CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ASACHILD, Luca had never counted the sleeps until Christmas, or birthdays, or any life event, and yet he was aware, every minute of the day, of the nights remaining with Olivia, and he resented her that power, he resented their marriage for how easily it had become a part of him. For a man used to living alone, having Olivia at his side was strangely perfect.
Because she was undemanding.
Because she was temporary.
Because there was no risk that she would want more than he could give, that he might come to love her or she might come to love him. The black-and-white agreement they’d made offered protection, and in that protected space he’d come to enjoy her company.
His phone began to ring and he glared at it sharply. He wasn’t in the mood for interruptions. He ignored it, standing up and striding to his windows, looking down on Rome.
Three more nights. And then what?
And then what? He berated himself angrily. And then, life would continue as it had before. She’d leave, he’d be alone, but he’d be fine—alone was a state he was perfectly used to.
‘I’ve let my assistant know you’ll need to use the jet over the weekend.’
Midway through lifting a fork to her mouth, Olivia paused, replacing the bite in her bowl. ‘Oh?’
‘For your return to the UK. That was the date we agreed, yes?’
Her heart skittered around her chest cavity like an ice skater out of control. She focused on her plate extra hard, staring at the pasta dish until the noodles began to swirl before her eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t emote. Don’t express anything. Suddenly she was eight years old again, caught between her father and her mother, in the midst of one of their terrible arguments. She tried to fade into the background then took in a deep breath and pushed a smile to her lips, forcing her eyes to meet his. ‘Yes, that’s right. But I don’t need a jet. I booked a commercial flight ages ago, before we were even married.’
Was she imagining the way he expelled a rushed breath? Was it a sigh of relief? Or of something else?
‘I see.’ He took a drink of wine, then replaced the glass quietly on the table. ‘You can cancel it.’
Her eyes widened. Hope danced.
‘My jet is at your disposal.’
‘That’s completely unnecessary.’
He shrugged, nonchalant, unconcerned. Her throat felt as though it were lined with acid. ‘As you wish.’
I don’t wish!She blinked rapidly as she lifted some spaghetti to her mouth, silencing herself before she could make the protestation. This was best—for both of them. It was what they had agreed to, and she needed to go through with it.
Two nights to go. Luca was impatient and unsettled. He couldn’t focus. He sat through meeting after meeting, glowering, so his staff assumed a permanently worried air—and he didn’t notice. His mind was absorbed by another issue.
Olivia’s departure.
A month had seemed like an interminable period of time when they’d first agreed to it. It was longer than he’d spent with any woman, since Jayne. He’d thought it would drag, and that he’d be glad to see her go, but he wasn’t an idiot. He couldn’t ignore the fact that he was looking forward to her departure in the same way a man might look forward to chopping off his own arm.
So, what to do?
He stood abruptly, and the meeting grew silent. He scanned the room, fixed his glance on his vice president and nodded. ‘Take it from here.’
He needed to be alone; he needed to think.
Olivia packed carefully, each item she folded neatly reminding her of their honeymoon, when Luca had surprised her with bag after bag of couture—of a trip she’d had no expectations of, but that had quickly morphed into something way beyond her wildest dreams. In fact, that basically summed up their entire marriage. Nothing was what she’d expected, it had all been so much more.
She heard the closing of the downstairs door and her pulse went into overdrive.
Luca.
She continued folding, one dress after another, her heart stammering in her chest, until she felt him behind her and turned slowly, a practised smile on her face. ‘Hello. How was your day?’
She heard the stilted, formal question, so at odds with the relationship they’d developed, and winced.