She slipped behind the wheel of her car, her expression bleak as she started the engine and began to make her way into town.
The Bowerbird Lounge was doing a roaring trade, despite the fact it was a grey November day. The tables outside featured patrons wrapped in brightly coloured blankets, and the heaters beneath the awnings were on and glowing warm.
As she’d expected, Sophie was nowhere to be seen, but their reserved table was available so Emmeline took a seat and ordered a Diet Coke. She enjoyed people-watching. With her dark sunglasses firmly in place, she gave herself the freedom of scanning the room, watching the guests and catching snippets of conversation.
Ten minutes later her phone began to buzz and she reached into her clutch, pulling it out and answering it when she saw Sophie’s face beaming back at her from the screen.
‘Hey, hon, I’m just looking for a space. I’ll be a few minutes, okay?’
‘That’s fine,’ Emmeline murmured.
‘Seriously... What the hell? There’s no spaces on this whole damn block.’ Sophie made a grunting noise of complaint and Emmeline smiled, tinkering with the clip on her purse.
A piece of the lining, old and fine, ran across her fingertip. She tried to pull it straight, then realised it wasn’t the lining at all. It was a piece of paper, folded several times, with her name on the front.
Her heart was pounding so hard and fast that she could no longer hear the din of the restaurant. She disconnected the call and dropped her phone to the table, her fingers shaking as she unfolded the letter. The letter she’d thrust into her bag on the morning of the funeral and forgotten about.
How had she forgotten? Disbelief raged inside her as she sat, ready to read whatever the note contained.
Her dad’s handwriting was barely recognisable to Emmeline. It was spidery and fine, weak and pale.
Pumpkin...
Emmeline felt tears sting her eyes. She could hear Col’s voice so clearly. She sucked in a deep breath and kept reading.
At the end of one’s life I suppose it’s natural to reflect. On choices, decisions, roads not taken. Having you as a daughter is the best thing I’ve ever done, but I wonder now if I’ve done it all wrong. Have I failed you? More than likely. That’s hard for me to admit, because I have always tried to do everything in my power to make your life a good and rich one.
I didn’t want to lose you so I kept you close, and I got in the way of you living your own life. I’ve been selfish.
These last few months...knowing you to be in Rome, on the brink of so much excitement in your life, so happy with Pietro... I have finally seen you as you should have been all along. Your happiness and independence is the most precious gift I have ever received. I wish I could have helped you find them sooner.
I know my death will have come as a surprise. But while I know you are shocked, you must know that I wanted it this way. Please don’t be angry with me for keeping my diagnosis from you. I wanted to spare you as much pain as possible, and I know you would have deferred your own pleasure and adventures to stay close to me. You’ve done far too much of that already.
Pietro disagreed with my decision, but he was faithful to the last. I am grateful to him for upholding my confidence even when he felt strongly that you would prefer to know the truth. Sparing you the pain of seeing me as I’ve become is my last gift to you—and it is a gift, Pumpkin. I am not this man.
I hope you can both forgive me for making him stay the course. Or perhaps I have been selfish to the last.
Be happy together. He is a good man and he loves you very much.
As do I.
Forever,
Daddy
Emeline didn’t realise she was sobbing until the young girl at the table beside her reached across with a tissue.
‘Oh, I’m sorry...’
Emmeline stood up, the table jerking loudly as she moved. She wove through the restaurant and caught Sophie just as she was bursting through the door.
‘I have to go,’ Emmeline said quickly. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Is everything okay?’
Emmeline shook her head, then nodded, her face showing all the confusion that was rich in her heart. ‘I... I don’t know.’
She handed the letter to Sophie and wrapped her arms around herself as her best friend scanned its contents.
Afterwards, she lifted her eyes to Emmeline’s face, trying very hard not to react. ‘Where did you get this?’
Emmeline’s voice was a sob. ‘It was...it was in his book. I found it on the day of the funeral but I... I put it in my clutch and I just found it now. I didn’t even think about it again. I suppose I presumed it was just... I don’t know. Why didn’t I read it sooner?’
Sophie tsked sympathetically. ‘Would it have changed anything?’
Emmeline’s expression bore anguish. Sophie knew the truth of the situation now—including her real reasons for marrying Pietro.
‘How can he have thought it was the right decision?’
Sophie expelled a soft breath. ‘Your father was a very proud man.’
‘God, I know that. I know that! But he was also selfish.’ Her voice cracked as she spoke the condemnation. Hot guilt at betraying him spread like wildfire through her body. ‘He had no right to decide to cut me out.’
‘He wanted you to be happy.’
‘So he sent me away?’
Sophie sighed. ‘Imagine if you’d stayed. You’d have nursed your father and you’d have been by his side when he died, sure. You’d have seen a great, strong man become weak and no longer in control of his body. And when he died you’d have been alone. Bereft. Miserable. Instead you have a new life. A life you love.’
‘A life my father chose for me,’ Emmeline scoffed. ‘Don’t you see, Sophie? I should have been free to find my own way!’
‘If you had every choice in the world before you, would you want anything other than what you had with Pietro? Would you have chosen any differently for yourself?’
Emmeline’s heart skidded at the mere mention of her husband’s name. It spurred an ache deep inside her gut, for it was not just a random collection of letters. It was a call that her body instinctively wanted to answer. It was a promise and a denial. It was everything.
‘You can choose now, Emmeline. It’s not too late. You have the world at your feet. What do you want to do?’
* * *
Pietro was on fire, and then he was ice-cold. His brow beaded with perspiration as once again he read the letters at the top of the document. Did he miraculously expect them to alter in some way? To rearrange themselves and say something else.
PETITION FOR DIVORCE
Emmeline Morelli v Pietro Morelli
He swore, using every curse he knew, and then repeated them for good measure, scraping his chair back and moving to the door of his office even as he wrenched his phone from his pocket. For the second time in two months he ordered his jet to be made ready at a moment’s notice, the urgency in his voice instantly communicating itself to his unflappable assistant.
He stared at the document for the entire drive to the airport, and then again as the plane lifted off. It was a straight-up divorce petition. No dispute over assets or ongoing entitlements, despite his considerable wealth—then again, her own fortune was formidable. She had no need to make a claim on his.
But it bothered him because everything about the document spoke of a woman who wanted to wrap their marriage up swiftly—to bring it to an official conclusion in the fastest possible way.
Did she really think he’d sign the damned thing? Without so much as a conversation?
His plane touched down in the early evening and Elizabetta, with her usual efficiency, had organised a driver to collect him. He stared broodingly out of the window as the car cut through the miles between the airport and Annersty.
But when it pulled up at the front of the grand estate the adrenalin that had brought him the whole way to Georgia seemed to disappear. He swore under his breath and pushed
himself out of the car, the divorce papers clutched in his hand.
Miss Mavis answered the door and her smile was warm. Precisely the opposite of what he expected from Emmeline.
He was unable to dredge up more than a grimace of acknowledgement. ‘Is she home?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Miss Mavis stepped back, holding the door wide open. ‘She’s swimming, I believe.’
‘Swimming?’ He arched a brow. Well, he hadn’t expected that.
He stormed through the house, anger taking the place of adrenalin. How dared she end their marriage like this? Without the courtesy of so much as a phone call? Hell, she hadn’t even answered his text messages!
As he got closer to the indoor swimming pool the sound of her splashing made him slow. He tried—and failed—to get a grip on his temper. The doors were made of glass. He saw her even before he’d shouldered into the marble-floored room. She was moving slowly through the water, her stroke elegant, her legs languid as they kicked along the length of the pool.
Desire kicked hard in his gut; he forced himself to ignore it.
He ground his teeth together and began to stride on at the side of the water, all the way to the end of the pool. He reached it before she did, and crouched down so that when her fingertips grazed the tiled edge he was able to reach down and touch them. He’d meant simply to alert her to his presence, but the moment he felt her soft flesh beneath his a visceral ache overtook his body—a need to touch more than her fingers, more than her hand.
He straightened in physical rejection of the idea.
She emerged from the water and all he could do was stare at her. Her face was wiped clean of make-up, her hair was slicked back, and her expression showed nothing but shock. He felt something like a stabbing pain in his gut. She was so young, so innocent and so beautiful.
If she wanted a divorce, what kind of bastard was he to fight it? Didn’t she deserve her freedom? True freedom? Not the kind that was bargained for and arranged by her father, but the freedom that came of being a young woman who had her own place in the world.
All the fight and the anger he’d brought with him, the disbelief that she wanted to end their marriage, evaporated.
He had to let her go.
He had to do what Col hadn’t been able to.
He had to acknowledge that she was a mature woman with every damned right to make her own choices in life.
‘Pietro.’
It was a groan and it broke through his resolve. Her eyes dropped to the document in his hands and at the moment of recognition she blanched. Her eyes held desperate anguish as they met his.
‘You got the papers.’
‘Si, cara.’
Why did she look as though he was killing kittens in front of her? This was her choice. Her decision.
He looked away, the sight of her making him want more than anything to argue with her. To use any tool at his disposal—yes, even sex—to get her to agree to give their marriage another chance.
But she’d been railroaded enough for a lifetime.
‘You didn’t have to hand-deliver them.’
Her words were so quiet. So pained. God, how he wanted to swoop down and take that pain away.
‘That wasn’t my intention.’ He stepped back from the water’s edge, feeling utter disbelief at what he was about to do.
‘Wasn’t it?’
The water made a rippling sound as she lifted her arms out of it and braced her forearms against the coping, then pressed her chin into the back of one hand.
‘So why did you come?’
He shook his head, forcing himself to look at her. But the pain was back—an ache that seemed to rip through him when he met her eyes. The change in her was marked. The happiness that had seemed to shimmer out of her pores in Rome was utterly absent now.
‘I was surprised to receive these,’ he said, without answering her question.
‘Why should you be?’
Visibly, she seemed to tighten her resolve, to assume a mask of unconcern. How did he know it to be a mask? Because he knew. He knew everything about her.
‘Our reasons for marrying are gone now. He’s dead.’ Her voice cracked. ‘You’re free.’
Pietro’s head whipped back to hers. He crouched down. Urgency perforated his tone and he spoke before thinking. ‘What do you mean, I’m free?’
‘You did everything he wanted. You were a very good friend to my father. But it seems only fair to absolve you of this responsibility.’
Now it was Emmeline whose eyes were jerking away, refusing to hold his.
Pietro’s mind moved quickly, rapidly sifting through her statement, trying to comprehend her words.
‘You’re divorcing me because you want to free me from our marriage?’ He held the papers up. ‘This is for me?’
She opened her mouth, surprise obvious in her face. She shook her head, and her eyes showed panic. ‘I... It’s the right thing to do.’
‘Why is it, cara? Do you think I no longer love you?’
Tears sparkled on her lashes, mixing with the water of the pool. ‘Please...don’t. Don’t say those things. It’s not fair.’
His gut whooshed to the floor. She was right. Hadn’t he just been telling himself that? And yet...
‘I’ll sign the papers, Emmeline. If that’s what you really want. But I want to hear you say it.’
‘Say what?’ The words were a whisper and yet they echoed around the pool room.
‘Tell me you don’t love me.’ He crouched down once more. ‘Look in my eyes, see all the love I feel for you there, and tell me you don’t feel the same.’ The words were so deep, so gravelled. ‘Tell me you don’t want to live in Rome with me, as my wife, that you don’t want to be in my bed, that you don’t want to continue your studies. Tell me that you want to end our marriage. That you want that.’
Her sob was heartbreaking but he didn’t withdraw.
‘I don’t want to be married to you. Not like this.’
Her addendum at the end was a lifeline in the midst of a turbulent, terrifying ocean.
‘Not like what?’
‘Not because of him. Not because you felt forced to protect me. Don’t you see? I’m not the girl he thought I was. The girl you thought I was.’
‘I know that,’ he agreed urgently. ‘You never were. I married you because Col asked me to, yes. But I want to stay married to you because of how I feel. How you feel. Because of what we are.’
Tears ran down her cheeks. She bit down on her lip and looked away from him, trying—and failing—to rally her emotions into order.
‘I don’t think I believe you.’
The words were agonising to both of them.
‘I need us to divorce. It’s the only way.’
None of it made any sense. He expelled a soft sigh as he tried to comprehend his wife’s viewpoint.
‘Then say it.’ His eyes held a silent challenge. ‘Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll sign these papers and drop them off at your lawyer’s on my way out of town.’
Her sharp intake of breath told him everything he needed to know.
‘But if you love me—as I think you do—say that. Tell me that. Be honest with me.’
‘Our marriage has no future,’ she murmured, ignoring his question. ‘I’ll never trust you. I’ll never believe you’re not with me because of a sense of obligation...’
‘My God, Emmeline! If this was about obligation do you think I would have slept with you? I tried so hard to fight that, to not want you as I did, and yet you became my obsession. Think about it, cara. You had given me carte blanche with other women. But I didn’t want them. I wanted you. I have wanted you from the moment we married. Hell, probably from that moment in my office when you were laying down the ground rules for our marriage.’
She rejected his assertion with a skyward flicker of her eyes. ‘Sure. You thought I was so sexy you told me I had to change how I looked.’
He nodded angrily. ‘Yes! Because you were so obviously trying t
o make yourself as uninteresting as possible. And I was right about that. Because even then I knew you. I don’t care what you look like, for heaven’s sake. I care about how you feel. I want you to be happy. I want you to be happy with me. But if you want to be here at Annersty alone, or—God—with another man eventually, just tell me. Say it and I’ll sign these.’
‘I can’t... I told you. I can’t... This marriage...’
He made a sound of frustration, and before she knew what he was doing—perhaps before even Pietro knew himself—he was sliding into the pool beside her, fully dressed. He kicked his shoes off as he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her to him. And then he kissed her, the surprised ‘O’ of her mouth giving him the perfect opportunity. He kissed her and she kissed him back.
At least she did for a moment, before her hands lifted to his chest and she sobbed. ‘I’ll never trust you.’
‘Yes, you will.’ He stared down at her earnestly. ‘I think you already do. I think you hate what happened, and I think you’re mad as hell, but I think you love me and you want to find a way to make this work. Do you think that divorcing me will make you happy?’
She stared at him, her expression one of abject fear. And then she shook her head slowly. ‘But I need to know you’re not trapped. That you’re not with me because of him.’
‘I’m not.’ He arched a brow and pulled her closer, dropping his mouth so that his lips were just a millimetre from hers. ‘You gave me a perfect escape clause. You sent me the divorce papers. If I didn’t want to be with you do you think I would have flown halfway around the world the second I got them? No. I would have signed them, posted them and heaved a sigh of relief.’
He watched her face, watched it carefully, so that he saw the play of emotions in her features and particularly the moment comprehension seemed to overcome doubt.
‘I am yours, Emmeline Morelli, for the rest of your life. Married or not, I will never not love you. I will never be with another woman. I will never marry again or have a family. Nothing. Because all that I am...all that I will ever be...is tied up in you.’
Her Wedding Night Surrender (Harlequin Presents) Page 17
