A Facade to Shatter(60)

She could see her destination, see the terrazzo through the pencil pines and bougainvillea—and a man standing with his back to her. He had dark hair and wore a suit, and a swift current of anger shot through her veins, giving her the impetus she needed to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

She’d told Zach’s lawyer that she didn’t want to meet him. Yet he’d dared to come anyway, no doubt to try and force her to sign the documents that would make her the owner of a bank account with far too much money in it. She was not about to let Zach assuage his guilt that way. Let him choke on his millions for all she cared.

The man should not have made it through the estate’s security, but he’d obviously sweet-talked his way inside. A red mist of rage clouded her vision as she trod up the lawn. Her stomach churned and her vision swam, but she was determined to make it. Determined to tell this man to take his briefcase full of papers and shove them where the sun didn’t shine.

He might have sweet-talked Nonna into letting him onto the estate, but he wasn’t sweet-talking her.

She stepped onto the tiles, her heart pounding with the effort. “How dare you,” she began—but he turned around and the words got stuck in her mouth.

Her vision blurred and started to grow dark at the edges as bile rose in her throat. Too late, she recognized what was happening. Then everything ceased to exist.

Zach was miserable. He paced the halls of the local hospital where Lia had been taken. Her grandmother had promised to let him know what was happening, but she’d disappeared into the room with Lia and the doctor and hadn’t come out again.

Zach shoved a hand through his hair and contemplated bursting through the door to Lia’s room. This was not at all what he’d expected when he’d arrived today. He cursed himself for not being more cautious, for not calling her first. If he’d caused any harm to Lia or the baby, he would never forgive himself.

He stood with his fists clenched at his sides. He’d been such a fool, and now he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d come too late.

That night, when he’d stood in the rain and told Lia about what had really happened—what had nearly happened—in that trench, he’d felt like the lowest kind of bastard. The kind who didn’t deserve a sweet wife and a happy ending. He’d hated himself for turning on her during the storm—and earlier, in Palermo. He couldn’t control the beast inside him, the slavering animal that reacted blindly, lashing out in fear and fury.

When he’d shoved her back on the bed, he’d known he couldn’t take that risk ever again. He hadn’t hurt her, as she’d pointed out, but he didn’t trust that he was incapable of hurting her. He’d known then that he had to end it between them, and he had to do it immediately.

Letting her go had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. For days after she’d left, he’d walked around his house like a ghost, looking at the places she’d been, imagining her there within reach. Dying to touch her again and aching so hard because he couldn’t.

He told himself he’d done the right thing. He was a beast, a monster, a man incapable of tenderness and love. He’d sacrificed himself for her safety, her happiness, and he’d felt honorable doing it.

But he’d also been miserable. And once he’d walked into his office and found the medal she’d left, he’d had a sudden visceral reaction that had left him on his knees, his gut hollow with pain, his throat raw with the howl that burst from him.

That’s when he realized what he’d done. He’d sent her away, the greatest gift to come into his miserable life. In that moment, he knew what the hollowness, the despair, deep inside him was. He was in love with his wife. And he’d sent her away.

He’d wanted to go to her immediately, to beg her forgiveness—but he couldn’t. He had to get himself straight first. He had to work on the things he’d shoved down deep. She’d told him to fight for her, and he’d been a coward.

Well, no more. He wasn’t ready to quit. He wasn’t going to quit. He’d done everything he could to come to her a changed man. Everything he could to deserve her.

He stared at the door to her room, ready to burst through it and see if she was all right. It was taking too long and he was about to go crazy with fear. But then the door opened and the doctor came out.

“How is she?”

The man looked up from the chart he was holding. “Signora Scott will be fine. But she needs rest, signore. A woman in her condition should not be working outside in the heat of the day.” He shook his head, then consulted the chart again. “She is dehydrated, but the fluids will take care of that. I want to keep her for observation, because of the baby, but she should be able to go home again in a few hours if all remains stable.”