“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered gently. “The most beautiful thing in my life. I don’t want to leave you here. Not now.”
“I’ll be fine,” she reassured. This time she was the one to reach up and stroke his worried face. “The baby will be fine. I have Lisa and Rick. You have to take care of your family now, Sandro.”
“You’re my family too.” He repeated his words of the previous afternoon. “I have to take care of you too.”
“No.” She reached around him to shut off the water and met his eyes squarely. “I can take care of myself. And to be honest, having you here when you should be with your family will just add to my stress.” He said nothing for a few moments before shutting his eyes and nodding abruptly.
“Okay.” He inhaled deeply. “Okay, I’ll arrange my flight immediately.” She opened the door and reached for a couple of the heated towels hanging from the railing beside the shower cubicle, handing one over to him before wrapping one around herself, happy to be covering up her huge frame again.
An hour later she and Sandro were standing on the doorstep. The chauffeur of the driving service they sometimes used stood waiting patiently beneath an umbrella next to the shiny black sedan.
“Promise me that you’ll eat well,” Sandro urged, and she nodded somberly, knowing that he would need to have his head clear for what was to come. “And you’ll contact Elisa and Richard if you feel unwell.” Another nod. “And you will remember to take your vitamins?”
His voice was starting to get hoarse with emotion, and she gave him a wavering smile before nodding again.
“I promise.”
“You say this but you forget. I know you.” He shook his head in frustration. “It is important for your health, cara, and you no remember to take. It drive me crazy. I worry…” It was a sign of his anxiety and stress that his normally impeccable, lightly accented English had failed him so completely, and she stepped toward him and went on tiptoe to drop a kiss onto one of his lean cheeks.
“Why don’t you call Phumsile and Lisa once you land?” she suggested gently. “And if you’re worried about me forgetting, you can have them remind me.”
“Yes.” He nodded, appeased. “I will. Please, Theresa, call me. Anytime if you need anything, if you want to talk…call me. I’ll call you every day.”
“That’s good,” she said quietly, not sure if he’d have the time to talk with her every day but knowing that he needed to make the promise. “Now you’d better go before you miss your flight.” He nodded and dragged her into his arms for a passionate, desperate kiss before letting her go abruptly and striding down the steps toward the car. He paused when he reached the car and turned around for one last, lingering look at her before he climbed in and was gone.
Theresa turned blindly toward the house and once she was inside she felt completely lost. Not sure where to turn or who to turn to, she found herself walking toward Sandro’s study. She’d been in the room very few times before, and those times had always been in Sandro’s company. Now she felt like she was intruding into his domain, but it was the one place she felt closest to him. Everything bore his stamp. It was the only room he had insisted on decorating himself. He’d largely left the rest of the house up to Theresa, and she now knew it had been because he hadn’t much cared what their home together would look like since he’d never had any intention of it being permanent.
As she looked at the masculine room with its dark, heavy furniture and minimalist, almost Asian decor, she grasped how completely different it was from the rest of the house and her heart broke at this additional sign of how doomed their relationship had been from the start. She sank down onto the plush, black leather sofa, curled up into a ball, and cried for the life she could have had if she’d just been the woman Sandro had wanted. Once the bout of self-pity had passed, she sat up and wiped at her eyes before gently running her hands over her distended abdomen.
“You and I will make our own lives, darling,” she promised. “And we’ll be so happy. Just you wait and see.”
CHAPTER TEN
Sandro had made good on his promise and had enlisted both Lisa and Phumsile’s aid in ensuring that Theresa took her vitamins and rested enough but that was the only promise he kept. A month passed with barely any word from him, and his phone calls, the few that came, were rushed and impersonal and barely lasted three minutes. When Theresa tried to contact him, he was never available, or so the cold female voices on the other end of the line told her. She had no choice but to take them at their word.
She kept track of Sandro’s movements through the news—online, televised, and printed. His father’s death and Sandro’s subsequent taking over of the family’s banking and investment empire were pretty hot news items and hardly a day went by that it wasn’t mentioned in some form of news. There had been paparazzi coverage of the funeral; despite the media ban the family had put on proceedings, some intrepid photographer had managed to get a picture of Sandro standing over his father’s open grave, his face closed up tighter than a fist, flanked by his mother and Francesca, who had stood beside him offering the support only a lover or a wife would offer. A lot had been written about that photograph, and a lot of cynical criticism had been aimed at his cold, absent wife, and a lot of praise given to the stoic Francesca who stood by him through thick and thin.
There was no mention about her difficult pregnancy that made travel nearly impossible for her. A few local reporters had contacted her, wanting her “side of the story” and her refusal to be interviewed or offer any comment had merely added fodder to fuel the rumor that she was unfeeling and cold. The media, when given free rein, were ruthless. For the most part they left her alone, content to write what they wanted, and in every article the beautiful, vivacious Francesca was lauded for her unwavering and loving support, while the “plain and antisocial” Theresa was criticized for her seeming neglect of her husband in his time of need.
She sighed quietly, as she stared out at the heavy downpour, missing Sandro so much it hurt and wishing that she could just talk with him. The baby moved restlessly, and she winced slightly as a tiny foot caught her just beneath the ribs. She sang a quiet lullaby and ran her hands over the mound of her stomach. She was feeling her burden more and more with each passing day.
“Theresa?” The quiet voice coming from behind her made her jump nearly out of her skin, and she yelped before turning to face Lisa and Rick, both of whom stood framed in the doorway of the den.
“God, you startled me,” she gasped as they stepped into the room, neither cracking a smile, both looking relentlessly grim. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”
“Terri—we have to get you out of here,” Lisa said urgently, rounding the sofa to stand in front of her.
“What? Why?”
“We’ll explain once we’re out of here.”
“No.” She shook her head stubbornly. “Tell me now. Is it Sandro? Was he hurt?”
“He will be once I get through with him,” Rick threatened furiously.
“Rick, not now,” Lisa groaned, and Theresa’s eyes settled on the grim-faced man in confusion.
“I don’t understand.” Her confused gaze went from Lisa’s frantic expression to Rick’s furious one. “What’s going on?”
“A story just broke in the European newspapers.”
“What story?” she asked in bewilderment, and Rick swore softly.
“Sweetheart, we can discuss it later. For now, we have to leave before the vultures descend.”
“No, Rick,” she maintained stubbornly. “I’m not leaving my home without good reason.” Rick’s jaw clenched and his expression clearly gave away his frustration with her.
“Terri, they’re saying that Sandro was blackmailed into marrying you. That he did so for his father. They’re also saying that a source close to the family claims that since Sandro has no reason to be with you anymore, he’ll be filing for a divorce as soon as he gets back.”
“I never thought of that,” Theresa half whispered to herself. “Of course he’s free now. That’s probably why I never heard from him, he’s been busy planning this. I should have known that he would want that. I should have seen this coming.”
“Theresa, don’t you dare beat yourself up about it. If the divorce rumors are true, then he’s a bastard for abandoning his pregnant wife when she needs him most,” Rick fumed.
“No, I’m happy for him. He was trapped.” She was so dazed, she barely knew what she was saying, and Rick swore in disbelief.
“My God, it’s like you have battered-wife syndrome. Stop making excuses for him. He’s an ass who hurt you time and again.” When it looked like she was about to protest, Lisa stepped forward.
“Come on, darling, let’s get you packed up and out of here.” Her cousin took charge, grabbing hold of Theresa’s arm and jerking her out of her stupor. Lisa steered her out of the room, tossing a warning look over her shoulder when it looked like Rick wanted to say something more.