The Unwanted Wife (Unwanted #1)(40)
“Well, feel free to use it the next time you play a Frenchman!” He laughed outright at that, and she caught her breath at the carefree sound. Every day he relaxed more and more around her and she often sensed that he wanted to extend their time together. He contemplated the board again, muttering to himself in Italian and stroking his jaw thoughtfully as he considered his next move. Eventually he settled on “eel,” which was so badly placed that it was worth only three points. She snorted disdainfully while taking down his meager points and then smiled sweetly up at him, while pointing out the free “t” that he could have used for the word “exit.” She then went on to gleefully use that “t” for her own word, making use of the conveniently situated triple-word score in the process and amassing a handy thirty-nine points for “smithy.”
“What is this word?” he growled. “Names aren’t allowed!” She couldn’t help but giggle at his outrage before whipping out a definition of the word for him. He glared down at the dictionary before grumbling to himself in Italian again and going back to studying the board. Theresa smiled slightly to herself, noting the way his hair slid forward over his forehead and just dying to brush it back; she hid her hands beneath the table and clenched her fists to quell the unreasonable impulse.
“I know that it’s early days yet, but I’ve been thinking about decorating the nursery,” she said just to get her mind off her crazy desire to touch him. Her words caught his attention and he looked up with an unguarded smile.
“That’s a terrific idea.” He nodded eagerly. “We could go shopping for furniture and toys, I saw this huge panda bear at a toy shop a week ago that would be perfect for a baby.” His enthusiastic response completely threw her and she stared at him blankly for a few moments.
“A toy shop?” she asked, and he went slightly red.
“There’s one close to the office and I’ve visited it a couple of times during my lunch hour,” he admitted. “Just to see what kind of toys and things babies need these days.”
Theresa had no clue how she was supposed to respond to that. Should she be concerned that he seemed to be taking more than a casual interest in the baby or should she be pleased? And how on earth was she supposed to react to his assumption that they would be decorating the nursery together? Her emotions were in such turmoil that in the end, she said nothing and shoved it aside to be processed later. Sandro, sensing the shift in her mood and seeming to recognize that he’d said too much, lapsed into an uncomfortable silence and toyed with one of his tiles.
“I’m feeling a little tired. I may just head up to bed,” she suddenly said, and he looked up in resentment.
“I still have an hour left,” he pointed out bitterly, and she bit her lip nervously.
“Yes, you do,” she finally said, and gestured toward the board. “It’s your move.” His eyes glimmered with some indefinable emotion before he shook his head and got up.
“You’re not my prisoner, Theresa. If you’re tired go to bed,” he said wearily, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tailored business suit trousers and totally ruining the cut of the expensive garment.
“Far be it from me to renege on a bargain,” she maintained, remaining stubbornly seated, even though she would have liked nothing better than to flee.
“You’re being so goddamned childish,” he seethed, and turned to leave the room before she had a chance to retaliate. She sat there for a few minutes before she acknowledged that he really wasn’t coming back. It was the first time in more than a month that they’d had any kind of serious dispute, and Theresa regretted that. She knew that she had been childish, because she hadn’t known of any other way to deal with her emotions. She sighed, acknowledging that she needed to apologize to him, and pushed herself up from the plush heated carpet, thinking that it was best to get it over with as soon as possible.
She headed toward his study, and as she approached the slightly ajar door, she realized that he was speaking to someone in a low voice. Not wanting to intrude on his telephone call, her steps slowed slightly and she turned around to head toward the kitchen for a small snack. She was just about to walk away when she heard him groan huskily before saying, “Francesca…” in a quiet and intense voice. The single word was enough to freeze Theresa in her tracks. Sandro was still talking in that low voice, his words, which were in Italian, sounding more urgent. Theresa took a step toward the study’s open door, and his voice became slightly clearer, even though he was murmuring intimately.
“…Francesca, cara…” were two of the incriminating words she could understand amid the torrent of Italian, and she bit her lip uncertainly, not sure if he was talking to Francesca or about her. God, why hadn’t she learned more Italian? Right now she understood just enough to make her miserable with jealousy and pain. After hearing the woman’s name for the first time so many months ago, Theresa had tried to put her out of her mind. Knowing nothing about her, it had seemed wisest not to speculate for fear of having her imagination run wild. Now, she wished she had done some research on this Francesca, even though having only one name to go on would have made it difficult, and Theresa wasn’t about to ask her father or Sandro for details about the mystery woman.
Sandro was oblivious to her presence outside his study door as he continued his low-voiced conversation, and Theresa understood only a few random words that meant little to her. He kept using endearments, though; those she knew very well because he’d frequently resorted to them while having sex with her. She had often wondered if that had been his way of depersonalizing the act even further since he had rarely used her name during their most intimate moments. She hovered outside her husband’s study door, much like she had been hovering on the outskirts of his life for nearly two years, before turning away and heading back upstairs. She had showered, changed for bed, and had long since turned off her bedroom lights when she eventually heard his light tread on the staircase. She held her breath when he paused, as he always did, outside her door but instead of feeling the usual relief when he moved on a few moments later, this time Theresa turned her face into her pillow and cried herself to sleep.