The Unwanted Wife (Unwanted #1)(29)
“Just a bit of a shock.” She waved his concern aside. “It’s raining,” she observed inanely in a very weak attempt to change the subject, and her eyes fixed on the dull grayness of the world outside.
“Yes.” He stepped farther away from her and knelt down to pick up the shards of glass from the floor. “It is.” She started to get up, but he looked up at her from where he was squatting at her feet and dropped a large hand on her thigh to keep her from moving.
“The floor’s slippery and covered in glass; let me clear it up before you get off the chair.” She shrugged and silently watched as he efficiently went about cleaning up her mess.
“What are you doing today?” he asked casually, keeping his back to her as he discarded the glass and paper towels he had used to sop up the excess juice.
“I need to do some shopping,” she answered distractedly. “I was thinking of heading to the city for some stuff.” She intended to buy about a dozen different home pregnancy kits, a task which she had delayed for much too long.
“I’m running low on some things too,” he responded casually, turning around to face her. “I’ll drive you.”
Theresa came out of her daze with a wry smile.
“Wow. That lie was so transparent that I’m almost embarrassed for you.”
He chuckled wryly in response to her dry wit and shrugged slightly.
“I know it wasn’t up to scratch, but give me a break, it’s been an eventful twenty-four hours and I’m not in top form,” he joked lightly, even though his eyes were still running over her face and body in concern. “I don’t want you to drive, Theresa; you look a bit out of it. Do you think you’re coming down with something?”
Yes. Pregnancy.
“I’m fine but I do feel a bit out of sorts this morning, probably the whiskey in that Irish coffee I had with the ladies last night.” Right, she’d barely made her way through a quarter of one mug before realizing that, if she was pregnant, drinking would probably not be such a great idea. Still, Sandro didn’t know how much she’d had, so it was a perfectly acceptable excuse. He seemed to fall for it and nodded his acceptance of her explanation.
“When would you like to leave?”
Theresa sighed softly; she really didn’t want him trailing after her while she tried to figure out a way to buy home pregnancy tests without him noticing. Sandro would never miss that.
“I really do have some stuff to take care of, Theresa,” he said seriously, seeming to read her mind. “I’ll leave you in relative peace.” She chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully, not missing how his eyes flared when her tongue darted out to soothe the sting of her teeth where she had accidentally bitten too hard.
“Okay…give me an hour to get ready.” To shower, get dressed, throw up, and such. He nodded.
He was as good as his word and mostly left her alone to unenthusiastically browse around the upmarket boutiques in the very high-end shopping mall that he had driven her to. She used the first ten minutes away from him to buy the pregnancy kits, six of them, all different brands (who knew there were so many choices available?), just in case he changed his mind about leaving her alone. Surprisingly he did constantly call or text her to be sure she was okay and didn’t need him, which got rather tedious after the tenth text message in forty minutes and the fifth call in an hour and a half. In the end, she simply told him she was done shopping, and he suggested they meet up and head to a restaurant for lunch.
The upscale restaurant was obviously one Sandro often patronized, so, even though it was lunchtime on a Saturday afternoon and the place was exceedingly popular, they were seated immediately. Theresa watched the staff fawn all over him and bitterly wondered if he had brought any other women here. The suspicion seemed to be confirmed when the waiter turned to her with something resembling a leer.
“And what will the lady be ordering today?” he asked in that supercilious manner that servers in upmarket restaurants often have.
“Your Caesar salad, no dressing, toast, and water,” she ordered brusquely.
“And have you decided on a main course yet?” he asked with an annoying smirk.
“That would be it,” she responded shortly. His smug attitude was really grating on her nerves.
“Theresa.” Sandro leaned forward in concern. “You didn’t have breakfast; you need to eat something more substantial than just salad.”
“I’m really not that hungry.” She shrugged dismissively, handing the thick leather-bound menu back to the waiter. “Please just let it go.”
“If you’re on some crazy diet…”
“I’m not on a diet!” she snapped. “Just, please, stop trying to manipulate every single aspect of my life!” His jaw clenched and his lips thinned in obvious anger, but surprisingly enough he let it go before proceeding to order a staggering amount of food from the waiter. Once they were alone, he leaned back in his chair and stared at her thoughtfully.
“Seriously,” he began after a long silence, which she had stubbornly refused to break. “What’s going on with you?” She gaped at him, unable to believe the stupidity of that question and he lowered his eyes, apparently realizing that himself.
“Aside from the obvious,” he qualified. “And try to keep the sarcasm down to a minimum.”