The Wedding Night Debt: Christmas at the Castello (bonus novella)

by Cathy Williams

  She assumed that that was because she was having the time of her life.

  It amazed her, this ability to divorce her emotions from a physical side of her she’d never known she possessed.

  It was as though something so powerful had awakened in her that it overrode all her common sense.

  Sex. Everywhere and anywhere.

  At night, they shared the same bed and, far from that feeling weird and abnormal, it felt absolutely brilliant. She enjoyed that period of being half-awake, half-asleep, curling into the warmth of his naked body and feeling it stir into instant response.

  Everything else took a back seat. Misgivings. Unanswered questions. Simmering resentments. None of it mattered when they were making love. He’d been right. This so-called honeymoon, a time when they could both exorcise whatever it was they had to exorcise, was no hardship at all.

  Today, a boat trip had been planned. Lucy looked up at the ceiling, missing the presence of Dio’s body next to her because he had awakened at the crack of dawn and was in some other part of the villa working.

  A little smile curved her mouth. Before he had left the bed, he had touched her, slipped his finger into her half-slumbering body and brought her to a climax while she had been in a glorious state of semi-sleep. It had been exquisite.

  In a second, she would get up, have a shower, change into her bikini, with a wrap over her, and the flip flops which he had also managed to think about including in the wardrobe he had had imported from who knew where.

  Right now, though, a nagging headache was sapping her of her energy and she remained in the bed with the overhead fan whirring efficiently over her and an early morning breeze wafting through the open windows.

  Under the light sheet and blanket, her body felt hot and achy and she stirred, trying to find a more restful position.

  She had no idea that she had fallen asleep until she heard his voice reaching her from a great height. At least, it felt like a great height, booming down into the room, making her feel a little faint.

  ‘You’re shouting,’ she muttered, not opening her eyes and turning onto her side.

  ‘I couldn’t talk any lower if I tried.’ Time had run away and it was after nine. Irritated by a pressing physical urge to take the steps two at a time, back up to the bedroom so that they could make love before setting off, Dio had controlled the impulse but now...

  He frowned, standing at the side of the bed.

  ‘It’s nearly nine-thirty, Lucy...’

  ‘Oh, no.’ With a cry of dismay, she sat up and instantly fell back onto the pillow.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I...nothing; nothing’s wrong. Just give me a couple of minutes. I’ll get dressed and be down in, er, a little while.’

  Everything was wrong, she thought faintly. Just three more days to go of living like this, far away from reality, and what did her body have to go and do? Fall ill!

  She was in the grip of an oncoming cold at the very least. At worst, she was going to get the flu with all its nasty, debilitating side effects.

  Right now, her head was banging, her limbs felt like lead, her mouth was dry and she knew that she was running a fever. She could feel it in the aching of her joints.

  Disappointment speared her.

  And if she was disappointed then she shuddered to think how furious Dio was going to be.

  This was the honeymoon he had demanded and he had ended up with half of it and—worse—a wife who wasn’t well. When she half-opened her eyes it was to find that he was still standing by the bed with a frown.

  He reached down and pressed the back of his hand against her forehead.

  ‘Nothing wrong? You’re running a fever, Lucy!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Her reply was half-audible and addressed to his departing back.

  She didn’t blame him. He was so pissed off about the situation that he had headed back down to do something useful with himself. Like carry on working. Having had to cancel the boat and unravel the picnic hamper which had been delivered especially to the house the evening before.

  Misery overwhelmed her. When she thought about leaving the island without having the opportunity to touch him again, she felt sick.

  She didn’t hear him re-enter the room until she felt his arm under her, propping her up into a sitting position.

  He had a thermometer in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you weren’t feeling well?’

  ‘Because I was fine last night. I just...woke up this morning with a bit of a headache. I thought it would go away but I fell back asleep and... I’m sorry, Dio.’

  Dio impatiently clicked his tongue and sat down on the bed next to her.

  Sorry? Did she perceive him as that much of a monster that she would feel the need to apologise for not being well? He considered the way he had held the sword over her head, using the threat of sending her packing penniless as a means to an end. An end which he told himself he more than richly deserved.

  He thought of the way he had announced, for all to hear, that renovation of the building that meant so much to them rested on her shoulders, doubly strengthening the case for her to get into bed with him.

  He had seen taking her as a right which he had been denied. He had justified everything because she fancied him as much as he fancied her. Two consenting adults, all said and told, so what was the problem with that?

  For him, he had had unfinished business and, typically, he had got exactly what he had wanted by using all the tools at his disposal—and gentle persuasion had not been one of them.

  He was assailed by a rare attack of guilt and he flushed darkly as he stared down at her.

  ‘I’ve phoned the island doctor.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Let me take your temperature.’

  ‘There’s no need! I have a cold, Dio. There’s nothing anyone can do about that.’

  ‘Open your mouth. Once I’ve taken your temperature, I’ve brought you some tablets.’

  ‘What about the boat trip?’ Lucy all but wailed. What about the rest of our stolen honeymoon? She was ashamed to find herself thinking about whether she could have some kind of IOU note, promising her three more days of snatched love-making once she was better. She found herself wishing his Hong Kong deal might not require his presence after all.

  She found herself being clingy...

  Appalled, she tried to recapture some of the hard-headed common sense that had been her constant companion for all the long months she had been married to him.

  How had she suddenly become clingy? Was it because she was ill and far removed from her comfort zone? That line of reasoning at least made her feel a little less panicky.

  ‘The boat trip is the least of your worries right now,’ Dio told her drily. ‘Now shut up and let me take your temperature.’

  He did and then frowned. ‘Okay, drink as much water as you can and take these tablets. You’re running a high fever, Lucy. It’s a bloody good job I called a doctor. He should be here any minute.’

  ‘I told you, it’s just a cold...’

  ‘Mosquitoes can carry diseases in the tropics,’ Dio said patiently. ‘Not malaria, fortunately, but other diseases that can be almost as severe. Now, water—drink.’

  Lucy did as she was told then she lay back, perspiring, eyes closed.

  ‘You don’t have to stay here, Dio. I know you probably have better things to do than tend to a sick wife.’ She smiled but kept her eyes closed. Her words were composed and controlled but her thoughts were all over the place and she still couldn’t seem to harness them. As fast as she got one under control, a swarm of others broke their leash.

  ‘Name a few.’

  ‘Work. It’s the great love of your life.’ She yawned and adjusted
her position on the bed.

  ‘It’s had to be,’ Dio murmured absently. ‘When you have to drag yourself up by the boot straps, getting out of the quicksand becomes a full-time occupation.’

  ‘And it’s hard to let go,’ Lucy said drowsily.

  ‘And it’s hard to let go,’ Dio echoed, surprising himself by that sliver of confidential information he had passed on to her. ‘Right. Don’t move. The doctor’s here.’

  ‘Move? Where am I going to go? My legs feel like jelly.’

  Dio grinned. His wife might have played the part she had been briefed to play perfectly over the past year or more, might have shown up at important events always wearing the right thing and always saying the right things and making the right noises. But he had learned what he had maybe suspected all along—that there was a feisty, stubborn streak to her lurking just below the surface, the same streak that had prompted her to break out of the box into which she had been sealed and look elsewhere for fulfilment.

  He couldn’t stand the thought of her having to look anywhere else beyond him, yet not only could he understand the urge that had prompted her but he reluctantly admired it.

  Most women would never have thought to do anything but enjoy a life of stupendous luxury.

  Most women would have slept with him.

  He was finding it difficult not to think that there was far more to her than the opportunist working in cahoots with her father.

  The doctor was a small, brisk man who bustled up to the bedroom, throwing little facts over his shoulder about germs, bugs and the innumerable things that could happen even on an island as small as theirs.

  No snakes, he informed Dio crisply, shaking his head, but who said that mosquitoes couldn’t wreak similar havoc?

  There was a certain little mosquito...

  Dio found himself bombarded with a litany of Latin names as he pushed open the bedroom door and followed the doctor into the room where Lucy was tossing restlessly on the bed, her cheeks bright red, her eyes glazed.

  The doctor barely needed to examine her, although he was meticulous, taking his time and shaking his head before pronouncing his diagnosis.

  Yet another long Latin term and Dio impatiently asked for clarification.

  ‘Something similar to Dengue fever,’ he pronounced, standing up and collecting his bag from the floor. ‘Not as serious but nasty enough to wipe your wife out for as long as a week. No antibiotics needed. Just a lot of fluid and a lot of rest. The usual painkillers will do their best to fight the fever and the aching joints but, on the bright side, once it clears her system she’ll be immune to catching this particular bug again.’

  Lucy was appalled at the diagnosis. Drifting in and out of sleep, she woke as night was drawing in to find that Dio had brought his computer up to the bedroom and was working, keeping an eye on her. He hadn’t signed up to any of this. She looked at him miserably. Even furious with her, which he would be, he still managed to draw her eye and hold it and, to his immense credit, he didn’t show the annoyance on his face when he caught her staring at him.

  ‘You’re about to apologise again,’ he drawled. ‘Save it. You’ve caught something unpleasant from a mosquito bite and apologising isn’t to make it go away. How are you feeling? You need to drink some more water and have something to eat.’

  He stood up, stretched and strolled over to sit on the bed next to her. ‘At least you’re not so hot that I could cook a meal on you.’

  ‘You’re being very nice about this.’

  ‘What would you have me do?’

  ‘You don’t have to be, you know. Nice. You don’t have to be nice.’

  ‘Are you giving me permission to be the sort of person you expect me to be?’ There was an edge to his voice, although his expression was mild.

  ‘This is supposed to be our overdue honeymoon.’ Bitterness crept into her voice. ‘A honeymoon is no place for getting sick.’

  ‘And, on that note, I shall go and get you something to eat. My instructions are to keep you rested, fed and watered.’

  He headed out to the kitchen where he banged his fist on the granite worktop.

  How low was her opinion of him? Could it get any lower? This was supposed to have been an uncomplicated few days for him, during which he would get her out of his system the only way he knew how. And yet here he was now, frustrated by her unspoken insinuation that she might find him sexy, but that was as far as the complimentary thoughts went. On every other front, he was the sort of person she would have avoided at all costs.

  She had apologised for being ill; had told him that getting ill had not been part of the honeymoon deal.

  Was she afraid, deep down, that he would still see it as his right to have sex with her because he had effectively paid for it? He was repulsed by the idea.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was on his way back up to the bedroom with a tray of food and her eyes opened wide when she took in the plate of bread and eggs and the long glass of fruit juice.

  ‘You cooked this yourself?’

  ‘You sound a lot better,’ he drawled, setting the tray down on the bed next to her and dragging the chair closer to the bed. ‘That sharp tongue of yours was missing in action while you were tossing and turning with a high fever. Headache gone? And yes, in answer to your question, I cooked it myself. I’d give myself a pat on the back if the meal was more complicated than bread and two scrambled eggs. Are you going to thank me profusely and tell me that producing some bread and eggs for you was not part of the honeymoon deal?’

  Funnily enough, that had been on her mind, and she blushed and tucked into the food, losing her appetite after a couple of mouthfuls.

  She had taken painkillers a couple of hours previously and she could feel all the aches and pains and soaring fever waiting to stage a comeback.

  In the meantime...

  ‘Maybe...maybe we should talk about the divorce,’ she ventured hesitantly.

  When he was touching her, she lost all power to reason or even to string a sentence together coherently. But he wasn’t touching her now, couldn’t touch her now, and she thought that it might be better to talk about the awkward elephant in the room rather than wait until they were back in London, when the barriers would be up again. Strangely, she didn’t want to remember her final time with him as a cold war during which their communication was translated via lawyers and would revolve around money. At least if they sorted things out between themselves here in this setting, far removed from reality, they would part company with less bitterness between them.

  Dio stiffened. He wondered whether she was making sure to pin him down to the details before the sex was over. Did she imagine that he would walk off into the sunset, having got what he wanted, without completing his half of the bargain? Maybe she thought that being ill had left her vulnerable to him having a rethink about the terms and conditions of their brief affair.

  Despite the doubts he was beginning to have about all the assumptions he had made about her, Dio lost no time in allowing his imagination to jump to all the worst possible conclusions.

  It was safe territory.

  ‘Feel up to that, do you?’

  ‘I’m not as groggy as I was earlier. I’ve got an hour or so before the painkillers really begin to wear off.’

  ‘And why not use the time constructively?’ He removed the plate of half-finished food, dumped it on the dressing table, returned to his chair by the bed and folded his arms. ‘I get where you’re coming from.’

  Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. Should she try and explain that it would be better to get this awkward situation dealt with and put it behind them, like a boil that had to be lanced so that they could enjoy whatever brief time remained to them?

  Or would that confession make her seem foolish? A bit of a loser? Over-sentimental?

  And why sh
ould she feel sentimental anyway? Was it some lingering after effect of having grown up to be the sort of girl who had believed in the sanctity of marriage? Had there been some part of her that still viewed divorce, whatever the circumstances, as a personal failure?

  Even though this particular divorce couldn’t happen fast enough...

  It just showed how easily led the body was. It could veer off in a wildly different direction from the one the mind was telling it to stick to.

  She wondered whether she could get over this stupid bug in double-quick time if she just stayed in bed for the next twenty-four hours. Then they could at least have the last bit of their stay here together...

  It would be self-indulgent and probably a very bad idea but why not? And at least if they sorted the whole divorce thing out they wouldn’t have that hanging over their heads like the Sword of Damocles...

  She could pretend that it didn’t exist, just like she had been pretending that this honeymoon wasn’t what it really was.

  ‘If you like, I can bring some paper and a pen and put my signature somewhere so that you don’t think that I’m going to renege on the deal...’

  ‘I... I just want to know when you’d want me out of the house.’

  ‘This conversation is sordid.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re sick and, even if you weren’t, we haven’t come here to talk about the details of our divorce. Call me mad but I’ve always thought that there’s nothing more guaranteed to ruin a honeymoon atmosphere than talking about divorce.’

  ‘I just thought...’

  ‘The fact that you’ve been bitten by a mosquito and ended up in bed ill won’t affect your financial package.’ Dio knew that that was a brutal way of saying what he wanted to say but he didn’t take it back.

  Nothing about what they were doing was real but, hell, he was still enjoying it and the last thing he needed was a reminder of just what had propelled her into his bed in the first place.

  ‘I wasn’t thinking about the money side of things,’ Lucy said faintly.

  Dio looked away, mouth drawn into a thin line. ‘If there’s one thing life taught me,’ he said with lazy coolness, ‘it’s that when someone tells you that the last thing on their mind is money it’s invariably the one thing they’re thinking about.’