Her morning sickness was particularly vile, and she was soon on her knees in the bathroom - a great image of his wife for him to carry through the day when he had to leave!
When a guilty - sounding Emma rang before lunch, Sam was glad of the interruption.
"I know this is the cheekiest thing to ask you when you're on your honeymoon-"
"A honeymoon requires two people," Sam inserted drily. "Ask away. The truth is, I'd be glad of the distraction."
"You know I've got that interview this afternoon - which is why we flew back this morning?"
"Problem with the interview?"
"Not the interview - my sitter. Paul was going to watch Laurie, but his boss has just rung and there's some enormous crisis. So?"
"Bring her on over," said Sam.
"You look." Emma's glance dropped down Sam's slim body. "Actually, you look terrible," she observed with a frown.
As if she needed any reminder that she look drained and terrible. "Sorry I can't live up to your high standards, super woman."
"I was just saying... and I'm not a super woman," Emma protested.
Sam rolled her eyes. "What would you call someone who goes into labor on a building site and drives herself to the hospital after sorting out a building regulations wrangle? You," Sam contended, only half joking, "are one of those women who make the rest of us feel inadequate." Or me, at least. With her constant tiredness and mood swings, not to mention the nausea, Sam was quite aware that she did not resemble the glowing image of motherhood so often portrayed on the covers of magazines.
"I had morning sickness," Emma protested.
"No, you had heartburn. Once. After eating a hot curry." Sam, who was unclipping the harness that secured Laurie in her buggy, stopped what she was doing and angled a questioning look at her best friend. "Why are you whispering?"
Emma raised her brows and looked around the painting-lined walls of the formal drawing room. "I feel like I'm being watched." she admitted. "Not exactly cosy, is it? Oh, my, that's a real Monet, isn't it? And is that a-?"
"They're all real," Sam admitted guiltily as she bent down to extract her goddaughter from her buggy.
Emma began to study the carpet she was standing on. "I'm assuming this is priceless or something?" she said rubbing her toe cautiously into the soft pile of the Aubusson rug. "You know, on second thoughts, I think it might be better to leave Laurie in the buggy-safer."
"Don't you dare!" Sam retorted. "A few grubby fingerprints will make the place more homely."
An hour later, with toys strewn all over the floor and the remnants of the sandwich lunch they had chosen to eat cross-legged on the floor, it was even homier.
"I hope that's non-toxic," Sam said to herself as she removed a crayon from Laurie's mouth.
Laurie released a childish cry of anger.
"I prefer the orange myself," Sam said, and remembered the DVD that Emma had said soothed the baby. Putting down the fractious tot, she inserted it in the machine. Muttering under her breath, she tried to turn it on, but when she pressed the appropriate buttons all she got was a montage of television channels. She tried again, and got the channels again-but this time minus the sound.
She glared at the offending remote. "Damn! Where is-?" She lifted her head from the remote to look at the screen and stopped dead, the color fading dramatically from her face as the remote slipped from her fingers and onto the floor. The baby in her arms, she sank down until she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at the screen.
The subtitles beneath the picture for the benefit of the hard of hearing-or people unable to locate the volume on the remote pronounced that amongst the famous people present for a charity luncheon was Mr Alessandro Di Livio, a generous benefactor.
Alessandro's lean, photogenic face filled the screen-until the woman sitting beside him leaned across, blocking him from the camera's view. Sam went cold inside as the woman tilted her head and laughed up at her handsome companion.
It was Marisa Sinclair.
You could see why so many people had predicted that the clever lawyer would end up marrying Alessandro. She did look the part. Elegant and beautifully groomed, she was wearing a slim-fitting cream silk jacket, cut low to display her cleavage and lots of smooth, tanned flesh.
"Not a freckle in sight!" To cut off her hysterical-sounding laugh Sam pressed a hand to her mouth and turned away from the screen.
No wonder Alessandro hadn't laughed at her take about the other woman coming along on the honeymoon. Some "negotiations" he'd had to rush back for.
It was one thing to have a mistress. It was another entirely to flaunt the fact. Actually, no, she thought, brushing a tear angrily from her cheek. The having was just as unacceptable as the flaunting.
They had married in order to give their child a stable environment. And even if she hadn't seen this televisual proof personally there were plenty of people who knew them both who would have. Clearly he didn't care if the rest of the world knew their marriage was a sham, and clearly he cared even less about humiliating her.
Or maybe he hadn't thought? Maybe he couldn't help himself around Marisa Sinclair? A victim to blind lust or love... Either option made Sam equally furious.
Breathing hard, her paper white face set in hard, angry lines, she forced herself to look at the screen, The camera remained on Marisa Sinclair. Her lovely lips were moving. Sam had no doubt that her words were as sincere as the expression on her lovely face. The strength of the hatred she felt for the other woman was shocking.
If she had stopped long enough to think about the consequences she might not have done it... But what had Alessandro said? Any woman worth her salt would fight for the man she loved. Well, she was going to fight. Of course it might have been easier minus the fretful child in her arms.
Entry to the charity event proved a lot easier than she had expected. The name Di Livio certainly opened doors-either that, or people were scared of saying no to a dangerous-looking madwoman carrying a screaming baby.
Muttering about the shallowness of people who were willing to overlook anything if you were rich enough or famous enough, her head held high, she stalked down the carpeted hallway.
As she stepped through the open double doors that led to the flower bedecked ballroom the adrenaline high that had got her this far took a sudden dip. Bad timing, she thought, looking around a room filled with smartly dressed and in many cases famous people. A plus point was that so far nobody had noticed her - they were all too busy enthusiastically clapping the minor royal who was at that moment stepping down from the dais set up at one end of the room.
Sam took a moment to stiffen her resolve. As she scanned the room her narrowed gaze skipped over the well-known faces she saw. There was only one face she was interested in, and when she saw it the breath caught in her throat.
Closing her eyes momentarily, she sucked in a big breath and straightened her shoulders. Any woman worth anything would fight for the man she loved. As she wove her way through the tightly packed tables she gathered more and more attention. But Sam was past caring.
It wasn't Alessandro but Marisa who noticed her.
Sam watched as, in response to the scarlet fingers tugging at his sleeve, Alessandro bent his head towards his companion. At her urgent murmur he lifted his head. Sam was close enough to see the shock in his eyes when he saw her.
You can run, buster, but you can't hide, she thought viciously.
Actually, Alessandro showed no inclination to run or hide. He rose in an almost languid manner to his feet and waited, one eyebrow raised, for her to reach his table. By the time Sam reached her goal her breath was coming in short, breathy gasps, and she had the attention of just about every eye in the room.
"Who is that child?" Alessandro asked, as though the baby in her arms was the most unusual aspect of his wife appearing unannounced at this glittering public event, wearing jeans and a T-shirt with orange crayon down the front, while he was playing footsie with his girlfriend.
<
br /> "It's Laurie. I'm babysitting for Emma," she snarled.
His dark eyes moved over the baby. "She has grown."
"That's what babies do.. .at least the females do. Emotionally, most males never make it past puberty." Sam shot her husband a look of pure loathing. "Sorry to crash your cosy assignation, Marisa." she gritted, all the time glaring at Alessandro.
"I would not choose to hold an assignation, cosy or otherwise, in the full view of television cameras. Why are you here, Sam?"
"I came-" Sam stopped. What was she supposed to say? I came here to tell your girlfriend to back off, to tell her that you're mine...
As a wave of desolation washed over her, her shoulders slumped, and she turned her head momentarily into the soft sweet-smelling curls of the baby in her arms. Even the baby smell could offer her no comfort.
"It doesn't matter."
"Well, now you are here, you will sit down and have a drink with us."
Sam stared at him. "I will what?"
"And smile - people are looking."
"Is that all you care about? What people will think?" The inner rage she felt suddenly exploded inside her head like crystal shattering. "Well, let's see what they think of this, shall we?"
Sam managed to pick up a glass and throw its contents in Alessandro's face in one smooth motion.
She knew that the image of his incredulous rage as he stood there with wine dripping down his face would be etched permanently in her brain. And she knew with equal certainty that Alessandro would never forgive her for humiliating him in public this way, It could have been worse. It could have been red. She managed not to start crying until she was safely back in the taxi.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Marisa Sinclair, whose dark, glossy head had been tilted back whilst she admired the chandeliers overhead, turned as she heard the echo of Sam's shoes on the marble floor of the hall.
"I've always loved this place."
And you'd look so at home here, Sam thought, imagining the brunette gracefully ascending the sweeping staircase, diamonds glittering at her lovely throat. The image increased the tight feeling in her chest.
"I prefer something a little cosier." Me, I'd spoil my big entrance by falling flat on my face. "If you came expecting me to apologise, forget it. I'm not sorry. Alessandro isn't here - but I expect you already know that."
Encountering the frigid touch of Sam's eyes, the older woman winced. "You really don't like me, do you? And I don't actually blame you," she admitted.
"That's terribly good of you."
The butler, who had notified Sam of her visitor's arrival, responded to Sam's nod and retreated, leaving the two women alone.
"He's protective." Marisa observed, as the austere-looking thickset Italian vanished from view. "I virtually had to refuse to budge before he agreed to tell you I was here."
Sam's brows lifted as she flashed the other woman a cold smile. "And why are you here?"
"I came because I think there are some things you should know."
Presumably that my husband loves you? She looked at the woman with a frozen expression. "And you decided that someone should be you?"
"Well, I know Alessandro isn't going to tell you."
"Decided to spare my feelings has he? Well, I think it's a bit late for that, don't you?"
Marisa's feathery brows twitched into a frown. "Alessandro couldn't tell you. He's the sort of man who doesn't break promises."
This admiring comment drew an ironic laugh from Sam's pale lips.
The concern in the older woman's dark eyes deepened as she scanned Sam's pale features. "You look terrible."
Of course I look terrible. My husband skipped his honeymoon so he could spend the day with you. Does she think I've not got the message? The idea that this woman had come to drive the message home sent a shaft of revitalising anger through Sam.
"Did Alessandro send you?" she demanded.
"Good God, no. He doesn't know I'm here!" Marisa exclaimed. The guilty little glance over her shoulder that she could not repress seemed to suggest that she was telling the truth. "When he finds out," she admitted cheerfully," he'll probably kill me."
"Your secret is safe with me."
The older woman responded to Sam's promise with an unexpected high-pitched laugh that made Sam realise for the first time that for once the other woman was neither serene or calm. "Secrets," she said, heaving a sigh. "Secrets are the problem."
Mystified by this cryptic utterance, Sam shrugged. "If you say so. Myself, I thought it was more to do with cheating husbands."
Marisa shook her head hard enough to dislodge a few strands of glossy dark hair from the chignon she wore. "Alessandro has not been unfaithful to you... at least not with me. The only thing Alessandro has been to me and Timothy is a good friend, and I'm afraid," she admitted with a shame-faced grimace, "we have abused that friendship."
"Sleeping with his oldest friend's wife hardly makes Alessandro the innocent party."
"But-"
Cutting across the other woman's protest, Sam said wearily, "You'd better come in," and opened the door that led to the morning room.
Sam stood with her shoulders braced against the wall, breathing in the heady scent of the winter jasmine she had cut the previous day. She knew the fragrance would forever be associated in her mind with this day, when Alessandro's mistress had come to stake her claim. The day she realised that she had lost her husband before she had even won him.
"Good thriller," Marisa observed, picking up the paperback Sam had been reading from the table.
Sam's brows lifted. "Books...husbands... Who knows what else we have in common?"
Marisa didn't respond to Sam's acid jibe, but continued to pace around the sun-filled room.
"I hate to hurry you, but I have other things to do." Such as what? she asked herself. Find a good divorce lawyer? The reality of what was happening suddenly hit her with the force of a tidal wave. Her anger and aggression evaporated... and it turned out they were the only things keeping her standing.
"I-' Turning, Marisa saw Sam sway, and with a cry of alarm ran to her side, "That's it-sit down there," she said, dragging Sam a couple of steps towards the nearest chair. As Sam sank into it she gave a heavy sigh of relief. "Can I get you something? Water.. .?" She looked around the room as if seeking inspiration. "I'm totally hopeless when people are ill," she confessed in atone of self-disgust. "Shall I ring for some tea?"
Conscious that if she tried to speak the sobs that were aching for release in her throat would escape, Sam shook her head mutely.
"Well, you just sit there." Marisa recommended.
Sam, who couldn't have done anything else even had she felt the urge to do so, almost smiled.
"Yes, you sit - and I'll talk... " she said. "Tim and I knew each other when we were growing up, and I always thought I would marry him... I suppose that seems pretty strange to you?"
Sam touched her tongue to the salty beads of moisture that dotted her upper lip. The faintness had passed, but she still felt nauseous. "As a matter of fact, no, it doesn't." Though the fact that she had ever mistaken her feelings for Jonny for love now seemed almost laughable.
"Have you ever wanted something so much that you'd do anything to get it, but when you do it's not at all what you expected? Well, that was what being married to Tim was like for me.. .anticlimax I suppose would be the best word. It wasn't a bad marriage, we were friends, but there were no... fireworks. If you take my meaning."
"So you looked elsewhere for fireworks?" And found them!
Marisa shook her head. "No, not me. Tim. He came to me and told me he'd met someone. He said he'd fallen in love with his secretary. "
"Not very original."
Marisa gave a mirthless laugh. "You think... ? Tim's secretary was not only tall, blond, beautiful and a cordon bleu cook, but I think the fact he shared Tim's passion for Man United was actually the all-important factor that swung it. How," she asked with an ironic shrug, "could I compete
with that?"
"He?"
Marisa laughed at her expression and sank down gracefully in a chair opposite. "Yeah-he. It seems Tim had been in denial about his sexuality for years. When I said I wanted a divorce he panicked. He said if people found out that he was gay his political career would be over."
"There are gay politicians," Sam protested weakly. Could this be true?
"True, but none that get voted in on the clean-living, family values ticket. And even if that wasn't the case Tim didn't want to come out. That was where Alessandro came in. He walked into the middle of a big row we were having one day. Considering how not shocked he was when Tim told him he was gay," she recalled thoughtfully, " I think he'd already suspected. But then I expect you've noticed it's really hard to pull the wool over Alessandro's eyes."
Sam's gave a gasp, her eyes widening. "My God-you asked him to pretend to be your lover! Or was it pretend?"
"No, that was his idea." She angled a shrewd look at Sam's face. "I wouldn't have minded things getting real," she admitted. "But he wasn't interested."
The relief that had flooded through Sam when she realised that Alessandro wasn't in love with this woman suddenly turned to horror. "Oh, no!" she gasped. "What have I done?"
The older woman gave a grimace of sympathy and patted her shoulder.
After Marisa had left, Sam wandered out to the walled rear garden. It began to rain, which suited her mood. She tried to sort out her thoughts, but realised almost immediately that there wasn't much to sort. It was all pretty straightforward.
She had in a matter of minutes effectively killed stone-dead any chance she'd had of any sort of relationship with Alessandro.
She ran her finger over the wet face of a stone heron and sighed. "He's just never going to forgive me for this," she said, seeing his face again as the wine had hit him.
"Who is not going to forgive you?"
The colour drained from her face as she spun around to see her husband, standing there watching her.
The Italian's Wedding Ultimatum Page 16