A Facade to Shatter(59)

She’d discovered that she had far more money than she’d thought. She would not need Zach’s money to take care of their baby. It wasn’t a fortune, but it would do.

It gave her great satisfaction to refuse a meeting with Zach’s local attorney when he’d called to say he’d set up a bank account for her and needed her signature on some papers.

She would not take a dime of Scott money. Not ever.

The thought of Zach still had the power to make her feel as if someone had stabbed her with a hot dagger. She was so angry with him. So filled with rage and hate and—

No, not hate. Bitter disappointment. Hurt.

Her worst nightmare had come true when she’d given him her heart and he’d flung it back at her. He’d rejected her, just as she’d always been rejected by those to whom she wanted to mean something.

And it hadn’t killed her. That was the part she’d found amazing, once she stopped crying and feeling sorry for herself.

She was hurt, yes, but she was here. Alive. And she had a life growing inside her, a tiny, wonderful life that she already loved so much. Her child would have everything she had not had. Friends, love, acceptance.

But not a father, she thought wistfully. Her baby would not have a father. Oh, Zach didn’t want a divorce. He’d been very clear that she was still a Scott for as long as she wanted to be one, and that their child would have his name.

She’d met Zach’s parents before she’d left. They’d been nice, if a bit formal, and they’d told her they wanted to be involved in their grandchild’s life. So, her baby might not have a father, but he or she would have grandparents. She had agreed to return to the United States at least once a year, and they had indicated they would come to Sicily as often as she would allow it.

It had seemed far enough in the future that she figured she would have learned how to deal with her memories of Zach by then. She kept seeing him as he’d been that last night in Hawaii. Dark, tortured, dripping wet and so stubborn she wanted to put her hands around his throat and squeeze until he would listen to sense.

But there was no talking to Zach when he made up his mind. And, in his mind, he was a dangerous, damaged man who had no hope for the future. They’d boarded a jet the next morning after the storm on Maui. By nightfall they’d been back in D.C and then he’d disappeared.

Finally, on the fifth day, she’d decided she’d had enough. She’d made travel arrangements to Sicily and then she’d informed Raoul when she was leaving for the airport.

Zach had appeared very quickly after that. It had been an awkward meeting in which he’d told her he didn’t want a divorce and that he would support her and their child. She’d sat through it silently, fuming and aching and wanting to throw things.

In the end, she’d left because it hurt too much to stay. Before she’d walked out the door the final time, she’d gone into his office and dropped the medal on his desk. He wasn’t there, but she’d known he would see it. If it made him angry, so be it. It was the final tie she needed to cut if she was to move on with her life.

Apparently, her leaving hadn’t fazed him in the least. It had been a month and she’d heard nothing from Zach, though she’d heard plenty from his local attorney. A man who was beginning to leave increasingly strident messages. Messages she had no intention of returning.

She clipped off some rosemary a little more viciously than necessary and dropped it in the basket. Then she got to her feet and put her hand in the small of her back. Her back ached quite a lot these days, but the doctor said everything was normal. She hadn’t really started to show yet, though she’d had to get expansion bands for her pants and wear clothing that was loose around the middle. Soon, it would be time for maternity wear, but right now her maxi dress and sandals did just fine.

In the distance, the sea sparkled sapphire. It looked nothing like Maui, but it made her wistful nevertheless. She often found herself sitting on her little secluded terrazzo and gazing at the sea. She thought that if she did it enough, she would anesthetize herself to the pain.

So far, it hadn’t worked. It was like reopening a wound each and every time.

She turned to make her way back to her cottage. The grounds sloped upward and the walk in this heat made her heart pound until she began to feel light-headed. She stopped for a moment, the basket slung over her arm, and wiped her forehead again. Her vision was growing spotty and her belly was churning. She groped in the basket for her water and came up with an empty bottle.