“I’m in my room.” She said the words with iron, infusing them with determination.
A moment later, he was at the door. She braced for his entry – but it wouldn’t be the most difficult thing she’d dealt with that day. No, that had been reserved for coming in here.
Everything was exactly as she’d left it. If she’d thought the memories were powerful in his room, they were almost unbearable here. How many tears had she soaked these pillows with during her tenure in Max’s house?
It was like being sucked back through time and to a place she’d never intended to visit again. Five years disappeared in the blink of an eye, all the life experience she’d gained evaporating into nothingness.
He pushed the door inwards and she forced herself to breathe normally, fixing a curious expression to her face. “Did you need me?”
“What are you doing in here?”
She assumed a look of confusion. “As opposed to?”
His eyes narrowed speculatively. “There’s no need to measure it up,” he said, his voice a little too calm. “I’ve already had this done by the decorator.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant but knew she was best to hold her line. “I don’t need anything changed. I’m happy with it as is.”
His smile was tight. “The bed might be a little impractical for a baby.”
She lifted a brow. “I’m not sure I plan to co-sleep.”
A muscle jerked at the base of his jaw. “Nonetheless, a nursery will need a crib. A nursing chair.”
Ah! It began to make sense. “Then we’ll make sure the nursery has both.”
She felt the air between them spark as the challenge flew between them. “Did you have something else in mind for this bedroom?” So smooth. It was easy for Alessia to see how she’d been taken in by Max in the beginning. His proposal had been so perfect – the words making it easy to accept him, his voice kind and full of warmth, when he’d felt neither of those things. He was a skilled negotiator, incredibly talented at putting people at ease.
Well, she wouldn’t be drawn in by him again.
“It’s my room.” She spoke quietly, moving towards the wardrobe – she’d already moved what she wanted from the wardrobe in his room, the act of separating their clothes somehow important and cathartic.
“Not this again?”
“Again?” A brow shot up. “I don’t recall us discussing this.”
“We said this would be a real marriage –,”
“You said that,” she reminded him with forced calmness. “And so far as our child’s concerned, it will be.”
“Damn it, Alessia,” he shook his head and she was glad – glad to see real emotion stirring in him. Glad he wasn’t so calm and casual. “Are you really going to fight me on this?”
“No. There’s nothing to fight about. I agreed to marry you to give our baby a family and I stand by that decision, but I’m not going to let you drive the narrative of my life anymore than you already have. I’m my own person, and I intend to stay that way. This is my room.”
His eyes glinted with something like fire and she braced herself for another argument, but he simply lifted his shoulders. “Have you eaten?”
Was that it? She’d expected him to insist. Why was there a crippling wave of disappointment rising inside of her? She ignored it. “No.”
“Then let’s go out. There’s that little French bistro on the corner.”
Her eyes must have shown her rejection of that – the bistro was beautiful but it was also the one place he’d taken her to during their marriage – with the exception of the occasional work dinner. It had been her twenty first birthday and perhaps he’d felt it would be very poor form not to mark the occasion. She’d dressed with such care and ridiculously high hopes, but it had felt like a job interview. They’d spoken calmly, politely, every word erecting more distance between them rather than fostering any true intimacy. By the time her crème caramel had arrived with a sparkler perched in its wobbly form, she’d wanted to smear the dessert all over his immaculate suit.
“I’ll just have toast.”
His nostrils flared as he expelled a sigh. “Not French then. Sushi?”
“I can’t eat sushi.”
“Why not?”