‘Where is my wife?’ Patrizio ground out.
‘She’s in bed,’ Garth said with a combative look. ‘She doesn’t want to see you, Trelini.’
‘But I want to see her,’ Patrizio said, pushing the door back against the wall with a vicious slap of wood on plaster.
He had found the bedroom without any trouble as it was the only one in the flat. And inside it he found his wife lying totally naked on the bed, her body sprawled like a whore’s, her eyes closed in blissful unawareness of his presence.
‘Don’t wake her,’ Garth said from behind him, his voice low. ‘She had a migraine. She was sick for hours.’
Patrizio clenched and unclenched his fists. He wanted to shake her awake, to drag her by the hair out of her lover’s bed, but he knew it would be pointless. Hatred burned like a forest fire in his belly and he swore he would never set eyes on her again.
And he hadn’t.
Until today.
Patrizio slowly turned around to find her sitting with her head bowed, the bitten nails of one hand picking at the skin near her cuticles on the other. She looked pale and fragile, like a bird that had had its wings clipped and was struggling to fly again.
She lifted her head as if she had sensed his gaze on her and her pale cheeks slowly filled with delicate colour. He saw the up and down movement of her throat and the way the tip of her tongue came out to brush a film of moisture over her lips.
He had to harden his resolve all over again. He had known it would be hard, but not this hard. He hadn’t expected it to hurt so much to see her. It physically hurt to look at her. Pain knifed through him, like a thousand scalpels reopening old wounds that had taken every single day of the two months of their separation to start to heal over.
‘Patrizio…’ Her voice was so soft he almost didn’t hear it, but he saw her mouth moving and suddenly realised she was speaking. ‘I—I want to thank you for doing this to help the boys…I know it’s not what either of us wants. I just want you to know I’ll try and do my best to make sure it works.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, surprised that his voice sounded so even when he’d had to drag it past a golf ball–sized lump in his throat. ‘It was all I could think of to resolve the situation.’
‘It’s only for six weeks…’
‘Yes.’
He looked away, unable to hold her wounded violet-blue gaze any longer. ‘If you are not feeling well enough to eat out this evening we can postpone it until tomorrow evening,’ he said. ‘One day will not make much difference either way.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘I’m feeling much better now. Besides, I need to eat something.’
He moved to the other side of the room and, taking a small envelope off the coffee table, came back across and handed it to her.
Keira looked at it warily. ‘What is it?’
His eyes were steady on hers. ‘Your wedding and engagement rings,’ he said.
She took the envelope with fingers that felt numb and useless. ‘You kept them?’
He gave an indolent shrug. ‘I hadn’t got around to selling them after you sent them back to me. I was waiting until the divorce was finalised.’
She bit her lip and slowly took them out of the envelope, the crackle of the stiff paper sounding like someone stepping on bubble wrap. The rings lay in her palm, shining up at her with glittering eyes of accusation.
‘You had better put them on and keep them on while we are acting out this charade,’ he said into the silence. ‘Once it is over, you can keep them or send them back to me as you did the last time. I do not care either way.’
He turned to pick up his keys from the coffee table, the noise of them jangling against each other more like the sound of clanging bells in the thick silence.
Keira got to her feet, her legs still feeling shaky, but somehow she managed to follow him from the room and out to the car.
He didn’t talk on the way to the restaurant he had booked on Toorak Road. She glanced at him once or twice, her heart contracting as she saw his clenched jaw and tight mouth and the dark shadows beneath his eyes.
She let out a tiny sigh and wished she could turn back the clock. How different things might have been if that night had never happened. But it had and she had no way of undoing the damage. Even Garth had drifted away from her; their lifelong friendship had never quite recovered from that stolen night of passion.
Patrizio parked the car and came around to open her door, the cooler night air lifting the bare skin of her arms into tiny goose-bumps. ‘Are you cold?’ he asked, sliding his hand down the length of her arm to capture one of her hands in his.
Keira felt the latent strength in his fingers, her blood thrumming in her veins at the thought of feeling his touch all over her body once more. Her most secret place moistened and pulsed with longing to feel his hard presence plunging inside her again.
‘N-no…’ she said, shivering as his thumb moved back and forth over the leaping pulse under the translucent skin of her wrist.
He held her gaze for a moment, his expression hard to read. She felt his thumb come to a standstill, as if he were measuring the thud, thud, thud of her blood racing beneath her skin.
‘You are nervous, cara?’ he asked.
Keira wished he wouldn’t keep using those wonderful Italian terms of endearment he had used so often in the past. It didn’t seem right now when he hated her so much. ‘A bit,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure I can do this now it comes to the crunch.’
‘We have eaten together many times in the past, Keira,’ he reminded her. ‘Let us pretend the last two months did not happen. It will be much better that way.’
He led her into the restaurant, where they were greeted by the maître d’. ‘Mr Trelini and Mrs Trelini!’ His eyes lit up. ‘What is this? I cannot believe my very own eyes. You are having dinner together?’
‘Yes,’ Patrizio said. ‘We are celebrating our reconciliation.’
‘Congratulations!’ the maître d’ gushed. ‘That is wonderful, eh? No nasty divorce and no greedy lawyers.’
‘Right,’ Patrizio said with a smile and expression that spoke volumes.
Keira felt herself mentally recoiling at how obstructive she had been over the divorce. The female lawyer representing her had encouraged her to push for a fifty-fifty settlement and, although she hated doing so, she had agreed. It had been a desperate measure on her part as she knew Patrizio would fight it every inch of the way, but at least their divorce wouldn’t be finalised until they reached some sort of agreement. She’d rationalised that it would give her a few extra weeks to try and get him to reconsider his refusal to forgive her. It wasn’t as if she wanted Patrizio’s money; she had wanted his love and forgiveness much more than any amount of wealth.
They were shown to their table and left with the wine list. ‘Do you want red or white wine?’ Patrizio asked as he began to peruse the list.
‘I’d better stick to mineral water,’ she said, fidgeting with her purse. ‘I don’t want to trigger a headache.’
He lowered the list to look at her, a shadow of concern in his dark gaze. ‘Have you had more migraines than usual lately?’
She found it hard to keep her emotions in check with his coal-black eyes on hers. ‘Yes…’ she said, dropping her gaze from his. ‘It’s stress related mostly. I’ve got some pills to take now…they help a lot…’
Just then a man approached with a camera, a woman at his side with a notebook and pen.
‘Mr Trelini—’ the young woman spoke first ‘—we’ve heard a rumour today that you and Mrs Trelini are resuming your marriage.’
‘Yes, that is true,’ Patrizio said with an urbane smile. ‘We are indeed resuming our marriage and are both very happy to be together again.’
‘So does this mean you’ve forgiven your wife for her affair with Garth Merrick?’ she asked with a meaningful glance in Keira’s direction.
Keira felt her face fill with colour as if her shame had overflowed from deep in
side to find a more public place to showcase itself.
‘But of course,’ Patrizio said. ‘We are all entitled to one mistake, no? Many men have strayed in the past and their wives have been expected to not only forgive but to turn a blind eye. What is sauce for the goose and all that, right?’
‘Er…right,’ the journalist said, madly scribbling.
The man with the camera came closer and asked them to pose. Keira stretched her mouth into a semblance of a smile, the tiny fine hairs on the back of her neck lifting one by one as Patrizio’s hand cupped her nape.
‘Thank you both,’ the journalist said. ‘Enjoy your evening.’
‘We will,’ Patrizio said with another charming smile.
Keira blew out a ragged little sigh once they had left. ‘I’m not very good at this…’
‘You did fine,’ he said. ‘Now, what are you going to eat?’
Keira had never felt less like eating in her life. She stared at the menu for endless minutes, chewing at her bottom lip, wondering if he had any idea of how much this was affecting her.
He reached across the table and lifted her chin with his hand, the pad of his thumb moving over her savaged bottom lip. ‘You will draw blood if you keep doing that, cara,’ he said.
Tears shone in her eyes as she held his dark fathomless gaze. ‘I c-can’t help it…’ She choked back a tiny sob.
She heard him draw in a sharp breath, his fingers moving to cup her cheek in a touch so gentle and tender that the tears she was desperately trying to hold back began to spill from her eyes.
‘Please do not cry, Keira,’ he said. ‘Does my presence upset you this much?’
She nodded as another little broken sob escaped. ‘Sorry…I’ll be fine in a minute…’
‘You need feeding,’ he said, signalling for the waiter.
Keira mopped at her eyes as she heard Patrizio order her favourite dish for her, the fragile hold she had on her emotions threatening to slip away again. He might not love her but he hadn’t forgotten what she liked and disliked. Somehow she found that comforting.
‘How are your studies going?’ he asked once the waiter had left. ‘You must be close to finishing.’
‘Yes…’ she said, conscious of the steadiness of his dark gaze. ‘I’ve finished my thesis and it’s been assessed. I’m working on my final portfolio. There’s an exhibition for Masters students held at one of the galleries. It’s a chance to get noticed by the art world.’
‘You have enjoyed the course?’ he asked.
‘Yes, very much,’ she answered. ‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.’
‘Are your parents a little more resigned to your career choice?’
She gave him a grim look. ‘I think you know enough about my parents to know they would have preferred me to be doing something a little less controversial.’
‘Controversial?’ His brow creased slightly. ‘What is controversial about being an artist?’
‘You obviously haven’t seen any of my recent work,’ she said with a wry grimace.
His dark eyes twinkled. ‘So you have been milking some very sacred cows have you, cara?’
‘That’s not quite the expression I would have chosen but I guess it will do,’ she conceded. ‘I painted a rather subversive political work. It caused a bit of furore.’
‘With your father or the public?’
‘Both,’ she said. ‘I was at a demonstration and took it with me. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it in the press.’
‘I must have been interstate or overseas at the time,’ he said, frowning slightly. ‘Were you arrested?’
‘Not this time,’ she said. ‘But my father threatened to disinherit me if it happened again.’
Patrizio examined her features for a lengthy moment. ‘Our separation has not helped your relationship with your parents, has it?’ he asked.
She shook her head and began toying with the meal the waiter had set before her moments earlier. ‘No…but then that’s my fault and I accept total responsibility for it.’
Patrizio wondered if she really had. She seemed intent on sticking to her story of not remembering that night, which annoyed him immensely. She had wilfully gone to Merrick’s flat with the intention of resuming her relationship with him. There was no point in pretending she didn’t know how she’d ended up in bed with him. She couldn’t have chosen a more lethal blow to their marriage than that.
‘You do not look like you are enjoying your meal,’ he remarked. ‘Did I choose the wrong thing for you?’
She shook her head and put her cutlery down. ‘No, I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought. My appetite is still not back to normal since I had that bug.’
‘Come,’ he said, pulling her to her feet. ‘We have achieved what we set out to achieve. The press has got their statement from us. We will go home.’
‘But what about your meal?’ Keira asked. ‘Aren’t you going to finish it?’
He handed her his handkerchief, his expression wry. ‘I seem to have lost my appetite as well,’ he said. ‘Besides, it has been a long day. I am ready for bed.’
Bed.
One word.
Three letters.
Keira shivered as his arm came around her waist as he led her from the restaurant.
If trying to get through a meal with him had been hard, what on earth was it going to be like spending the next six weeks lying in his bed beside him?
CHAPTER FIVE
‘I HAVE some emails to see to on the computer in my office,’ Patrizio informed Keira once they had returned to his house. ‘I will leave you to prepare for bed. I will try not to disturb you when I join you later.’
She swallowed. ‘Which side do you want me to sleep on?’
His eyes hardened slightly as they meshed with hers. ‘What is your preference these days?’ he asked. ‘Right or left, or do you still lie right in the middle?’ Sprawled like a whore, he added silently, his gut twisting all over again with the venomous vipers of jealousy.
‘I don’t have a preference.’
His top lip lifted sardonically. ‘Then perhaps we should toss a coin.’ He took one out of his trouser pocket and started turning it over in his hand. ‘Your call. Heads is the right side, tails is left.’
‘Heads,’ she said, feeling her stomach trip over itself in apprehension.
He tossed the coin and, deftly catching it, turned over his hand to show her. ‘You lose.’
Yet again, Keira thought. She had never won anything when it came to a contest with Patrizio. He had an innate ability to turn things to his advantage. Even their bitter break up—splashed all over the newspapers as it had been—had generated a huge groundswell of public support for him, taking his business to the heights of success. Shares in the company had doubled overnight, investors had clamoured to get on board, property developers wanted his and only his luxury home designs for their new estates. He had made millions out of her betrayal and, in spite of his obvious bitterness and anger towards her, she couldn’t help feeling he had probably been laughing all the way to the bank ever since.
‘Goodnight, Keira,’ he said into the pulsing silence.
She turned away without answering, her shoulders going down as her legs carried her upwards.
Patrizio tore his gaze away from her passage up the stairs, his jaw rigid as he clenched and unclenched his fists until his fingers ached.
Six weeks.
It wasn’t long. He could do it. He could lie next to her for forty-five nights without touching her.
He had to do it.
Keira had the dream again. She hadn’t had it for several weeks but it was just as terrifyingly real as the last time.
She shot upright in bed, her chest heaving in panic, her heart racing as the sound of her scream still reverberated off the walls.
‘What the hell?’ Patrizio woke with a start, his pupils instantly shrinking as Keira turned on the bedside lamp.
‘Sorry…’ she mumbled as she got out of bed, hug
ging her arms across her chest, her oversized pyjamas making her look more like a child than a woman of close to twenty-five.
‘Did you have a nightmare or something?’ he asked.
She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you…I had a bad dream…Sorry…’
He flung the bedcovers aside and went to where she was standing, her body still visibly trembling. He touched her on the shoulder and felt her flinch, her body shrinking away from him. He let his hand fall and sent it on a rough pathway through his hair instead. ‘Would you like a drink of water or something?’ he offered.
She gave a little shudder and turned to face him, her eyes meeting his briefly before slipping away again. ‘Yes…that would be good…thanks…’
Patrizio was glad of an excuse to leave the room while he got his reaction to her vulnerability under some sort of control. Surely she had never been this fragile before. It got to him. It really got to him. It made him want to protect her, to hold her close and soothe away her fears as he had done so often in the past.
Fool, he reprimanded himself. She was probably doing it deliberately. The divorce settlement wasn’t going her way, he had been making it as difficult as he could and she was no doubt using this brief reconciliation to her advantage, making him desire her all over again so he would agree to her outrageous demands.
He’d have to watch himself around her. She was a temptress. She had always had that look of little-girl-lost innocence about her. She had claimed to be a virgin when he’d first met her but now, with hindsight, he seriously doubted it. She had slept with him on that first night without hesitation. He had fallen in love with her when she told him he had been her first lover. It had knocked him sideways to think she had waited when so many young women of her age had numerous notches on their belts. He had been blinded by lust and the dream of having her exclusively to himself. He had married her as quickly as he could, never once realising that she still held a candle for her childhood sweetheart, Garth Merrick.
And if it hadn’t been for Bruno’s and Jamie’s education hanging in the balance he would be free of her by now.
Innocent Wife, Baby of Shame Page 4
