The Unwanted Wife (19 page)

“He’s all quiet right now,” she rested her hand on her stomach. “I can’t believe I have to stay in
bed
for a week.”

“Yeah that’s a bit crap,” Lisa nodded sympathetically. “So glad I wasn’t confined to bed at any time during my pregnancy.”

“God, if only… she was like a little dynamo, I had to force her to slow down,” Rick recalled with a shudder.

“Do you think I could stay with you for the next week or so?” Theresa asked hesitantly and Rick and Lisa both frowned before nodding.

“Of course,” Lisa said. “But
why
?”

“Sandro’s going to Italy for a week and before this happened I had every intention of staying in my own home but…”

“If you think I’m going to Italy with you confined to bed, you can damned well think again,” Sandro’s gruff voice suddenly interrupted from the doorway and three heads swiveled towards him. He looked… strange. His hair was disheveled, his suit wrinkled and his tie loosened. He was also clutching a wilted bunch of flowers in one hand and gaily wrapped square box in the other. Added to that he had an incongruous bunch of foil helium balloons trailing behind him and it was the latter that caught and held everybody’s attention. They were colourful, some were downright garish and most of them either read Happy Birthday or Happy Anniversary and one woefully out of place dolphin had the legend “Yippee for SUMMER” emblazoned across its side, a very optimistic sentiment considering it was July and the middle of winter.

“Sandro, bro…” Rick managed in a voice that
barely
trembled with laughter. “Did you go raiding all the wards in the hospital for those?”

“These were all the seriously under-stocked gift shop had,” Sandro grumbled, obviously sensitive to Rick’s mockery, which raised Theresa’s brows because she had
never
heard her self-assured husband sound so defensive before.

“Thank you, Sandro,” she said before Rick could come back with anything else. “I love helium balloons.”

“I
know
you do,” he said fiercely… surging forward until he elbowed Rick aside and stood staring down at her intently. “I know that you like helium balloons and pink gerbera daisies. I know that you like truffles,” he shoved the gift-wrapped box, which probably contained truffles, and wilted pink daisies into her arms. “I do
know
things about you, Theresa. I’ve been learning.”

“Uhm…”
okay
? Right, so he remembered the conversation they’d had months ago when she’d accused him of knowing nothing about her and he’d obviously been paying attention during their evenings together but what on earth was he trying to prove with this? “Thank you.”

It was all she could think of to say and she saw both Rick and Lisa wince and watched Sandro’s shoulders droop slightly before he nodded.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered in a devastatingly unemotional voice, as he took a step back from the bed. “I’ve postponed my trip to Italy. I want to make sure that you get the rest you’re supposed to.”

“Okay,” she nodded.

“Good…” he seemed to be at a loss for a moment looking unsure of his next move, before he reached out to stroke one soft cheek. “Are you feeling better?”

“Fine,” she whispered. “A little tired.”

“Righty-o…” Rick sing-songed. “That’s our cue to vamoose…”

“Oh but I didn’t mean…” Theresa was appalled that they thought she was hinting that she wanted them to leave.

“No, you didn’t,” Lisa smiled don’t at her. “But you are
tired and you do need your rest. I’ll leave the clothes right here,” she dropped a small canvas bag onto the visitor’s chair. “Call if you need anything.”

After a flurry of hugs and kisses they were gone, leaving her grim-faced silent husband behind. Theresa sneaked a glance up at said grim-faced, silent husband and was suddenly attacked by a fit of irreverent giggles. Now that nobody was around to witness it she felt free to laugh at the image he presented. He looked like an underdressed, forlorn clown with those balloons clutched in his hand.

“What?” He asked, the grim façade melting away in the face of her amusement.

“It’s just… those
balloons
, Sandro…” she snorted, trying to control the giggles and his own, devastating grin lit up his face.

“I know, right?” He shook his head sadly as he tied the balloons to her bedpost. “A hospital without a single ‘get-well-soon’ balloon in sight. Craziness.”

“Thank you for them anyway. They always brighten up a room.”

“I remember you saying that when you talked about a friend’s tenth birthday party. You wanted some for your own…” but she hadn’t even had a party that year, much less balloons. She didn’t even
know
why she’d confessed that sorry tale to him. There was an awkward silence while he stood hovering at her bedside.

“You don’t have to stay, Sandro…” she whispered. “Why don’t you go into the office and get some work done? I am sure you have better things to do than hang around here.”

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” he gritted implacably. He reached over and took the truffles and flowers from her arms. Dumping the box on her bedside table and sticking the flowers into the half full plastic water canister that a nurse had left on the over bed table. He dragged up the chair that Lisa had recently abandoned, moving the bag to the floor and sitting down almost defiantly.

“Okay,” she was too tired to argue and truth be told, rather relieved to have him there. For a long time neither of them said anything, he leaned back in the uncomfortable looking chair and stared off into space, while Theresa lowered her lashes and watched him surreptitiously, marveling at his absolute stillness. He was usually filled with so much restless energy, always on the move, typing away at his laptop or fiddling with his BlackBerry or barking orders into the telephone and when he wasn’t doing anything work-related, he would swim endless laps or work out in their home gym. She had never seen him simply sitting down and staring off into the distance and it disturbed her in a way that she could not quite define.

“Do you think my father will come to see me?” Theresa broke the silence nearly half an hour later, having half-dozed in the interim. Sandro’s eyes met hers and he shook his head grimly.

“Highly unlikely, since he doesn’t know you’re here,” he shrugged and she gasped, struggling to sit up.

“But how could you not tell him?” She asked, rather offended on her father’s behalf. The man was a bully and a tyrant but he
was
her father.

“The doctor said you shouldn’t be upset and I can’t
quite
envision a visit from your father being anything other than stressful for you,” he said sarcastically. He was right, her father would antagonize Sandro, which would upset her and they would all wind up arguing. It was always the same. She sank back feeling depressed and sad and Sandro’s gaze gentled.

“I’ll call him if you want me to, Theresa,” he offered quietly and she shook her head, suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge to quite simply burst into tears again.

“You’re right, a visit from him wouldn’t be very pleasant,” she said in an alarmingly wobbly voice. “But I keep hoping…” She left the rest unspoken but he seemed to understand.

“I know,” he hesitantly reached for one of the limp hands resting on her stomach, engulfing it in both of his.

“I don’t know why he’s like that,” she kept her eyes averted. “All of my life, I tried so hard to make him love me but he never could. For a short while I thought I found what I was looking for, someone who could love me…” she was barely aware of what she was saying, her blurred gaze remained fixed on their joined hands. There was a long silence, while they both contemplated their entwined fingers and Sandro finally sighed heavily.

“Why don’t you take a little nap?” He suggested gently. “I’ll be here to keep an eye on things.” What things he thought he had to keep an eye on, she had no idea but just having him there made her feel better and she lay back with a contented sigh and was asleep almost immediately.

Chapter Eight

“You are an extremely difficult patient,
cara
,” Sandro gritted out from between his teeth three days later. It was mid-afternoon and he had walked into her workroom, only to find her guiltily standing in the middle of the room. She was clutching the sketchbook that she had crept upstairs to retrieve, to her chest.

“I was bored,” she whined. “So I thought if I had my sketchbook handy, I could work on some designs.”

“Why didn’t you call me or Phumsile to get it for you?”

“You were catching up on some work,” and he had missed enough of it already, taking the week off to stay with her. “And Phumsile has dashed out to do some shopping.”

“This is ridiculous,” he growled, reaching her in one stride and swinging her up into his strong arms as if she were a featherweight. “You’re being impossible. Why didn’t you watch some TV, or read a book or take a nap, or
anything
until Phumsile got back?”

“Because I’m bored
now
,” she complained sulkily and he muttered something in Italian beneath his breath.

“What does that mean?” She demanded to know and he slanted a wry sidelong glance at her before snorting softly.

“I said, ‘God save me from stubborn women’,” he obligingly translated and she scowled.

“I am not stubborn,” she insisted stubbornly and his gorgeous lips twitched in amusement.

“Of course not,” he shook his dark head in a most condescending manner, that Theresa immediately took exception to.

“And you don’t have to patronize me,” she seethed. “I’m not made of glass…”

“You’re just
spoiling
for a fight aren’t you?” He mused, his lips curling up slightly and she simply folded her arms over her chest and kept her gaze mutinously fixed on his strong jaw. He sighed dramatically and hoisted her further up against his chest before making his way downstairs. When they got back to her room he deposited her gently onto the side of her bed and stood staring down at her implacably with his hands shoved into the pockets of his navy blue cargo pants. She
loved
him in cargo pants, they rode low on his lean hips and certainly did wonderful things for his already gorgeous backside. Now, while he brooded above her, her mouth went dry at the picture of masculine perfection he presented in those pants and his favourite old t-shirt, a torn, stretched grey thing with a Batman emblem on the front. His hair was a mess and he was in serious need of a shave but he looked absolutely gorgeous and she was suddenly breathless with desire for him.

His eyes narrowed speculatively on her suddenly flushed face and he seemed to clue in to what was happening immediately, the corners of his lips tugged upward as he stretched suddenly, adding a jaw-popping yawn to the movement. His t-shirt rode up over his toned, ridged abdomen, revealing his smooth bronze skin and Theresa nearly groaned out loud as she squelched the urge to reach out and stroke the satiny skin on display just inches from her face. The elaborate stretch finally ended and he groaned as he rolled his head on his shoulders, working the kinks out of his neck.

“I’m exhausted,” he informed her huskily, sinking down beside her and she hurriedly scooted closer to the headboard. He ignored the evasive movement and threw himself backward, lying down with his knees over the side of the bed and his feet braced on the floor. Once again his shirt had ridden up and Theresa stared at the tempting skin of his ripped torso mutely. He lifted his hands to cover his face, hitching the shirt up even further, and he sighed again. “Just let me rest here for a couple of minutes,
cara
. I need to recover my strength after hauling you down those stairs. You have put on a lot of weight over these last few months…” she was so captivated by the delectable picture he made, laid out like a buffet in front of a starving woman, that it took a moment for the words to sink in. When they did, she yelped in outrage and thumped his hard bicep in response. His mouth, the only part of his face that she could see beneath his hands, shifted into a lazy smile.

“You hit like a girl,” he smirked, keeping his eyes covered and she attempted to hit him again, only he was ready for her this time and grabbed her clenched fist to tug her towards him until she was awkwardly sprawled on top of him. She tried to shift off him but his arm tightened like an iron band around her waist, keeping her in place with the barest of efforts.

“Let me go,” she demanded between clenched teeth, wriggling urgently as she tried to get away from him. To her frustration she could barely move and eventually she wore herself out and stopped moving. Her hands were braced on his hard broad chest as she tried to keep her upper body away from his, one of her feet was dangling over the side of the bed and the other was trapped between his legs. She glared down into his face but his eyes were closed and he looked so relaxed that for an implausible moment she actually believed that he might have fallen asleep. His eyelids lazily drifted up when she stopped moving.

“Just
relax
will you?” He implored wearily.

“I can’t relax like this,” she whispered and he groaned before, with seemingly
great
effort, he shifted until they were both lying in the middle of the large bed. He was on his back, his sock-clad feet, he had somehow managed to kick off his sneaker in the process, crossed at the ankles, with her stretched out beside him, one hard arm was wrapped around her waist and the other was curled up beneath his head. How he had managed to change their positions without once releasing her remained a mystery to her.