The Unwanted Wife (Unwanted #1)(55)
“I was thinking tonight?” he asked, and her stomach did a slow, nervous roll before she nodded again.
“Okay,” she said again, actually physically incapable of saying much else.
“They’re going to love you,” he reassured, squeezing her hand.
“They?” she asked queasily, suddenly filled with doubts. “I thought it would be only your father.”
“My mother and grandmother will probably be there and maybe a couple of my sisters too. With my father so sick, they’re probably all there.”
“Your father’s at home?”
He nodded, his eyes darkening again.
“He refuses to be hospitalized. He says that if he’s going to die, he wants to do it at home. He has the best medical care and facilities money has to offer to him at home.”
“That’s understandable.” She nodded sympathetically. “He’s waited so long to go back home.” There was a moment of awkward silence.
“I’m really glad you could get it back for him, Sandro,” she blurted impulsively. “Even if it cost you more than it should have.” Again the silence, before he nodded tautly, his grim face looking hewn from rock.
“So do they know I’ll be…are they expecting to meet me?” She broke the uncomfortable silence a few moments later and he cleared his throat.
“I’ve been making noises about wanting them to meet you for a while now,” he informed. “So they won’t be too surprised by it.”
“Always thinking ahead aren’t you?” she asked with a hint of resentment.
“If you mean that I’d anticipated having to introduce you to my dying father by these less than ideal means, then no, I wasn’t really preparing for this eventuality!” he snapped irritably.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she whispered defensively.
“Of course you didn’t,” he agreed sarcastically. Stung, she managed to lever her bulky form up from the sofa, ignoring him when he jumped up lithely to offer assistance.
“I’m tired, I think I’ll take a nap before dinner,” she said wearily. “I’ll see you later.” She left him behind without a single backward look, just plain sick and tired of the constant tension that they both had to live with.
“Are you ready?” he asked her quietly a few hours later. They were both in his huge study where he had set up the computer and camera for the video conference. No simple webcam and computer screen for Sandro, he had a proper video camera with a large television screen set up. He explained that it would enable his family to see both of them at the same time, further explaining that his parents had a similar setup at their home.
“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” She nodded nervously, and he led her to a large, comfortable sofa that was facing the camera. He made sure she was sitting comfortably before kneeling in front of her unexpectedly.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said softly, his dark eyes piercing as they stared intently into hers. “Being around you is a curiously humbling experience. I do not believe I have ever apologized this much to one person in my entire life before. I always seem to be getting it wrong with you.”
“You’re under a lot of emotional strain at the moment, Sandro, and I know that I probably wasn’t making it any easier on you. Please just forget about it.” He sighed deeply before nodding and sitting down next to her. He picked up a small remote control from the coffee table in front of them and started up the camera, indicating toward the blinking red light that he had told her would mean that the camera was on. An image of an elderly couple suddenly filled the previously blank screen of the big television to the left of the camera. Broad smiles suddenly lit up their faces and they both started chattering at the same time. Theresa knew that they were his parents from the pictures she had seen in Sandro’s study. His father looked a lot frailer and more tired than the robust man in the photographs, though, and Theresa could see from the sallow skin and sunken eyes how very ill the older man was.
Sandro was smiling warmly as his parents continued to chatter, before he finally raised a hand and they reluctantly fell silent. He said something to them in Italian, before indicating Theresa, who sat with a frozen smile on her face. She wasn’t sure what to do or what to say; she wasn’t even sure if they spoke English.
“Mama, papa…I know this has been a long time in coming,” he said, in heavily accented English. “But this is Theresa…mia moglie, my wife.”
“Piacevole per incontrarli,” she murmured haltingly, not sure if she had said it right or if they even understood her, but the smile Sandro directed down at her was filled with so much overwhelming pride and tenderness that Theresa felt bathed in its warmth. He entwined the long, lean fingers of one hand with hers, but she didn’t understand why he felt the need to make the gesture when their hands were out of the camera’s sight.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” she repeated in English, in case the couple hadn’t understood her, which seemed likely if their baffled expressions were anything to go by. His mother’s lips pursed in what looked like disapproval but his father’s smile broadened and he said something in rapid-fire Italian that Theresa didn’t stand a chance of understanding.
“My father says that you are truly beautiful,” Sandro translated for her. “And that he is very happy to finally meet you.” Her eyes flooded with tears and she nodded slightly.