Authors: Natasha Anders
“You couldn’t?” She lifted her head from his shoulder to stare up into his grim face.
“Why do you think I insisted that we share a bed?” He pointed out. “That way, I didn’t have to go and find you when my need for you overrode all else.”
“Oh…” she responded stupidly.
“Yes… ‘oh’,” he nodded. “And despite all of my idiotic stratagems to keep intimacy between us to a minimum, remember I blamed you for this marriage as much as I did your father, I could never get enough of you.”
“Oh…” she muttered redundantly and his lips twitched into a little smile.
“That’s why I never slept with those women the tabloids kept pairing me up with,” he whispered, his long thumbs stroking back and forth across the satiny skin stretched over her high cheekbones.
“You really didn’t sleep with any of them?” She asked in a small, uncertain voice and he nodded, never shifting his eyes from hers, as if he could make her believe him through sheer force of will.
“Why would I? When I had
you
waiting for me at home,” he growled and she blinked back her tears, which threatened to overflow.
“Why should I believe you?” she finally asked.
“Why would I lie to you? I have nothing to gain from it, we’re getting divorced, going our separate ways in a few months’ time… right?” The last emerged a bit uncertainly and Theresa blinked at the unwelcome reminder.
“Right. Of course…” she nodded.
“So lying about this now would achieve nothing…” he shrugged.
“Thank you,” she wasn’t sure what she was thanking him for… telling the truth? Not sleeping with those women? All she knew was that she felt incredibly relieved because the public humiliation hurt so much less now that she knew the rumours of his many infidelities had been unfounded. She shut out the painful, lingering memory of the omnipresent Francesca and dropped her head back onto his shoulder. He stroked her narrow back gently, there was nothing sexual in their embrace anymore, just comfort and support which Theresa needed a lot more than the physical release she had been craving before.
“You must be starving,” he finally murmured into her hair, lifting his head to smile down into her eyes. “I’ll get us something to eat. We can have dinner and watch a movie in bed, okay?” She nodded and reluctantly allowed him to lift her from his lap. He dropped a sweet kiss on her head and left the bedroom with a gentle smile.
Chapter Nine
That day signaled a turning point in their rocky relationship, the peace remained and along with it a mutual, ever-deepening respect blossomed between them. Sandro consulted her on some of his business decisions, seeming to value her opinions and take her advice and, taking her cue from him, Theresa started asking for his opinions on some of her designs and developed a keen admiration for the eye he seemed to have for quality jewelry. With his encouragement she started attempting more difficult pieces using new mediums and she was pleasantly surprised with the results.
Life was better but by no means perfect, they still slept apart at Theresa’s insistence, and even though he still accompanied her to all of her doctor’s appointments and was even her coach at the natural childbirth classes she had started attending, Theresa hardly ever talked to him about the baby and did her utmost to discourage any discussion he may want to have about it. Lisa was meant to be her coach but her cousin had her hands full with Rhys and promised to be there for the birth but could not put in the time commitment at the classes. That, of course, meant that Sandro was nothing more than a temporary replacement which she knew grated on his ego. Francesca still loomed large between them and even though Theresa was careful never to mention the other woman’s name; she was never far from Theresa’s mind.
Sandro had gone to Italy a couple of times during the past three months and after compulsively checking the Internet for any news about him while he was away, she had finally found pictures of the two of them together, attending some glamorous function in Milan. She couldn’t read the Italian article but it had been an extensive four page spread on the event and Sandro and Francesca Delvecchio, as the captions had identified her, had been two of the most beautiful people there, so there had been at least a dozen pictures of them smiling, dancing and drinking. Sandro had looked so relaxed and happy with the statuesque, gorgeous brunette on his arm, that Theresa had been unable to stop staring at the pictures. That was how he should have looked on their wedding day, carefree and in love. Instead his face had looked like it would crack wide open if he so much as tilted his lips at the corners. It had physically hurt her to see those pictures but the one that had torn her apart had been of him, bending down to drop a kiss onto his Francesca’s full, pouting red lips. Never had she seen two more evenly matched people.
Theresa sighed and shook herself slightly, as she found herself thinking of that picture again. It had been more than a month since she’d seen it and she hadn’t mentioned it to Sandro, knowing that it would achieve little, especially with their separation looming less than three months away. She ran a gentle hand over the football sized mound of her stomach, trying to ease the restlessly moving baby beneath her touch. She had no right to be jealous… even though they had a much better relationship
now
than they’d had during the first year and a half of marriage, they were married in name only and would separate as soon as the baby was born.
She had started decorating the nursery and Sandro, who had thrown a fit one day when he’d returned from the office early to find her perched on a ladder attempting to paint the walls, had done the painting. She spent a great deal of time in the nursery, adding little touches here and there, often going out and shopping for furniture and toys. There really was very little left to do but she still kept adding little stuffed toys and tiny infant sized clothes. The colour scheme was cream and pale lilac. She had started out with blue but had come home from visiting Lisa one day to find that Sandro had changed to colour to something more “gender neutral” as he’d put it. She hadn’t protested it too much because she had found the new colour scheme soothing and prettier than the blue on white she’d had planned. She also found Sandro’s touches elsewhere in the nursery… he bought toys, girls’ toys. Stuffed dolls, teddy bears, toy ponies, anything a little girl’s heart could possibly desire. Theresa chose not to acknowledge them in any way and every time she came across one, usually insidiously hidden amongst the toys she had bought, she would relegate it to the corner furthest from the beautiful crib that they had selected together. There was a quite a collection forming in the area which she had dubbed Toy Siberia. She did not know
why
he kept buying those things and she refused to ask. He never mentioned the heap of toys that she had stowed in the corner, just kept doggedly adding more and more to the nursery.
Their two hours three times a week had branched out into a few hours every day. There was no longer a time limit on the amount of time they spent together because Theresa had stopped enforcing it once it became clear that Sandro was going to sneak a little time every day and it just became easier to pretend not to notice it. Theresa’s health continued to fluctuate, her pregnancy being a lot more difficult than she, Sandro or the doctor had ever anticipated. She had been diagnosed with pre-eclampsia the month before, Sandro had turned into a paranoid old woman about what she could and could not do. He had even stopped going into the office, working from home and hovering twenty-four/seven. She didn’t know how she would get through the final two months of her pregnancy without resorting to some form of violence because the man was driving her completely crazy.
Now she sat with her feet up, staring gloomily out at the rain pouring down outside. It was an unusually wet and miserable spring afternoon in October and Theresa had long ago abandoned her book in favour of her roiling thoughts. So absorbed was she in those thoughts that she didn’t hear Sandro come in and nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a large hand on her shoulder.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmured, bending down to drop a quick kiss onto the soft, exposed skin where her shoulder and neck met. “I called your name at least twice but you were totally wrapped up in your own little world.”
“I was just thinking…” she shrugged, her voice trailing off.
“About?”
“Everything… nothing,” another listless shrug.
“How are you feeling?” He asked, coming down on his haunches in front of her.
“I’m fine. A little tired…” He lifted a hand and gently traced one of her delicate cheekbones with his thumb before nimbly jumping to his feet and sitting down on the sofa next to her. Neither of them said anything for a while, they just listened to the rain and watched it cascading down the window like a waterfall.
“I want you to meet my father,” he suddenly announced unexpectedly and she froze before turning her head slowly to meet his brooding gaze.
“What?”
“My father…” he repeated and she bit her lip before clearing her throat uncertainly.
“I don’t know if that’s…” she began but he interrupted her before she could finish.
“His condition is deteriorating very quickly,” he said abruptly, his voice broke slightly as he said the words and his jaw clenched.
“Oh Sandro, I’m so sorry…” she whispered, her eyes going liquid with sympathy for him. “When’s your flight?”
“I’m not leaving,” he told her grimly and her eyes shadowed in confusion, before flaring as she realized
why
he refused to go and be with his father.
“Sandro,” her voice was so low it barely carried to the man who sat inches away from her. “You
can’t
stay because of me. You have to go and be with your family. Your place is with them right now.”
“
You’re
my family too, Theresa,” he suddenly snapped, a maelstrom of frustration and pain welling up in his eyes. “And I refuse to leave you here alone.”
“Hardly alone, Sandro…” she dismissed airily. “The staff, Lisa and Rick and even my
father
are here for me. Go home to your family…”
“This is where I have to be, this is where I’m staying. Stop arguing with me for God’s sake!” he growled.
“You are
not
going to blame me for this too, Sandro…” she fumed impotently, recognizing the stubborn tilt of his jaw and the steely resolution in his eyes and knowing that his mind was made up and he wouldn’t budge on the issue unless something drastic happened to change his mind. “The only reason you’re here now is because of my father and his corrupt little blackmailing scheme! My father and I have messed up your life and your family enough; don’t make it worse by staying here with
me
of all people, when the family you sacrificed your freedom for needs you the most.”
“Don’t you
ever
,” he suddenly seethed, grabbing and gripping her hand so tightly he cut off the circulation. “Lump yourself into the same category as your father again, Theresa, none of this is
your
fault and right now you need me too.”
“I do
not
need you,” she enunciated clearly. “I refuse to let you martyr yourself like this. Duty above all else… is that it? Long-suffering Sandro, always doing the right thing, always putting everybody else’s needs before his own. Always sacrificing his own happiness at the altar of familial obligation. I am not going to be your obligation, Sandro. I refuse… go be with your family!”
“You
are
my family, damn it! You, you,
you
!” He suddenly shouted in frustration and she jumped in fright, her jaw going slack as he leapt from the sofa to loom over her furiously. So rarely did Sandro lose his cool like this that Theresa simply stared up into his frustrated, wretched face in shocked silence. All the air suddenly seemed to leave his sails and his shoulders sagged as he dropped to his knees in front of her, bringing his eyes down to the same level as hers. “I want to be here with
you
… why is that so hard for you to understand?” His voice had dropped down to a whisper. His eyes suddenly,
shockingly
, filled with moisture which he made no attempt to hide from her and he muttered something in Italian, his voice thick with emotion. She bit her lip and shook her head.
“I don’t understand…” she whispered regretfully and he reached out a large hand to cup her cheek.
“My father is
dying
,
cara
,” he repeated in English, his voice absolutely wracked with emotion. “Please… I need you to just
not
fight with me right now.” She nodded and reached out with both hands to stroke his hair back from his broad, proud forehead. The gesture seemed to undo him and his face crumpled before he wrapped his strong arms around her thickened waist and buried his face in the mound of her stomach and Theresa curled her upper body protectively over his head as she whispered soothing little snippets of nothing into his hair.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to make this more difficult; I just thought that you were staying out of some misguided sense of honour and obligation. I would hate that, Sandro. I would hate for you to stay and then if the… the worst happened… you would blame
me
because you couldn’t be there at his side.”
“I know,” he murmured, finally lifting his head to look up at her, his face grim and carefully neutral, despite the roiling emotion she could see in his eyes. “And I can see why you would think that… I have blamed you for way too much in the past and treated you terribly but you
have
to believe me when I tell you that the last thing in the world I want to do anymore, is hurt you, Theresa.” She said nothing… knowing that even though it would not be intentional, he would still hurt her when he eventually left, when they divorced, when he married Francesca. All of those things were as inevitable as the sunset, they would happen and they would
devastate
her.