The Unwanted Wife (Unwanted #1)(48)
After a flurry of hugs and kisses they were gone, leaving her grim-faced, silent husband behind. Theresa sneaked a glance up at said grim-faced, silent husband and was suddenly attacked by a fit of irreverent giggles. Now that nobody was around to witness it, she felt free to laugh at the image he presented. He looked like an underdressed, forlorn clown with those balloons clutched in his hand.
“What?” he asked, the grim fa?ade melting away in the face of her amusement.
“It’s just…those balloons, Sandro.” She snorted, trying to control the giggles. His own devastating grin lit up his face.
“I know, right?” He shook his head sadly as he tied the balloons to her bedpost. “A hospital without a single ‘get-well-soon’ balloon in sight. Craziness.”
“Thank you for them anyway. They always brighten up a room.”
“I remember you saying that when you talked about a friend’s tenth birthday party. You wanted some for your own…” But she hadn’t even had a party that year, much less balloons. She didn’t even know why she’d confessed that sorry tale to him. There was an awkward silence while he stood hovering by her bedside.
“You don’t have to stay, Sandro…” she whispered. “Why don’t you go into the office and get some work done? I am sure you have better things to do than hang around here.”
“I’m exactly where I want to be,” he gritted implacably. He reached over and took the truffles and flowers from her arms. Dumping the box on her bedside table and sticking the flowers into the half full plastic water canister that a nurse had left on the over-bed table, he then dragged over the chair that Lisa had recently abandoned, moving the bag to the floor and sitting down almost defiantly.
“Okay.” She was too tired to argue, and truth be told, rather relieved to have him there. For a long time neither of them said anything. He leaned back in the uncomfortable-looking chair and stared off into space. Theresa lowered her lashes and watched him surreptitiously, marveling at his absolute stillness. He was usually filled with so much restless energy, always on the move, typing away on his laptop or fiddling with his smartphone or barking orders into the telephone. When he wasn’t doing anything work-related, he would swim endless laps or work out in their home gym. She had never seen him merely sit down and stare off into the distance, and it disturbed her in a way that she could not quite define.
“Do you think my father will come to see me?” Theresa broke the silence nearly half an hour later, having dozed off in the interim. Sandro’s eyes met hers and he shook his head grimly.
“Highly unlikely, since he doesn’t know that you’re here.” He shrugged and she gasped, struggling to sit up.
“But how could you not tell him?” she asked, rather offended on her father’s behalf. The man was a bully and a tyrant but he was her father.
“The doctor said you shouldn’t be upset and I can’t quite envision a visit from your father being anything other than stressful for you,” he said sarcastically. He was right, her father would antagonize Sandro, which would upset her and they would all wind up arguing. It was always the same. She sank back feeling depressed and sad and Sandro’s expression gentled.
“I’ll call him if you want me to, Theresa,” he offered quietly, and she shook her head, suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge to burst into tears again.
“You’re right, a visit from him wouldn’t be very pleasant,” she said in an alarmingly wobbly voice. “But I keep hoping…” She left the rest unspoken but he seemed to understand.
“I know.” He hesitantly reached for one of the limp hands resting on her stomach, engulfing it in both of his.
“I don’t know why he’s like that.” she kept her eyes averted. “All of my life, I tried so hard to make him love me, but he never could. For a short while I thought I found what I was looking for, someone who could love me…” She was barely aware of what she was saying while her blurred gaze remained fixed on their joined hands. There was a long silence while they both contemplated their entwined fingers and Sandro sighed heavily.
“Why don’t you take a little nap?” he suggested gently. “I’ll be here to keep an eye on things.” What things he felt he had to keep an eye on, she had no idea but just having him there made her feel better and she lay back with a contented sigh and was asleep almost immediately.
CHAPTER EIGHT
You are an extremely difficult patient, cara,” Sandro gritted out from between his teeth three days later. It was midafternoon and he had walked into her workroom, only to find her guiltily standing in the middle of the room. She was clutching the sketchbook that she had crept upstairs to retrieve, to her chest.
“I was bored,” she whined. “So I thought if I had my sketchbook handy, I could work on some designs.”
“Why didn’t you call me or Phumsile to get it for you?”
“You were catching up on some work,” and he had missed enough of it already, taking the week off to stay with her. “And Phumsile has dashed out to do some shopping.”
“This is ridiculous,” he growled, reaching her in one stride and swinging her up into his strong arms as if she were a featherweight. “You’re being impossible. Why didn’t you watch some TV or read a book or take a nap or anything until Phumsile got back?”