The Unwanted Wife (11 page)

“God,” he finally whispered. “Oh my God, Theresa… that was
amazing
.” Theresa, who was only now coming back to herself tensed at his words but he seemed not to notice, still stroking her, kissing her, whispering little endearments and half-finished Italian sentences into her hair. In a year and a half, during which time they’d had sex on average four times a week and at least twice a night on each of those occasions, this was the
first
time…
ever
that Sandro hadn’t recited his standard mantra.

He shifted slightly, to arrange her more comfortably against him, one arm tucked beneath her head and the other resting heavily across her breasts. His fingers formed lazy circles on the overheated skin of her upper arm and he had his head on the same pillow as hers, so close she could feel his still-unsteady breath feathering through her hair. He occasionally dropped soft kisses onto the sensitive skin beneath her ear and along her delicate jawline.

Theresa was tensing more and more in his arms, not sure how to react to all of this. 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 defences, 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, finally snapping out of the half-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 for her. 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 splendour.

“
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 finally 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 in her defiant gaze made his eyebrows lower and his eyes darken.

“I’m trying to fix this,
cara
,” he finally whispered, the words almost torn from him.

“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!”

“Firstly, it’s Theresa
de Lucci
and secondly, I don’t know what the
hell
you’re talking about!” He practically shouted, shaking her slightly.

“The
kisses
for one,” she itemised.

“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 realised 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 it was he had to say. “After making me feel
so
special by finally doing me the honour 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 in frustration, 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 on his face 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 realised 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 there were no food smells 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 trainers.

“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 seethed 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 unravelled Theresa and frayed her nerves to breaking point.

“Oh,” her eyes flooded with tears as she realised whose fault it had been. “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 to know. “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 greyness of the world outside.

“Yes,” he stepped further 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 kept 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 into the trash can.

“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 carelessly, turning around to face her. “I’ll drive you.” Theresa came out of her daze with a wry smile.

“Wow. That was such a transparent lie 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 sombrely engaged in 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 realising 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.

“When would you like to leave?” Theresa sighed softly; she really didn’t want him trailing after her while she tried to figure out a way to buy home pregnancy tests without him noticing. Sandro would
never
miss that.

“I really
do
have some stuff to take care of, Theresa,” he said seriously, seeming to read her mind. “I’ll leave you in relative peace.” She chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully, not missing how his eyes flared when her tongue darted out to soothe the sting of her teeth where she had accidentally bitten too hard.

“Okay… give me an hour to get ready,” to shower, get dressed, throw up and such… He nodded.

He was as good as his word and mostly left her alone to listlessly browse around the upmarket boutiques in the very high end shopping mall that he had driven her to. She had the first ten minutes away from him to buy the pregnancy kits, six of them, all different brands (who knew there were so many choices available?), just in case he changed his mind about leaving her alone but surprisingly he did nothing but constantly call or text her to be sure she was okay and didn’t need him but that got rather tedious after the tenth text message in forty minutes and the fifth call in an hour and a half. In the end, she simply told him she was done shopping and he suggested they meet up and head to a restaurant for lunch.

The upscale restaurant was obviously one Sandro often patronised so, even though it was lunch time on a Saturday afternoon and the place was exceedingly popular, they were seated immediately. Theresa watched the staff fawn all over him and bitterly wondered if he had brought any other women here. The suspicion was confirmed, when the waiter turned to her with a slight smirk.

“And what will the lady be ordering today?” He asked in that supercilious manner that servers in upmarket restaurants often had.

“Your Caesar salad, no dressing, toast and water,” she ordered brusquely.

“And have you decided on a main course yet?” He asked with that annoying smirk.

“That would be it,” she responded shortly, his smug attitude was
really
grating on her nerves.

“Theresa,” Sandro leaned forward in concern. “You didn’t have breakfast; you need to eat something more substantial than just salad.”

“I’m really not that hungry,” she shrugged dismissively, handing the thick leather-bound menu back to the waiter. “Please just let it go.”

“If you’re on some crazy diet…”