‘I want my father back—so does my mother. There’s only one reason I want the business, and one reason I want you as my wife—and that’s so your father gets a taste of his own medicine.’
She flinched, the scorn in his voice biting into her flesh. This was exactly why she should have turned and walked away when she’d had the chance.
There was a tense, expectant silence, and then Vicè ran a hand over his face.
‘I didn’t mean that.’ He was breathing unevenly. ‘What I said about wanting you... I was angry—I am angry—but I don’t want to hurt you.’
Glancing up, she tensed. His eyes were filled with a kind of bewildered frustration. He was hurting, and his pain cut through her own misery.
Without thinking, she reached out and touched his arm. ‘I wish my father hadn’t acted like he did, and if I could go back and change one thing in all of this it would be that.’
There was a silence. He stared at her, but he didn’t shake off her hand.
After a moment, he said slowly, ‘Not what happened between us? You wouldn’t go back and change that?’
He sounded confused, disbelieving, and his dark eyes were searching her face as though he was trying to read her thoughts.
Her mind turned over her words. She was suddenly confused herself. But it hadn’t occurred to her to regret that night they’d shared. She wouldn’t exchange those beautiful, sensual hours in Vicè’s arms for anything. And it hadn’t been just the heat and the hunger, or even the fact that for those few short hours she had believed he wanted her for herself.
That night with him had been the first time she had consciously defied her father’s wishes—not to his face, maybe, but it had felt like it. The first time she had made decisions about her own life.
‘No, I wouldn’t change that,’ she said quietly.
‘I wouldn’t change it either.’
His eyes held hers and, catching the heat in his dark gaze, she felt a rush of panic. Last time she had willingly walked into the fire. But she couldn’t do so again, knowing what she did now.
‘I can’t do this,’ she said. And this time she acted, turning and running swiftly back into the house.
He caught up with her in the living room, his body blocking her escape. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Anywhere you’re not.’ She spoke breathlessly.
‘For a year?’ He looked and sounded incredulous. ‘You’re going to keep running away from me for a whole year?’
‘I’m not like you, Vicenzu. I can’t just switch it on and off for the cameras.’
‘What cameras?’ Holding out his arms, he gestured to the empty room. ‘There are no cameras here. There is you, and me—just like there was at the villa on the island.’
Remembering her shock and misery the morning after, she shook her head. ‘But you weren’t really you. Or maybe you were, and I just thought you were someone else.’
She had been someone else that night too. Someone reckless and uninhibited. And gullible.
His gaze rested intently on her face. ‘I don’t understand...’
Tears pricked her eyes. ‘You don’t need to.’
He frowned. ‘We’re married. I’m your husband.’
Her chest rose and fell as she struggled to breathe. ‘I can’t believe you can say that with a straight face.’ She gazed at him, her heart racing. ‘But I suppose it’s not surprising you think this is normal. Your whole life is a charade. Why should your marriage be any different?’
* * *
Vicè stared at her, a muscle working in his jaw.
‘My life was just fine until I married you,’ he said slowly.
> If she didn’t like charades then why was she making him act like some lovesick puppy in public and then relegating him to the sofa when they were alone?