A Marriage Fit for a Sinner

by Maya Blake

  Zaccheo led her down the steps. He didn’t speak, but his concerned gaze probed her.

  The island seemed twice as crowded by the time they descended the hill. The midday sun blazed high and sweat trickled down her neck as they navigated human traffic on the main promenade. When Zaccheo steered her to a restaurant advertising fresh seafood, Eva didn’t complain.

  Samba music blared from the speakers, thankfully negating the need for conversation. Sadly it didn’t free her from her thoughts, not even when, after ordering their food, Zaccheo moved his chair closer, tugged her into his side and trailed his hand soothingly through her hair.

  It was their last day in Rio. Possibly their last as husband and wife. Her soul mourned what she shouldn’t have craved.

  Unbearable agony ripped through her. She’d been living in a fool’s paradise. Especially since she’d told herself it wouldn’t matter how much time passed without her telling Zaccheo.

  It mattered very much. She’d heard his pain when he’d recounted his bleak childhood. With each day that had passed without her telling him she couldn’t help him realise his dream, she’d eroded any hope that he would understand why she’d kept her secret from him.

  A moan ripped from her throat and she swayed in her seat. Zaccheo tilted her face to his and she read the worry in his eyes.

  ‘Do you feel better?’

  ‘Yes, much better.’

  ‘Bene, then perhaps you’d like to tell me what’s going on?’ he asked.

  She jerked away, her heart hammering. ‘I got a little light-headed, that’s all.’

  His frown returned and Eva held her breath. She was saved when Romeo entered. ‘Everything all right?’ he asked.

  Romeo’s glance darted to her. The knowledge in his eyes froze her insides, but he said nothing, directing his gaze back to his friend.

  Zaccheo nodded. ‘Sì. We’ll see you back at Paraíso.’

  The moment he left, Zaccheo lowered his head and kissed her, not the hungry devouring that tended to overtake them whenever they were this close, but a gentle, reverent kiss.

  In that moment, Eva knew she’d fallen in love with him.

  And that she would lose the will to live the moment she walked away from him.

  Their food arrived and they ate. She refused coffee and the slice of chocotorta the waiter temptingly offered. Zaccheo ordered an espresso, shooting her another concerned glance. Praying he wouldn’t press her to reveal what was wrong just yet, she laid her head on his shoulder and buried her face in his throat, selfishly relishing the moment. She would never get a moment like this once they returned to Casa do Paraíso. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and agony moved through her like a living entity.

  You brought this on yourself. No use crying now.

  She started as the group they’d met on their exit from the museum entered the restaurant. Within minutes, someone had started the karaoke machine. The first attempt, sung atrociously to loud jeers, finished as the waiter returned with Zaccheo’s espresso.

  Eva straightened in her seat, watching the group absently as each member refused to take the mic. The leader cast his eyes around the room, met Eva’s gaze and made a beeline for her.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head when he reached her and offered the mic.

  He clasped his hands together. ‘Por favor,’ he pleaded.

  She opened her mouth to refuse, then found herself swallowing her rebuttal. She glanced at Zaccheo. He regarded her steadily, his face impassive. And yet she sensed something behind his eyes, as if he didn’t know what to make of her mood.

  She searched his face harder, wanting him to say something, anything, that would give her even the tiniest hope that what she had to tell him wouldn’t break the magic they’d found on his island. Wouldn’t break her.

  In a way it was worse when he offered her that half-smile. Recently his half-smiles had grown genuine, were often a precursor to the blinding smiles that stole her breath...made her heart swell to bursting.

  The thought that they would soon become a thing of the past had her surging to her feet, blindly striding for the stage to a round of applause she didn’t want.

  All Eva wanted in that moment was to drown in the oblivion of music.

  She searched through the selection until she found a song she knew by heart, one that had spoken to her the moment she’d heard it on the radio.

  She sang the first verse with her eyes shut, yearning for the impossible. She opened her eyes for the second verse. She could never tell Zaccheo how she felt about him, but she could sing it to him. Her eyes found his as she sang the last line.

  His gaze grew hot. Intense. Her pulse hammered as she sang the third verse, offering her heart, her life to him, all the while knowing he would reject it once he knew.

  She stifled a sob as the machine clicked to an end. She started to step off the stage, but the group begged for another song.

  Zaccheo rose and moved towards her. They stared at each other as the clamouring grew louder. Her breath caught when the emotion in his eyes altered, morphing into that darker hue that held a deeper meaning.

  He wasn’t angry. Or ruthlessly commanding her to bend to his will. Or even bitter and hurt, as he’d been on the hill.

  There was none of that in his expression. This ferocity was different, one that made her world stop.

  Until she shook herself back to reality. She was grasping at straws, stalling with excuses and foolish, reckless hope. She might have fallen in love with Zaccheo, but nothing he’d said or done had indicated he returned even an iota of what she felt. Their relationship had changed from what it’d been in the beginning, but she couldn’t lose sight of why it’d begun in the first place. Or why she couldn’t let it continue.

  Heavy-hearted, she turned back to the machine. She’d seen the song earlier and bypassed it, because she hadn’t been ready to say goodbye.

  But it was time to end this. Time to accept that there was no hope.

  * * *

  Something was wrong. It’d been since they’d walked down the hill.

  But for once in his life, he was afraid to confront a problem head-on because he was terrified the results would be unwelcome. So he played worst-case scenarios in his head.

  Had he said or done something to incite this troubled look on Eva’s face? Had his confession on the hill reminded her that he wasn’t the man she would’ve chosen for herself? A wave of something close to desolation rushed over him. He clenched his jaw against the feeling. Would it really be the end of the world if Eva decided she didn’t want him? The affirmative answer echoing through him made him swallow hard.

  He discarded that line of thought and chose another, dissecting each moment he’d spent with her this afternoon.

  He’d laid himself bare, something he’d never done until recently. She hadn’t shown pity or disgust for the debasing crimes his father had committed, or for the desperately lonely child he’d been. Yet again she’d only showed compassion. Pain for the toll his jagged upbringing had taken on him.

  And the songs...what had they meant, especially the second one, the one about saying goodbye? He’d witnessed the agony in her eyes while she’d sung that one. As if her heart was broken—

  A knock came at his study door, where he’d retreated to pace after they’d returned and Eva had expressed the need for a shower. Alone.

  ‘Zaccheo?’

  He steeled himself to turn around, hoping against hope that the look on her face would be different. That she would smile and everything would return to how it was before they’d gone on that blasted trip.

  But it wasn’t. And her next words ripped through him with the lethal effect of a vicious blade.

  ‘Zaccheo, we need to talk.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  EVERY WORD SHE�
�D practised in the shower fled her head as Eva faced him. Of course, her muffled sobs had taken up a greater part of the shower so maybe she hadn’t got as much practice in as she’d thought.

  ‘I...’ Her heart sank into her stomach when a forbidding look tightened his face. ‘I can’t stay married to you.’

  For a moment he looked as if she’d punched him hard in the solar plexus, then ripped his heart out while he struggled to breathe. Gradually his face lost every trace of pain and distress. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, he strolled to where she stood, frozen inside the doorway.

  ‘Was this your plan all along?’ he bit out, his eyes arctic. ‘To wait until I’d spoken on your father’s behalf and he was safe from prosecution before you asked for a divorce?’

  She gasped. ‘You did that? When?’ she asked, but his eyes poured scorn on her question.

  ‘Is being married to me that abhorrent to you, Eva? So much so you couldn’t even wait until we were back in London?’

  ‘No! Believe me, Zaccheo, that’s not it.’

  ‘Believe you? Why should I? When you’re not even prepared to give us a chance?’ He veered sharply away from her and strode across the room, his fingers spiking through his hair before he reversed course and stopped in front of her once more. ‘What I don’t understand is why. Did I do something? Say something to make you think I wouldn’t want this relationship to work?’

  The confirmation that this marriage meant more to him was almost too hard to bear.

  ‘Zaccheo, please listen to me. It’s not you, it’s—’

  His harsh laughter echoed around the room. ‘Are you seriously giving me that line?’

  Her fists balled. ‘For once in your life, just shut up and listen! I can’t have children,’ she blurted.

  ‘You’ve already used that one, dolcezza, but you signed along the dotted line agreeing to my clause, remember? So try again.’

  Misery quivered through her stomach. ‘It’s true I signed the agreement, but I lied to you. I can’t have children, Zaccheo. I’m infertile.’

  He sucked in a hoarse breath and reeled backwards on his heels. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I tried to tell you when I first saw the clause, but you wouldn’t listen. You’d made up your mind that I’d use any excuse not to marry you because I didn’t want you.’

  The stunned look morphed into censure. ‘Then you should’ve put me straight.’

  ‘How? Would you have believed me if I’d told you about my condition? Without evidence to back it up? Or perhaps I should’ve told Romeo or your PA since they had more access to you than I did in the week before the wedding?’

  He looked at her coldly. ‘If your conscience stung you so deeply the first time round, why did you change your mind?’

  Her emotions were raw enough for her to instinctively want to protect herself. But what did she have to lose? Zaccheo would condemn her actions regardless of whether she kept her innermost feelings to herself or not. And really, how much worse could this situation get? Her heart was already in shreds.

  She met his gaze head on. ‘You know I lost my mother to cancer when I was eighteen. She was diagnosed when I was sixteen. For two years we waited, hoping for the best, fearing the worst through each round of chemo. With each treatment that didn’t work we knew her time was growing shorter. Knowing it was coming didn’t make it any easier. Her death ripped me apart.’ She stopped and gathered her courage. ‘My father has been suffering stress attacks in the last couple of months.’ She risked a glance and saw his brows clamped in a forbidding frown. ‘He collapsed on Friday after you called to tell him the wedding was off.’

  Zaccheo’s mouth compressed, but a trace of compassion flashed through his eyes. ‘And you blame me? Is that what this is all about?’

  ‘No, I don’t. We both know that the blame for our current circumstances lies firmly with my father.’ She stopped and licked her lips. ‘He may have brought this on himself, but the stress was killing him, Zaccheo. I’ve watched one parent die, helpless to do anything but watch them fade away. Condemn me all you want, but I wasn’t going to stand by and let my father worry himself to death over what he’d done. And I didn’t do it for my family name or my blasted pedigree. I did it because that’s what you do for the people you love.’

  ‘Even when they don’t love you back?’ he sneered, his voice indicating hers was a foolish feeling. ‘Even when they treat you like an afterthought for most of your life?’

  Sadness engulfed her. ‘You can’t help who you love. Or choose who will love you back.’

  His eyes met hers for a charged second, before his nostrils flared. ‘But you can choose to tell the truth no matter how tough the telling of it is. You can choose not to start a marriage based on lies.’

  Regret crawled across her skin. ‘Yes. And I’m sorry—’

  His hand slashed through air, killing off her apology. Walking around her, he slammed the door shut and jerked his chin towards the sofa. He waited until she’d sat down, then prowled in front of her.

  ‘Tell me of this condition you have.’

  Eva stared at her clasped hands because watching his face had grown unbearable. ‘It’s called endometriosis.’ She gave him the bare facts, unwilling to linger on the subject and prolong her heartache. ‘It started just before I went to university, but, with everything going on with my mother, I didn’t pay enough attention to it. I thought it was just something that would right itself eventually. But the pain got worse. One day I collapsed and was rushed to hospital. The diagnosis was made.’ She stopped, then made herself go on. ‘The doctor said the...scarring was too extensive...that I would never conceive naturally.’

  She raised her head and saw that he’d stopped prowling and taken a seat opposite her with his elbows on his knees. ‘Go on,’ he bit out.

  Eva shrugged. ‘What else is there to add?’ She gave a hollow laugh. ‘I never thought I’d be in a position where the one thing I couldn’t give would be the difference between having the future I want and the one I’d have to settle for. You accused me of starting this marriage based on lies, but I didn’t know you wanted a real marriage. You did all this to get back at my father, remember?’

  ‘So you never sought a second opinion?’ he asked stonily, as if she hadn’t mentioned the shifted parameters of their marriage.

  ‘Why would I? I’d known something was wrong. Having the doctor confirm it merely affirmed what I already suspected. What was the point of putting myself through further grief?’

  Zaccheo jerked to his feet and began prowling again. The set of his shoulders told her he was holding himself on a tight leash.

  Minutes ticked by and he said nothing. The tension increased until she couldn’t stand it any more. ‘You can do whatever you want with me, but I want your word that you won’t go after my family because of what I’ve done.’

  He froze, his eyes narrowing to thin shards of ice. ‘You think I want you to martyr yourself on some noble pyre for my sick satisfaction?’

  She jumped to her feet. ‘I don’t know! You’re normally so quick to lay down your demands. Or throw out orders and expect them to be followed. So tell me what you want.’

  That chilling half-smile returned with a vengeance. ‘What I want is to leave this place. There’s really no point staying, is there, since the honeymoon is well and truly over?’

  * * *

  The flight back was markedly different from the outbound journey. The moment Zaccheo immersed himself in his work, she grabbed her tablet and locked herself in the bedroom.

  She threw herself on the bed and sobbed long and hard into the pillow. By the time the plane landed in London, she was completely wrung out. Exhaustion seeped into her very bones and all she wanted was to curl into a foetal position and wish the world away.

  She sank further into grey gloom when she descen
ded the steps of the aircraft to find Zaccheo’s limo waiting on the tarmac, along with a black SUV.

  Zaccheo, wearing a black and navy pinstriped suit, stopped next to her, his expression remote and unfriendly.

  ‘I’m heading to the office. Romeo will drive you to the penthouse.’

  He strode to the SUV and drove off.

  Eva realised then that throughout their conversation on the island, she’d made the same mistake as when she’d foolishly disclosed her condition before. She’d allowed herself to hope that the condition fate had bestowed on her wouldn’t matter to that one special person. That somehow love would find a way.

  A sob bubbled up her chest and she angrily swallowed it down.

  Grow up, Eva. You’re letting the lyrics of your songs cloud your judgement.

  ‘Eva?’ Romeo waited with the car door open.

  She hastily averted her gaze from the censure in his eyes and slid in.

  The penthouse hadn’t changed, and yet Eva felt as if she’d lived a lifetime since she was last here.

  After unpacking and showering, she trailed from room to room, feeling as if some tether she hadn’t known she was tied to had been severed. When she rushed to the door for the third time, imagining she’d heard the keycard activate, she grabbed her tablet and forced herself to work on her compositions.

  But her heart wasn’t in it. Her mood grew bleaker when Romeo found her curled on the sofa and announced that Zaccheo wouldn’t be home for dinner either tonight or the next two weeks, because he’d returned to Oman.

  The days bled together in a dull grey jumble. Determined not to mope—because after all she’d been here before—Eva returned to work.

  She took every spare shift available and offered herself for overtime without pay.

  But she refused to sing.

  Music had ceased to be the balm she’d come to rely on. Her heart only yearned for one thing. Or one man. And he’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want her.