The Unwanted Wife (Unwanted #1)(53)

Theresa sighed and shook herself slightly, as she found herself thinking of that picture again. It had been more than a month since she’d seen it, and she hadn’t mentioned it to Sandro, knowing that it would achieve little, especially with their separation looming less than three months away. She ran a gentle hand over the football-size mound of her stomach, trying to ease the restlessly moving baby beneath her touch. She had no right to be jealous, despite the fact that they had a much better relationship now than they’d had during the first year and a half of marriage. She couldn’t lose sight of the fact that they were married in name only and would separate as soon as the baby was born.

She had started decorating the nursery, and Sandro, who had thrown a fit one day when he’d returned from the office early to find her perched on a ladder attempting to paint the walls, had done the painting. She spent a great deal of time in the nursery, adding little touches here and there, often going out and shopping for furniture and toys. There really was very little left to do but she still kept adding little stuffed toys and tiny infant-size clothes. The color scheme was cream and pale lilac. She had started out with blue but had come home from visiting Lisa one day to find that Sandro had changed the color to something more “gender neutral” as he’d put it. She hadn’t protested too much because she had found the new color scheme soothing and prettier than the blue on white she’d planned.


She also found Sandro’s touches elsewhere in the nursery. He bought toys—girls’ toys. Stuffed dolls, teddy bears, toy ponies, anything a little girl’s heart could possibly desire. Theresa chose not to acknowledge them in any way, and every time she came across one, usually sneakily hidden among the toys that she had bought, she would relegate it to the corner farthest from the beautiful crib that they had selected together. There was a quite a collection forming in the area which she had dubbed Toy Siberia. She did not know why he kept buying those things, and she refused to ask. He never mentioned the heap of toys that she had stowed in the corner but just doggedly kept adding more and more to the nursery.

Their two hours three times a week had branched out into a few hours every day. There was no longer a time limit on the amount of time they spent together because Theresa had stopped enforcing it once it became clear that Sandro was going to sneak a little time every day. It just became easier to pretend not to notice it. Theresa’s health continued to fluctuate, her pregnancy being a lot more difficult than she, Sandro, or the doctor had ever anticipated. She had been diagnosed with preeclampsia the month before, and Sandro had turned into a paranoid old woman about what she could and could not do. He had even stopped going into the office, working from home and hovering twenty-four seven. She didn’t know how she would get through the final two months of her pregnancy without resorting to some form of violence because the man was driving her completely crazy.

Now she sat with her feet up, staring gloomily out at the rain pouring down outside. It was an unusually wet and miserable spring afternoon, and Theresa had long ago abandoned her book in favor of her roiling thoughts. So absorbed was she in those thoughts that she didn’t hear Sandro come in, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a large hand on her shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmured, bending down to drop a quick kiss onto the soft, exposed skin where her shoulder and neck met. “I called your name at least twice but you were totally wrapped up in your own little world.”

“I was just thinking…” She shrugged, her voice trailing off.

“About?”

“Everything. Nothing.” Another listless shrug.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, coming down on his haunches in front of her.

“I’m fine. A little tired…” He lifted a hand and gently traced one of her delicate cheekbones with his thumb before nimbly jumping to his feet and sitting down on the sofa next to her. Neither of them said anything for a while; they just listened to the rain and watched it cascading down the window like a waterfall.

“I want you to meet my father,” he suddenly announced unexpectedly, and she froze before turning her head slowly to meet his brooding eyes.

“What?”

“My father,” he repeated, and she bit her lip before clearing her throat uncertainly.

“I don’t know if that’s…” she began, but he interrupted her before she could finish.

“His condition is deteriorating rapidly,” he said abruptly. His voice broke slightly as he said the words and his jaw clenched.

“Oh, Sandro, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her eyes going liquid with sympathy for him. “When’s your flight?”

“I’m not leaving,” he told her grimly, and her eyes shadowed in confusion, before flaring as she realized why he refused to go and be with his father.

“Sandro.” Her voice was so low it barely carried to the man who sat inches away from her. “You can’t stay because of me. You have to go and be with your family. Your place is with them right now.”

“You’re my family too, Theresa,” he snapped, a maelstrom of frustration and pain welling up in his eyes. “And I refuse to leave you here alone.”

“Hardly alone, Sandro,” she dismissed airily. “The staff, Lisa and Rick, and even my father are here for me. Go home to your family.”