The Proud Wife (16 page)

Once again Marina knew it was her cue to speak. She couldn't say the other word, couldn't let him even consider the possibility of ‘if not'. The fact that he had
asked
her to believe him, that he had not demanded, that he had not insisted she take his word no matter what, only added to the conviction deep inside her. It only made it even more vital that she told him the absolute truth.

The memory of his face in the little cottage of Casalina when she had said she could forgive him pushed an added intensity into that need. He had been icily resolute, convinced he was doing the only right thing. But underneath had been a hurt he had fought so hard to hide. She had prayed for a chance to wipe away that pain if she could; she wasn't going to turn away from it now when it was in her grasp.

‘I can,' she managed, her voice croaking, cracking on the words. Then, because that wasn't good enough, because she needed him to know that it was the truth and nothing but, she cleared her throat and spoke again, more strongly
this time and with absolute conviction. ‘I can. I should have done so from the start. I should have turned to you—given you the benefit of the doubt. You were my husband and you had vowed to care for me for better or for worse. I should have known you were the sort of man to whom those vows mattered. A man who meant to keep them when he made them.'

She knew the effect she was having on the man before her as she saw the light fade from his eyes to be replaced with a deep, burning darkness that communicated on the most basic, most honest level without any need of words. If only she could have connected with him in this way in the past. She had been able to do that at first. She had lost her way with the loss of the baby.

‘But I was lost and afraid—I was sure that you had only ever married me for the baby.'

‘The fact that you were expecting our child might have rushed me into proposing before I even knew that that was what I wanted, but it would have come some time,' Pietro assured her, his tone deeper than ever. ‘How could it not have done? Once I met you I fell—hard and fast—and there was no coming back from that. The only way was forward—together.'

‘But we—'

She tried to get the words out but Pietro suddenly leaned forward and laid a restraining finger across her lips. It was gentle, barely a touch, but the shock of the quiet contact, together with the warmth and the scent of his skin so very close, silenced her instantly, holding her frozen into stillness.

‘If we had not made the baby so early in our relationship then one day I would have asked you to marry me anyway. I could never have let you go out of my life once I had you there.'

‘I should have talked…' Marina began uncertainly, the movements of her lips like the tiniest of kisses against his skin. ‘But you were a prince—and I didn't know how a princess behaved! There was that huge house, the paparazzi…'

‘My mother?' Pietro added dryly. ‘I should have talked to you too. And at the very least come after you. Instead I sat in the
palazzo
and issued commands. I ordered you to come back or forget about the marriage. I am afraid that I reverted to type.'

‘And what type is that?' Marina questioned, the tiny beginnings of hope bubbling up inside her, making her voice jerky and uneven.

His eyes met hers without resistance or hesitation.

‘Il Principe D'Inzeo,' he told her wryly. ‘With all the arrogance and bone-headed stupidity of my ancestors. You had walked out on me, and D'Inzeo wives did not walk out on their husbands. I thought you had only done that to test me—to see if I would come after you. And I thought I could click my fingers and demand you come back to me. When you didn't, I believed that that proved you had only married me for my money and position.'

‘But that had nothing—'

‘I know. I knew that all the time, really. I just was too angry, too stubborn, to ever admit it. And the longer I waited for you to come back, the angrier I became, until in the end I issued an ultimatum: come back or divorce.'

His laughter was surprisingly soft, decidedly shame-faced.

‘But even that was really an admission that I could not live without you. That I wanted you back in my life and I would do whatever it took to get you there. The minute you walked into that room, it was as if you had been keeping my life on hold and you had brought it back with you. I came
alive again in that moment. My eyes opened up, my heart started beating. I had heard that there was Stuart…'

‘Stuart is just a friend,' Marina put in hastily, knowing she didn't really have to say it.

‘Stuart was just an
excuse
,' Pietro acknowledged. ‘A reason to get you back to Sicily. To make you see what we had had, what we were losing. Why else do you think I made sure the divorce was set in motion before we had been separated for two years?'

I did not wish to drift towards a divorce without thought, without making a decision
.

‘Not with a bang but a whimper,' Marina whispered, recalling the conversation in his car, the way he had said those words.

‘And that is why I am here today.'

Not quite two years…

‘But it's not our anniversary.'

Pietro's smile told her he understood the question behind her words.

‘Not of the day we married, no. But it is the anniversary of the day I asked you to marry me.'

The day she had first told him she was pregnant. This time Marina let her hands slip from lying on her knees to curve around her stomach, cradling the spot where the brand-new life had started to grow. It was almost time to tell him. And, instead of the fear and uncertainty she had worried would come with that announcement, there was now a growing sense of joy, of deep-felt happiness. But first…

Her eyes went to the document case that still lay on the coffee table, the one he had brought in but never opened. Unzipping it hastily, she saw at a glance that it contained the divorce papers—the same papers she had once taken such satisfaction in throwing in his face. Now, knowing
how they had really been a sign of his love when he had determined to set her free, she would find a very different sort of delight in dealing with them another way.

Snatching up the statements, she ripped the papers roughly in half and then in half again, tossing the pieces in the vague direction of the waste bin, heedless of where they landed. She wouldn't have been able to see the place she was aiming for anyway. Her eyes were flooded with tears, hot, burning tears of shame that she had never believed in him, never even given him a chance to try to explain. She had taken flight, convinced of his guilt without sparing a thought for any other possible explanation.

‘We made such a mess of things…' she began, but suddenly his hand was over her mouth again, warm and firm and crushing back the shaken, abject apology she was trying to give him.

‘Don't say it,' he said softly. ‘We don't need it. We're here now. We can begin again. That's all that matters. And so…'

To her amazement Pietro moved suddenly, dropping down onto the carpet until he was kneeling at the floor at her side. Taking her hand in his, he looked up into her face, his eyes deep and dark with a sincerity she could drown in.

‘Marina, my love, my heart—my life. You are the one woman I want, the only woman I need. You are truly the only woman I have ever loved and can ever love. I may have lost my way for a while but I know I've found it again now. And the only path through life I want to follow is one with you at my side. Will you come back to me and take your rightful place as my wife, my princess—my love?'

‘Pietro…'

Her voice cracked and broke on his name, and she saw his faint smile at the sound of it. Gently he touched her
finger where the wedding ring she couldn't bear to take off still lay and, lifting it to his mouth, he pressed a soft kiss against the gleaming metal.

‘I'm almost afraid to ask for your love, but the fact that—
grazie Dio
—you still wear my ring gives me hope that there's a chance.'

‘Afraid!'

She couldn't let him continue. Couldn't let this man she adored, the man who had never in his life before admitted to being afraid of anything, doubt the way she felt about him for a second longer.

Bending her head, she pressed a swift, ardent kiss against his mouth, crushing the words back before he could utter them.

‘You have nothing to be afraid of, my love—my husband,' she assured him. ‘Nothing to fear and everything to look forward to. Yes, I'll come back to you. Yes, I'll be your wife, your princess. But, most of all, yes—yes, I'll be your love if you'll be mine—for the rest of our lives.'

She had barely got the words out before he was on his feet, gathering her up into his arms and crushing her tight against him as his mouth claimed hers with the heat of passion and the fervency of pure, unconstrained, devoted love.

It seemed an age or a lifetime before she could breathe again, or think. But at long, long last he released her, tilting her head back so he could look deep into her eyes as he cradled her face in both his hands.

‘And perhaps one day,' he said, his voice rough and raw with the emotion that he still barely had under control, ‘if you want it, perhaps one day we'll have children—a family to fill that great, gloomy
palazzo
with voices and laughter. A family to turn it into a home.'

‘A home.' Marina nodded, smiling. ‘And a family…'

Now at last the time was perfect. She couldn't wait any longer; she just had to share. ‘Pietro, love, about that family—I still haven't told you exactly why I was—'

Emotion choked her throat so that she could only wave a hand in the direction of the suitcase that still stood beside the door, her ticket for Sicily lying on top of it.

‘Why you were coming to Sicily?'

‘Why I was coming to
you
,' she told him, and saw from the darkness of his eyes that he had registered her emphasis on that last word, and exactly how much it meant to him.

‘Tell me why.' It was just a breath, barely a sound, it meant so much to him.

‘I couldn't go anywhere else. To anyone else. I'm pregnant, Pietro. That night in Casalina, we made another baby.

‘A baby.' Pietro's gaze dropped to her abdomen then swung back up to her face. It was like seeing the sun rise over the horizon as his expression lit up, seeming to glow from within. ‘When did you know?'

‘For sure? Only today. The doctor confirmed it this morning. But I managed to get a ticket on a late evening flight.'

‘You were coming to me.'

‘Of course.' Marina reached out a hand to touch his cheek, feeling the strong muscles move under her palm as he smiled his joy straight into her face. ‘Where else would I go other than to my baby's father? Who else would I want with me in the future—just in case…?' Her tongue tangled on the words as a frisson of apprehension closed her throat.

‘No.'

This time Pietro stopped her mouth with a gentle kiss. A kiss of love and trust. A promise of support and strength, giving now and for the future, whatever that might bring.

‘No. It won't happen again,' he whispered against her lips. ‘It won't. And if—
caro Dio
, I pray not—but if it did I will be there with you every step of the way, every moment of the day or the night. For better, for worse. Whenever you need me, I'll be there.'

‘No more locked doors.' She gave him her own heartfelt promise.

Marina pressed her own kisses against his mouth, feeling her blood start to heat in her veins, her heart thudding with a wonderful blend of relief, joy and sheer, blind happiness.

‘If you hadn't come to me here,' she told him, ‘then I would have come to you. I would have come to apologise for my weakness, my lack of trust in your love. When it came down to it, I didn't need any proof. If I had any doubts then the moment I even suspected I was pregnant I knew. I knew that I could only ever believe in my husband—in the father of my child. I knew I could trust myself and our baby to you—to the only man I have ever loved.'

‘I will keep you safe,' Pietro promised as he gathered her close, and she lifted her face to his for another kiss. ‘I promise I will keep you and our baby safe for the rest of our lives.'