sudden tension in Sandro’s body, she knew that he realized it too. He sat up abruptly, and she immediately felt cold as he leaned over her to yank up the receiver.
“De Lucci,” he barked once he had it up to his ear. “Si…si…” She sat up and pushed her hair out of her eyes as she tried see his expression in the dim light of the LCD display of the clock. His face closed up tighter than a fist and he bowed his head slightly. Biting her lip, as she fought back the tears, Theresa laid a comforting hand on one tense, naked shoulder.
“Quando?” he asked tersely, his voice hoarse. He said a few more things, but Theresa tuned his words out, hearing only the pain he kept at bay behind the rigidly controlled voice. She lowered her head to his broad shoulder, wanting only to comfort and kept stroking his back as he spoke. He was silent for a long time before she realized that he was done speaking and that he had lowered the receiver to the bed beside him. She turned her head to look up into his face and saw that he was staring off into the distance. It was still too dark to see much of his face but from the grim set of his jaw the news was obvious.
“When?” she asked gently, reaching for the receiver and placing it gently back into its cradle. A slight shudder rippled through his body before he turned his head to face her.
“About ten minutes ago,” he whispered, and she nodded, lifting a small hand to cup his tense jaw.
“You go and grab a shower, I’ll pack a bag for you.” She clicked on the bedside lamp before awkwardly heaving herself up and off the bed. He remained where she had left him and she sighed softly, before leaning down to kiss the top of his head gently.
“Come on, Sandro,” she murmured firmly. “You grab that shower and I’ll take care of everything else.” Something about the tone of her voice got through to him, and he nodded and got up like someone in a trance before heading to the bathroom. Theresa stood there for a while until she heard the shower going before she waddled out to his room down the hall and packed a bag for him.
Twenty minutes later, when she returned to her guest room, it was to find the shower still running. Concerned she stepped into the bathroom and could barely make out his shape behind the frosted glass of the shower door but she could see enough to tell that he was still in there and not really moving. She sighed and bit her lip before, decision made, she stripped down to her skin and stepped into the cubicle with him.
He was standing with his back to the cubicle door, his head bowed beneath the strong spray and his hands braced against the tiled wall, long arms outstretched in front of him and muscles tensed. He didn’t seem to know that she was there until her hands touched the bunched muscles of his shoulders. She could feel his instinctive jerk of surprise beneath her touch and very gently moved her hands until they crept down under his arms and around to his broad chest. She could feel his bone-deep tremors and with gentle insistence tugged him back toward her until she was able to rest her cheek against the warm, wet skin of his back. Her hands were splayed across his chest, and she could feel the strong beat of his heart beneath her touch.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, dropping warm kisses across the skin of his back. “I’m so sorry, Sandro.” He shuddered violently before turning with a groan and gathering her into his arms, hunching his body around hers and burying his face in her still-dry hair. They stood that way for a long time before he lifted his ravaged face and looked down at her. His eyes were wet with tears, and he reached up to cup her face before lowering his lips to hers and kissing her hungrily. He did nothing more than that just kiss her like he would never get the chance to do so again. He kissed like a man who knew that he would have to go without sustenance for an unknown amount of time. Finally, chest heaving, he lifted his head and stared intently down into her dazed face.