Authors: Natasha Anders
“No,” Theresa insisted adamantly one night, during one of their aggressive Scrabble games, they were sitting on the floor with the board placed on the low coffee table between them. “I totally challenge that word!
Lexiquon
is
not
a word, Sandro and you
know
it.”
“Of course it is,” he nodded blithely. “You’re challenging it because you don’t want me to have the bonus points and the two triple word scores!”
“Of course I don’t,” she agreed scathingly. “Two hundred and seventy-five points for a made up word?
Never
going to happen! I’m not running a charity here...” he grinned boyishly at that and she averted her eyes, trying very hard not to be charmed by him. Finally he grumbled good-naturedly and removed his tiles from the board.
“Maybe it’s a
French
word,” he muttered defensively and she rolled her eyes.
“Well, feel free to use it the next time you play a Frenchman!” He laughed outright at that and she caught her breath at the carefree sound. Every day he relaxed more and more around her and she often sensed that he wanted to extend their time together. He contemplated the board again, stroking his slightly stubbled jaw thoughtfully as he considered his next move. Eventually he settled on “eel” which was so badly placed it that was worth only three points and she snorted disdainfully, while taking down his points. She smiled sweetly up at him, before pointing out the free “t” which he could have used for the word “exit” before gleefully using that “t” for her own word, making use of the conveniently situated triple word score in the process and amassing a handy thirty-nine points for her “smithy”.
“What
is
this word?” He growled. “Names aren’t allowed!” She couldn’t help but giggle at his outrage before whipping out a definition of the word for him. He glared down at the dictionary before grumbling to himself in Italian again and going back to studying the board. Theresa smiled slightly to herself, noting the way his hair had slid forward over his forehead and just dying to brush it back, she hid her hands beneath the table and clenched her fists to quell the unreasonable impulse.
“I know that it’s early days yet but I’ve been thinking about decorating the nursery,” she said just to get her mind off of her crazy desire to touch him. Her words caught his attention and he looked up with an unguarded smile.
“That’s a terrific idea,” he nodded eagerly. “We could go shopping for furniture and toys, I saw this
huge
panda bear at a toy shop a week ago that would be perfect for a baby.” His enthusiastic response completely threw her and she stared at him blankly for a few moments.
“A
toy
shop?” She finally asked and he went slightly red.
“There’s one... close to the office and I’ve been to it a couple of times during my lunch hour,” he finally,
very
reluctantly, admitted. “Just to see what kind of toys and things babies need these days.”
Theresa had no clue how she was supposed to respond to that. Should she be concerned that he seemed to be taking more than a casual interest in the baby or should she be pleased? And how on earth was she supposed to react to his assumption that they would be decorating the nursery
together
?
Her emotions were in such turmoil that in the end, she simply said nothing... shoving it aside to be processed later. Sandro, sensing the shift in her mood and seeming to realise that he’d said too much lapsed into an uncomfortable silence and toyed with one of his tiles.
“I’m feeling a little tired. I may just head up to bed,” she suddenly said and he looked up in resentment.
“I still have an hour left,” he pointed out bitterly and she bit her lip nervously.
“Yes, you do,” she finally said and gestured toward the board. “It’s your move.” His eyes glimmered with some indefinable emotion before he shook his head and got up.
“You’re not my prisoner, Theresa, if you’re tired go to bed,” he said wearily, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tailored business suit trousers and totally ruining the cut of the expensive garment.
“Far be it from me to renege on a bargain,” she maintained, remaining stubbornly seated, even though she would have liked nothing better than to flee.
“You’re being so goddamned childish,” he seethed and turned to leave the room before she had a chance to retaliate. She sat there for a few minutes before she realised that he really wasn’t coming back. It was the first time in more than a month that they’d had any kind of serious dispute and Theresa regretted that, knowing that she
had
been childish, because she hadn’t known of any other way to deal with her emotions. She sighed, acknowledging that she needed to apologise to him and pushed herself up off of the plush heated carpet, thinking that it was best to get it over with as soon as possible.
She headed toward his study and as she approached the slightly ajar door, she realised that he was speaking to someone in a low voice. Not wanting to intrude on his telephone call, her steps slowed slightly and she turned around to head toward the kitchen for a small snack. She was just about to walk away when she heard him groan huskily, before saying, “Francesca...” in the most agonised voice she had ever heard from him. The single word was filled with so much yearning and pain that it froze Theresa in her tracks. Sandro was still talking in that low voice, his words, which were in Italian, sounding more urgent now. Theresa took a step back towards the study and the open door and his voice became slightly clearer, even though he was murmuring intimately.
“Francesca,
cara
...” were two of the incriminating words she could understand amidst the torrent of Italian and she bit her lip uncertainly, not sure if he was talking
to
Francesca or about Francesca. God, why hadn’t she learned more Italian? Right now she understood just enough to make her miserable with jealousy and pain. After hearing the woman’s name, for the first time so many months ago, Theresa had tried to put her out of her mind... knowing nothing about her, it had seemed wisest not to speculate for fear of having her imagination run wild. Now, she wished she had done some research on this Francesca, even though having only one name to go on would have made it difficult and Theresa hadn’t been
about
to ask her father or Sandro for details about the mystery woman.
Sandro was obviously oblivious to her presence outside his study door as he continued his low-voiced conversation and Theresa understood only a few random words that meant little to her. He kept using endearments though;
those
she knew very well because he’d frequently resorted to them while having sex with her. She had often wondered if that had been his way of de-personalising the act even further since he had rarely used her name during their most intimate moments. She hovered outside her husband’s study door, much like she had been hovering on the outskirts of his life for nearly two years, before turning away and heading back upstairs. She had showered, changed for bed and had long since turned off her bedroom lights when she finally heard his heavy tread on the staircase. She held her breath when he paused, as he
always
did, outside her door but instead of feeling the usual relief when he moved on a few moments later, this time Theresa turned her face into her pillow and cried herself to sleep.
Chapter Seven
“I won’t be able to go to the doctor with you today, Theresa,” Sandro informed Theresa while they were breakfasting in the dining room the following morning. She would
never
have admitted it but she had really been relying on having him there that day. She was in her sixteenth week of pregnancy and had been scheduled for a precautionary amniocentesis that day. Because of her previous miscarriage, her doctor wanted to take no chances. She was a nervous wreck about the procedure and even though she knew the risks of complications were very low, they were still there. Also even though her logical mind told her that her baby would be fine she was still dreading the possible outcome of the test. Sandro had been a rock during her first ultrasound the month before, holding her hand while he listened to the
whooshing
sound of their baby’s heartbeat for the first time and squeezing it tightly when they had caught sight of the fragile fluttering on the black and white monitor. It had been too early to tell the baby’s sex but Theresa was confident that it was a boy and had said so. Sandro had remained quiet during the entire procedure but he had been a comfort to her.
“Why not?” She asked casually.
“I have to go to Italy next week and I have a lot to finish at the office before I leave,” he informed her tightly and she lowered her eyes back to her plate.
“Is your father okay?” She asked softly and he hesitated before responding.
“Yes. My visit is unrelated to any family business,” she shut her eyes in pain, suddenly
knowing
that he was going because of that phone call last night.
“Okay,” she nodded, battling to sound nonchalant about it. “It’s just... I’m getting the amniocentesis today.” He swore quietly beneath his breath.
“I’m sorry, Theresa,” he murmured, seeming almost stricken by the news. “I completely forgot.”
And
that
, of course, brought the major problem with their marriage into sharp relief. While
she
had been worrying about the procedure, stressing about possible complications, terrified of the slight risk of miscarriage it presented and suffering through sleepless nights thinking about the birth or genetic defects the results could reveal, her
husband
had simply forgotten about the test. And this just when she had started to rely on him to
be
there for her. Of course, she would never reveal just how much she had depended on having his solid, stoically silent presence there so she shrugged carelessly.
“I’m sure Lisa will go with me,” she nodded firmly and his eyes shone with naked relief.
“That’s a great idea...” he nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll be at your next appointment. I’ll only be gone for a week or so. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“I’ll be fine,” she dismissed airily, digging into her scrambled eggs like someone who didn’t have a care in the world. There was an awkward silence, while he watched her eat but Theresa very determinedly kept her head down while she scooped the eggs into her mouth with as much gusto as she could manage without choking.
“I don’t want you to be alone while I’m gone,” he suddenly breached the uncomfortable silence and Theresa frowned at his words, looking up at him with her laden fork lifted halfway to her mouth.
“I won’t be alone, Rick and Lisa are always around and the staff are ever present,” as if to prove her words, the smiling housekeeper entered the room with a pile of pancakes which she placed in front of Theresa with a speaking look. Phumsile, who was in charge of all the domestic staff, made no secret of the fact that she thought Theresa was way too skinny for a pregnant woman and had taken it upon herself to ensure that Theresa ate healthily. Theresa secretly suspected the older woman of being in cahoots with Sandro and had even accused Sandro of such. He’d merely laughed and refused to comment. Phumsile disappeared back into the kitchen and Sandro sighed impatiently.
“That’s not enough,” he muttered. “I want you to stay with your cousin.”
“No.” She simply went back to her eggs, helping herself to a pancake, not wanting to incur Phumsile’s wrath. The silence seethed from the other end of the table.
“I insist.”
“No.” She didn’t even bother meeting his eyes this time.
“Theresa, you’re being very difficult,” he kept his voice level and patient.
“And
you
’
re
being unreasonable,” she suddenly snapped, glaring at him furiously. “Rick and Lisa have a new baby. I will visit them regularly and I have no doubt they will come around here but for me to
stay
there? That’s just ridiculous. I won’t intrude and I don’t need a minder; I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“What if something goes wrong? What if you need help in the middle of the night and no-one’s around?”
“Why don’t you just
stay
home if you’re so concerned?” She retorted furiously and immediately wished the words back when his gaze turned speculative.
“Would you like me to stay home?” He asked quietly.
“It makes no difference what I want,” came her mutinous response.
“Of course it does,” he placated gently. “I’d stay if you wanted me to.”
“What about your
important
business?” She asked sarcastically.
“You’re more important,” he said softly.
“You mean the
baby
I’m carrying is more important?” she corrected and his jaw clenched.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” he maintained patiently and she blinked before shaking her head.
“You’re trying to confuse me,” she complained frowning at him and he grinned.
“Not at all, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’m just trying to be honest with you.”
“Well, stop it, I don’t believe anything you say anymore,” she hissed, pushing herself away from the table and he sighed getting up as well.