The Unwanted Wife (Unwanted #1)(45)
“Right,” the doctor seemed satisfied. “I’d like to keep her here overnight. Tomorrow, you may take her home and try to get beyond the parking lot this time.” With that final admonishment, he turned and left the room, grumbling under his breath as he did so. Theresa and Sandro watched as the door swung shut behind him before turning to face each other awkwardly.
“I’m sorry,” they blurted simultaneously after a long pause.
“Why are you sorry?” Sandro asked in confusion, dragging up a chair and sitting down beside the bed, still clutching her hand like it was a life preserver and he a drowning man.
“I shouldn’t have brought up your private life like that. What you do after we split up is none of my business and after…after everything my father has done to you, I honestly believe that you deserve the happiness you’ll find with the woman you love. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation with her last night, either; it was an accident.” He looked so confused by her words that she paused.
“What conversation?” he asked.
“With Francesca?” Theresa was no longer so sure of what she had heard and the words emerged on a questioning note. “Last night, after Scrabble, you were on the phone with her?”
“No, I was on the phone with my sister, Isabella, and Francesca’s name came up in conversation. Isabella can be a little insistent on the topic of Francesca, and I was getting a bit frustrated with her. I’ve never called Francesca from our home, Theresa. In fact, I rarely speak to her when I’m not in Italy.”
“Oh.” She obviously needed to learn more Italian. She didn’t doubt that he’d spoken to his sister—not when he was so determined to be apologetic. His words had an unmistakable ring of sincerity to them, yet she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that last statement about rarely speaking to Francesca. It just seemed too good to be true.
“Anyway,” she continued, deciding to let the subject of Francesca go for now. “I’m sorry for overreacting like a hysterical fishwife earlier; I just I got so angry after what you said. I don’t need empty platitudes, Sandro. You don’t have to say anything to make me feel better about our situation. You really don’t have to pretend to care about me or about the baby.” He swore shakily before lifting her hand and resting his forehead on the back of it.
“What an unholy mess I’ve made of things,” he said, half laughing, his voice sounding strained. “Nothing I say now will ever make a difference to how you feel, will it? Everything I try to say or do will come across as desperate and insincere.”
“What I don’t get is why you’re still trying?” she whispered in confusion, watching his bowed head intently. “You’ve won. You have everything you want within your grasp, the vineyard and freedom. Yet you keep trying, coming to me with all of these demands to be involved in my life. Why?”
“Why don’t we just let it go for now?” He lifted his head to meet her eyes, his own brown gaze liquid with regret. She nodded slightly and he smiled halfheartedly.
“I’ve called Elisa and asked her to bring you a change of clothes. Are you thirsty?” She nodded shyly and he smiled. “I’ll go and find you something to drink, okay?” He stood up and brushed a gentle, slightly shaky hand over her hair. “You scared the hell out of me, Theresa. So from now on you are to remain calm and not let your idiot of a husband upset you again. Okay?”
“Okay.” She smiled up into his gentle eyes.
“Good.” He leaned over to brush his lips over her forehead. “That’s good, Theresa.” She watched him leave and sighed softly, wishing that her life could be different and that they were a normal couple, excited about having their first baby. She ran a hand over the slight bump of her stomach, gently communing with her baby, apologizing for the recklessness that could have cost his life. She was lost in thought, humming a gentle lullaby while she continued to stroke the small baby bump, when she gradually became aware of a presence in the open door. She gasped in surprise, not sure how long he’d been standing there. He stepped forward almost reluctantly, his handsome face more grim than usual. For a man who usually had his emotions sealed up tight, he looked like someone who was struggling mightily to keep his expression absolutely neutral. But the muscles bunching in his jaw, the cords tightening in his neck, and his thinned lips were strong indicators of how hard he was fighting to keep whatever he was feeling hidden. Fascinated by the incredibly bad job he was doing of pretending to appear completely detached, she was still absently running a hand over her stomach when she gasped and jumped for a completely different reason.
All pretense of detachment tossed aside, Sandro’s face paled and his eyes darkened in alarm as he surged toward the cot in the luxurious private room and thumped the bottle of fresh juice down on the cabinet beside the bed.
“What’s wrong, Theresa? Are you in pain?” She shook her head, before lifting her beaming face up to his. He stopped short, inhaling sharply at her radiant expression. Her eyes were alight with tears and absolute joy while her lips were parted in the most serene, stunning smile he had ever seen.
“He moved,” she breathed in awe. “I just felt him move, Sandro! For the first time.”
“You…he…The baby?” he asked incoherently, moving even closer to the bed and leaning over her small figure.