‘That’s not what I meant,’ she protested. ‘Your money is yours. You earned it, you’re the only one with a right to it. If you choose to share it with anyone then it’s that—a choice, not an obligation.’
‘You don’t think you’re entitled to a share of it as my wife?’
‘Of course not.’
His eyes burned intensely. ‘But say we were to go our separate ways, would you not be tempted to sue for a large share of it?’
‘No. And if I know you at all I would gamble my own money that you made me sign a prenup.’
For a brief moment his lips pulled together and his jaw tightened but then his features relaxed. ‘We married too quickly for that.’
‘So I’m not the only one who lost their marbles, then?’
That made her stomach settle a bit, knowing whatever madness had caught them in its grip to compel them to marry had been mutual. She’d always known Stefano had worked like a lion to build his fortune and enjoyed the fruits of his spoils like a sultan. Until that moment she’d thought she’d understood it but she’d underestimated him. The fight and grit it must have taken for him to build what he had was mind-blowing and her respect for him only grew.
Stefano finished his drink and smiled tightly. ‘I think we both went a little mad that day.’
It was an insanity he would never allow himself to fall into again.
Anna put her empty glass on the coffee table. ‘Has getting your revenge helped?’
‘Naturalmente.’
‘But has it helped you emotionally? You had such a lot to deal with...’
‘It’s over,’ he interrupted with a shrug. ‘I dealt with it at the time and moved on.’
‘That’s a lot to deal with and you were so young.’ Her pretty eyebrows rose disbelievingly. ‘I thought I’d been dealt a crummy hand but at least I’ve always had Melissa.’
Stefano flexed his fingers. He didn’t want her sympathy or attempts to delve into his mind.
Anna’s actions had hit him in a place his family had never reached.
‘We make our own luck and fortune, bellissima. The past stays where it is.’
‘I’m not so stupid that I don’t know my dad’s death and my mum’s desertion affected me,’ she said stubbornly.
‘Are you calling me stupid?’
‘Of course not. I’m just saying that I don’t see how your revenge could have been enough...’
‘It was more than enough.’ He could feel his ire rising. Anna was the only person who dared speak back to him. They could argue and shout at each other like a pair of wildcats.
Those arguments had always made him feel so alive even before the days when they’d settle cross words in bed.
‘We’ve had a long flight and you’re exhausted. Rest for a few hours and then I’ll order some food.’
She got to her feet and folded her arms across her chest. ‘Do you always brush me off like this now I’m your wife?’
‘I’m not brushing you off; it’s just not a subject worth wasting my breath on.’
Seeing her face turn mutinous, he forced a more conciliatory tone of voice. ‘Let’s not have an argument when we’ve only just arrived. Come, I’ll show you the rest of the house.’
* * *
Anna stepped into a bathroom on the second floor with an external wall made entirely of glass.
‘I’ve been in here before,’ she said, the words popping out of her mouth as that feeling of déjà vu hit her again, all residue of their almost-argument forgotten.
This memory was more than a feeling though. This one had substance.
She hurried to the glass wall and looked out.
Just as she’d known, the bathroom jutted out over the sunroom on the ground floor giving an immaculate view of the ocean and their strip of private beach.
Excited at this burst of memories, she faced him. ‘I remember this! This glass...you can’t see in from the outside, can you?’ She pointed to the free-standing bath. ‘I remember saying how brilliant it would be to have a bath in here and watch the ocean. I remember.’
‘I didn’t think a bath would act as a jogger,’ he said drily but with a stiff undertone that made her look at him.
He’d come to stand beside her. His face was inscrutable as he gazed out. ‘Are you remembering anything else?’
Her excitement diminished as more longed-for memories stayed stubbornly stuck in the void. ‘No.’
‘More will come. I don’t think it will be long.’
‘I hope so,’ she said fervently. ‘It’s so frustrating. You’re going to have to fill me in on everything about work if they don’t come back soon.’
‘Forget work.’ He gathered a lock of hair that had fallen onto a shoulder and smoothed it off her neck. ‘I don’t want you thinking about it until we return to London.’
‘I can decide for myself what I think, thank you.’
‘Your beautiful mind is one of the many things I adore about you.’ He placed his other hand on her neck and gazed down at her. ‘But all I want is for you to get better. I’m thinking of you, bellissima.’
‘I am better.’
‘Almost.’ He stepped closer and inhaled. ‘You’re almost there.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘DO YOU MISS ITALY?’ Anna asked some hours later. She’d had a three-hour nap in their four-poster bed, which even had muslin curtains, then a shower, and gone downstairs to find Stefano had ordered Italian takeaway for them.
Now they were sitting outside on the terrace, the roar of the Pacific their music.
‘I miss the food.’ He removed the lid of one large box to reveal a sharing platter of antipasti.
‘What about everything else?’
He thought about it. ‘I miss speaking my language.’
‘Your English and Swedish are excellent and your Japanese is pretty good too.’
‘Is not the same. When I speak my language I don’t think about the words before I say them. Is natural for me.’
‘Okay, so that’s the food and the language. Anything else?’
‘Our summers are better than in London.’
She gave him the stern look with one raised eyebrow that she’d often fixed him with when she’d worked for him.
‘I am Italian. I will always be Italian. It is in my blood and when I retire I will move back there.’
‘You? Retire?’
He laughed. ‘When I get to fifty I will stop working and enjoy what I have built for myself.’
She smiled. The soft hue of the patio lights lent her face an extra glow that only enhanced her natural beauty. If Stefano didn’t know of the poison that lay behind the beautiful façade, he would be entranced.
‘I can live with retiring in Italy.’
He made his lips curve. ‘You’ve said that before but I think you will find it hard not to have your sister on the doorstep.’
Her smile faded into a grimace, pain flashing in her eyes. ‘I think so too. I want to stay angry with her but it’s too hard. She’s my sister and whatever’s happened between us I still love her.’ She blew a puff of air out and shook her head. ‘I need to speak to her.’
‘You’ll be able to soon. She’s only away for a month. You two will sort it out, you always do.’ As close as the two sisters were, they often argued. Some days Anna would hear her phone ring, see Melissa’s name on it and say, ‘I’m not in the mood to talk to her,’ with a scowl. Other times they were quite capable of spending two hours on the phone, their conversations only coming to a close when one of their phone batteries ran out.
It came to him that when he went ahead with his plan to humiliate her at the awards ceremony she wouldn’t have her sister to turn to.
Before his conscience could start nagging at him about this, he opened the bottle of wine he’d placed on the table and poured himself a healthy glass.
Anna stared from him to her own glass and the jug of iced water he’d put beside it, her nose wrinkling.
With equal
parts amusement and irritation, he watched her pour herself some wine.
‘You shouldn’t be drinking.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘One glass isn’t going to kill me.’
‘You have to be the worst-behaved patient.’
‘You’ve lived with me for a year. That shouldn’t be news to you.’ She took a chunk of focaccia and dipped it in the pinzimonio before popping it into her mouth whole and devouring it with relish.
It was the first time she’d eaten anything with enthusiasm since her injury.
Suddenly he remembered all the meals they’d shared together and her love of good food. Anna had an appetite that belied her petite figure. This wasn’t the first sharing platter they’d had between them, and when she picked up a tooth pick to swipe the largest bite of Parmigiano Reggiano before he could take it, the boulder that had been lodged in his throat settled in his chest.
‘I’ve never known you to be ill before,’ he said.
‘Melissa says it’s like caring for an adolescent toddler.’
He laughed at the mental image this provoked.
‘I haven’t taken a painkiller all day,’ she pointed out. ‘And speaking of sisters, you never did tell me how yours found you. Her name’s Christina?’
‘Sì. Christina. She reached out to me when our father died.’
‘So your father was alive all this time?’
He nodded with a grimace. ‘All those years I thought he was dead he was living in Naples, not even a two-hour drive away. I even had his name wrong—I always believed he was called Marco but it was Mario.’
‘How awful.’ Her hazel eyes were dark with the same empathy he’d seen in them earlier. ‘He was so near to you all that time? Didn’t he want to see you?’
‘He wasn’t allowed.’ There was little point in evading the subject. Anna had that look about her that meant she would chip away until she had all the answers she desired. It was what made her so good at her job: that refusal to leave any stone unturned. ‘My nonno paid him to leave Lazio before I was born. He blamed him for my mother’s addiction. My father took the money and ran, then he grew up and got himself straight, got a job and a place to live. He tried to get in touch with my mother and learned she had died. Nonno didn’t trust him and told him to stay away from me. Rightly or wrongly, he agreed. He didn’t trust himself any more than Nonno did but he did stay clean, met another woman and had a child with her—Christina. His wife encouraged him to get in touch with me directly but by then Nonno had died and I’d been kicked out by the rest of my family and living on the streets. He couldn’t find me.’
‘But he looked?’
‘He looked, sì, but at that time I often used different names and I never gave my real age. He was searching for someone that didn’t exist.’
‘What about when you started to make a success of yourself?’ she asked with wide eyes. ‘Did he not realise it was you, his son?’
‘He knew,’ Stefano confirmed grimly. ‘But he thought I wouldn’t want to see him; that I would think he only wanted to claim me as his son to get some of my fortune.’
All those years he’d blithely assumed his father was a no-good junkie who didn’t want him. But he had wanted him. His father had wanted to put things right. And now it was too late and he would never know him and never be able to tell him that he forgave him. His parents had been little more than children when they’d conceived him, and immature, addicted children at that.
While they’d been talking, they’d cleared the antipasti so all that remained were the pickled vegetables neither of them particularly liked.
‘My father left me this watch.’ He rolled his sleeve up to show it to her.
She looked at it with a pained expression, taking in the shabbiness of the leather strap and the scratches on the glass, then looked back at him. Her smile was tender. ‘At least he died knowing you’d made a success of yourself. That must have given him comfort.’
He nodded and took the lids off their main courses, biting back the sudden anger that rushed through him that she could act so supportive now, when her platitudes were worthless.
Christina had given him a letter written by their father. He’d said Stefano had made him proud.
He’d never made anyone proud before.
He served the linguine con le vongole onto Anna’s plate. She beamed. ‘That’s my favourite.’
‘I know.’ He served his lemon sole onto his own plate and took a bite.
Anna, who was a real pasta lover, twisted some linguini onto her fork, stabbed a clam, and asked, ‘When did you learn all this?’ before popping it into her mouth.
‘A month ago.’
He’d learned the truth about his father while Anna was away with Melissa in Paris, the night before she’d flown back early and stormed into his boardroom to accuse him of having an affair. And he’d thought treating Anna and her sister to a few days away together would be a good thing!
She’d called and left a message but he’d spent most of the night with Christina, talking and steadily making their way through numerous bottles of wine. He hadn’t seen Anna’s message until he’d gone to bed at four in the morning; too late to call her back. Then, with hardly any sleep, he’d had to get his heavy head to the office, leaving his new-found sister in the apartment.
While he’d been reeling over the discovery of a grown-up sister and a father who had wanted him, Anna had flown home early with the sole intention of catching him with another. Why else would she have come back, armed with accusations, without leaving a message of warning?
He’d been fool enough to think she cared when all she’d ever wanted from him was his money.
They ate in silence for a while before she asked, ‘What’s Christina like?’
‘Very young, not long turned twenty but young for her age and very sheltered.’ He pushed his dark thoughts about his beautiful wife to one side and smiled wryly. ‘Reading between the lines, our father was afraid to let her out of his sight in case he lost her as he lost me. But we’re building a relationship.’
‘Has she been staying with us?’
‘No.’ Anna, damn her, was the only person he’d ever been able to stomach living with. ‘I’ve rented a flat for her in London and she’s doing some work experience at the office.’
‘She doesn’t have a job?’
‘She’d just started her second year at university when our father was diagnosed with cancer. They thought they had more time so she arranged with the university to take the year off and return next September. Until then, she’s going to stay in London and work for me and improve her English.’
‘What about her mother?’
‘She’s in Naples but will be coming to London at Christmas.’ Seeing Anna open her mouth to ask another question, he said, ‘How’s your meal?’
As with the rest of his life he had no qualms about discussing it but Anna had this way of listening that made him want to talk about more than the facts, to lay bare everything living under his skin.
It was an unburdening he’d fought to escape from in their marriage and he was damned if he would do it now when their relationship was days away from being over for good. The only unburdening he wanted from her was her clothes.
Anna was ripe for seduction, just as he wanted.
If he took her into his arms there would be only the slightest resistance. He could see it in the eyes that undressed him with every hungry look.
But something still held him back from acting on it. Whether it was the hint of vulnerability that still lingered in her eyes or the wine she’d been drinking when she really shouldn’t so soon after her concussion he couldn’t say, but, either way, not even his deplorable conscience would allow him to act on his desire yet. When he made love to her again he wanted to be certain that it was the Anna he’d married he was making love to. The vulnerability was almost gone. Almost. And when he was certain she was as well as she could be then, and only then, would he seduce her into an ecstasy she wou
ld remember for the rest of her life.
‘It’s beautiful, thank you.’
He raised his glass. ‘Salute.’
‘What are we drinking to?’
‘To us. You and me, and a marriage you will remember for ever.’
* * *
Anna’s belly was comfortably full. It was the only comfortable part of her anatomy.
They’d long finished their meal and the bottle of wine and now sat, Stefano’s eyes burning into her while she waited almost breathlessly for him to suggest they go to bed.
Heat flowed through her veins as her imagination ran amok wondering what it would be like, what it would feel like, to be made love to by him. To have that hard, naked chest she pictured every time she closed her eyes pressed against hers...
‘Earth to Anna,’ he said, elbow on the table, cheek resting on his hand, a gleam in his eyes that made her wonder if during their marriage he’d developed the power to read her thoughts. ‘What are you thinking that makes your eyes glaze over like that?’
He flirted with her, he was tactile, he left her in no doubt he couldn’t wait to bed her again...but so far he’d made no real move on her.
Was he waiting for her assent?
When she’d woken up three mornings ago feeling as if she might die, she’d had no idea that she was married. No idea that she’d shared a bed and her body with someone, let alone him.
Stefano was the only man she’d ever fantasised about. The only man she’d ever wanted. Her brain might not remember what he did to her but her body did. It ached for him with an intensity that made her bones liquefy.
And she was married to him! At some point in her past she’d found the courage to confirm her desire for him, both in words and deed.
She took a breath and looked him right in the eye. ‘I was thinking that it’s time for bed.’
He returned her gaze then slowly nodded. ‘Go ahead. I’ll join you later.’
She wasn’t quick enough to hide her dismay. ‘Aren’t you coming with me?’
His eyes flashed before he closed them and inhaled slowly. ‘I’m not tired enough to sleep yet.’
But she didn’t want to sleep and she was damned sure he knew that.
Once a Moretti Wife Page 7