The Unwanted Wife (Unwanted #1)(30)

“Well, aside from the obvious fact that I’m unhappy with my life as it is right now”—she shrugged—“I can’t say that there’s much going on with me.”

“You’re lying to me.” He sounded so incredulous at that fact that she actually laughed in genuine amusement. “Are you having an affair?”


“Back to that, are we?” She laughed incredulously, unable to believe that he could seriously harbor even the slightest suspicion about her fidelity. “Sandro, not everybody stoops to adultery when things aren’t going right in their lives.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He sounded outrageously offended and leaned toward her, all affronted, bristling male.

“Oh, come on, Sandro, you know what it means!”

“No, I don’t, do enlighten me,” he invited sarcastically.

“It means…” She spoke with exaggerated and offensive slowness. “That I’m not the one who has been having the affairs. It means that I had the misguided notion that the sacred marriage vows we took were just that, sacred vows. It means that I’m not the one who deliberately set out to hurt and humiliate my spouse as publicly and as painfully as possible.”

“I admit that I did some things to deliberately hurt you in a misguided attempt to punish you for a situation that wasn’t your fault,” he began carefully.

“How magnanimous of you to admit that,” she interrupted sarcastically.

“You were misled into believing that I loved you,” he ignored her interruption. “I was misled into believing you were…”

“Your drinks.” The waiter’s smooth voice interrupted the first really productive exchange they’d had on the subject of the unusual circumstances of their marriage, and Sandro slanted him an annoyed look before gritting his teeth and waiting in fulminating silence for the man to finish. When the waiter left, Sandro turned his attention back on her.

“I thought you knew about your father’s scheme. I thought you were fully on board with it,” he admitted softly.

“What exactly is my father’s ‘scheme’?” She asked carefully, wary of being shot down again.

“He owned something that I desperately wanted, and the only way he would let me have it was if I paid a huge amount of money for it, married you, and moved here.”

“I see.” She studied the intricately folded napkin on the table in front of her and traced her fingers lightly over the folds. “So, in essence, you paid an exorbitant sum for this mysterious something that you so desperately wanted, with me tossed in as your unwanted free gift?”

“I had no choice. To get what I wanted, I had to accept you as part of the deal. I thought…” His voice tapered off and he shrugged miserably.

“You flattered yourself into thinking that I was fully cognizant of this scheme and that I was so desperate to have you, I would have my daddy blackmail you into marrying me?” He nodded reluctantly. “Well, you got what you wanted, and since it’s obvious that we’re both miserable in this sham of a marriage, why won’t you give me that divorce?” She continued to probe, desperately hoping that he couldn’t tell how much actually hearing this confession hurt her.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. I think your father knew that we would both eventually want out of this ‘sham.’ So he added a little clause to the contract.”

This was it. Theresa braced herself for what she knew was coming.

“Clause?” She repeated the word faintly, and Sandro cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Your father—”

The waiter swooped in with great flair and began to offload a tray of food onto their table. Sandro muffled a curse beneath his breath while he waited with barely concealed impatience for the younger man to finish.

“Will there be anything else?”

“No!” he barked, keeping his voice low and menacing. The poor man gulped and beat a hasty retreat. Theresa barely registered the interaction between the two men, her horrified eyes were focused on the gastronomic feast Sandro had ordered. Pastas, pies, fish, meat, and vegetables were laid out in front of her rebelling senses.

“Theresa?” Sandro’s voice seemed to come from miles away. “What’s wrong?”

“So much food,” she said sickly, feeling in danger of losing the precious little she already had in her stomach.

“I thought we could share,” he admitted.

“I told you I wasn’t hungry,” she said, her voice flaring weakly, angry that he expected her to fall victim to yet another one of his manipulations.

“It doesn’t tempt you? Not even a little?” He lifted his fork and stuck it into the closest dish, some kind of cheese bake, and lifted it toward her lips. Theresa could feel her gorge rise and jerked her head back abruptly.

“No!”

He lowered the fork and glared at her in outraged bewilderment. “What the hell is going on with you? Are you on some insane hunger strike?”


She laughed unsteadily. “That’s what prisoners do, isn’t it? When they want to make a statement about the unjustness of their imprisonment, they go on a hunger strike.” She laughed again, aware of the edge of hysteria in her voice.

“You’re not serious?” He seemed to think she was though, and for some reason that both saddened and amused her.