Carlotta seemed determined, though, and later took Lauren up to show her the nursery, suggesting Lauren start shopping to update it. Lauren reiterated that she was in no hurry, but couldn’t help feeling a tingle of excitement.
Putting the baby’s room together was another step toward her dream of a real family—although the part where her husband came home every night had certainly been shot down dead.
She tried not to take personally how blasé Paolo had been about traveling and leaving her at home. His position was more than a job. She understood that, but it would have been nice to see some regret. She’d had to remind herself that this was an arrangement for their child. Love and other trimmings would have to wait...if they came at all.
Nevertheless, a gaping hole opened in her every time she faced that she didn’t have his heart. The constant physical attention of the first weeks of their marriage was a seductive illusion, fooling her into thinking he was growing to care for her. No matter how often they came together, they didn’t seem to tire of each other, constantly finding new ways to bring forth the near violent release they were able to pull from each other. Afterward, exhausted and calmed by release, they slept tangled in a Gordian knot of bliss.
But he left, nevertheless, his mood matter-of-fact and withdrawn as he kissed her cheek and murmured something about her going into the city if she didn’t want to stay at the lake house alone.
This throwback to the distant coolness he’d shown her while she was married to Ryan was a slice of sheer hell. Lauren had thought they were past that. She had thought it had had its source in jealousy and his need to control his attraction to her.
Not wanting to come across as the needy, insecure wife begging for affection, she behaved with well-trained equanimity. She knew how to swallow a fuss. Protesting or pleading that she would miss him wouldn’t make a difference. Her feelings wouldn’t change anything.
If you can’t change your situation, change your attitude, she told herself.
But the loneliness took a toll as his schedule grew heavier. She found herself falling into old patterns of introversion, feeling isolated in this new country where Paolo’s family got back to their own lives once the New Year took hold.
It was especially uncomfortable when Paolo called her over the tablet. She might tell him about a doctor appointment or the latest chapter in the pregnancy book, but she had very little to say. He was often surly and impatient, blaming mishaps in his day.
The one thing she did look forward to filling her time with was refitting the nursery, but when she dropped by to see his mother and take some measurements, she found the room completely redecorated.
It was gorgeous, freshly painted in dusky heritage colors with a parade of baby animals inching along the baseboards. Cradle, crib and change table were in place along with a rocker and daybed. Diapers, sleepers, and receiving blankets were in the drawers and the mobile played “Frère Jacques.”#p#????#e#
Lauren loved it at once, but had to fight revealing to Carlotta that the sight nearly pushed her to tears. What was she supposed to do for the next eighteen weeks if not daydream about a baby while organizing its nursery?
“Did you know the nursery was being done?” she asked Paolo over their evening screen time.
“Is it finished? Good.” He was signing papers as he spoke, giving her only half his attention.
“So you did know,” Lauren said.
“Did I not mention I’d asked Marie for a list of the best suppliers for baby furniture?”
“Because her husband had done all the research for safety standards. Yes, you said that, but you didn’t say you were going to buy everything on the list and have the room painted and everything. I thought I was going to do that.”
“You can’t paint.” He finally looked at her and even through the glass he could make her pulse trip. That made her even more quarrelsome.
“I could have decided the colors.”
“You don’t like them? I used the same decorator who did the lake house and you’ve said more than once you like what she’s done there.”
“That’s not the point,” Lauren said, feeling a buildup of familiar frustration. “Oh, forget it. Fighting long distance is a waste of time.”
“Something you know from experience?” he asked with a surprisingly icy edge on his tone.
It took her aback, making her retreat even further into herself.
“Fighting at all is a waste of time,” she said, trying for neutral but aware of something in her deflating. The legacy of a military wife: if this was the last time she would speak to him, did she want it to be in anger? No.