The Unwanted Wife (Unwanted #1)(28)

“Look at me,” he demanded softly when she kept her eyes glued to his chest. When she refused, he muttered something beneath his breath before lifting one hand from her shoulder to tilt up her jaw until her eyes met his. Whatever he saw on her defiant face made his eyebrows lower and his eyes darken.

“I’m trying to fix this, cara,” he whispered, the words sounding almost ripped from his throat.

“You can’t.” She shook her head sadly. “This…whatever it is…it’s irreparable.”

“Why?” He shook his head slightly in confused frustration.

“Because everything you do now feels insincere and forced!” she hissed in sudden fury. “Every touch, every apology, every endearment…it’s like you brushed up on the ‘Theresa Noble User Manual’ and learned what makes me tick!”

“First, it’s Theresa De Lucci, and second, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” he practically shouted, shaking her slightly.

“The kisses for one,” she said, itemizing.

“What?”

“A year and a half of marriage, Alessandro, and tonight was the first time you’ve ever kissed me,” she pointed out. “You must have known how much it hurt me to know that you despised me so much that you couldn’t even bring yourself to kiss me.”

“That’s not—”

“So of course tonight,” she interrupted him, not at all interested in whatever he had to say, “after making me feel so special by finally doing me the honor of introducing me to your friends, this is when you decide to sweeten the pot with a few of your kisses! It probably struck you as a pretty effective way to keep the bitch muzzled and content, right?”


“You’re misreading the entire situation, cara.”

“Don’t call me that! I am not your darling. I’ve never been your darling and I’m not going to be na?ve enough to fall for your so-called charms again!”

“What do you want from me?” He suddenly demanded desperately, releasing her shoulders so abruptly that she stumbled and fell. He froze in horror, staring down at her with a look of such abject misery, contrition and despair that she almost felt sorry for him. She sat up and stared into his distressed face.

“I want a divorce,” she whispered and he sank down to his knees beside her, lifting a hand to caress the curve of her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I’m so sorry for more things than you could possibly imagine but that’s the one thing I can’t give you.”

“Then we have nothing more to talk about,” she pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the hand he offered to help her. She suddenly realized that they were both naked and sighed heavily.

“Please, just go back to your room, Alessandro,” she pleaded, and he hesitated, his eyes lingering on her face for a few long moments, before he turned abruptly and left.




She woke up in the guest bedroom the following morning…alone. She was both saddened and relieved by that. A quick glance at the clock told her that it was well after ten in the morning, and the gloom told her that it was probably raining. Theresa was shocked that she had slept so late and rushed through her morning ablutions while trying to ignore the ever-present queasiness. She gingerly made her way downstairs, feeling like someone with a hangover as she headed for the kitchen.

Fortunately, no food smells were emanating from the room, but when she walked in, it was to find Sandro sitting at the breakfast bar and staring thoughtfully down at his full coffee mug. He looked up when she stepped into the room his eyes sweeping over her figure, taking in the worn old jeans, faded sweatshirt, and battered little sneakers.

“How are you feeling, ca…Theresa?”

“Fine,” she mumbled, getting herself a glass of orange juice before turning toward the breakfast bar and taking the seat opposite his on one of the quaint wooden chairs.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” he asked softly, and Theresa grimaced, the thought of food making her stomach churn queasily.

“I’m fine.”

He swore softly.

“You’re obviously not fine,” he growled. “I don’t know what you think starving yourself will achieve.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, I’m hardly starving myself, just skipping breakfast.”

“You look like you’ve skipped entirely too many meals recently.” He shook his head and sent a scathing glare up and down her thin frame.

“If it’ll get you off my back, I’ll have some toast,” she said, bristling, before slamming her glass down. She used too much force and must have placed it right on the edge because the glass went tumbling down to the floor and shattered on impact, spilling the bright contents all over the pale blue tile of the floor. The jarring noise completely unraveled Theresa and frayed her nerves to the breaking point.

“Oh.” Her eyes flooded with tears. “I’m sorry…”

“Theresa.” Sandro was beside her in seconds, his hands on her shoulders and his face peering down into hers in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she whispered, shrugging out of his grip, and he dropped his hands abruptly.

“Are you sure?” he demanded. “You’re as white as a sheet.”