‘You should have thought of that before you treated me as a whipping boy for my grandfather.’
He should indeed. He’d made the mistake of letting the anger he’d tamped down for so long finally get the better of him. It was a brief loss of control that he’d lived to regret.
But what intrigued him was that Ida said it to his face. She’d changed from the woman he’d known.
Of course she has. She’s stopped pretending butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
‘You knew there was no divorce. There’s been no paperwork.’
Ida took another sip. ‘I don’t know the process.’ She lifted one shoulder. ‘What? I’ve never been divorced before.’
‘And you’re not yet. That’s why I’m here.’
‘It took you long enough.’
She sounded belligerent, as ifhe’dletherdown. The gall of the woman!
‘I had a few things to keep me busy.’ Like turning around the enterprise Calogero had sabotaged and finding ways to create the profits it needed without his nemesis realising Cesare’s plan to oust him. ‘What’s your excuse?’
Her eyes met his in a flash of fire that reminded him of green-tinged clouds that presaged summer thunderstorms in his beloved Tuscany. That green tint was a warning of a dangerous electrical storm to follow.
‘It never occurred to me that you’d let the marriage stand. I was sure you’d arrange a divorce or an annulment. The marriage wasn’t consummated.’
Cesare’s nostrils flared on a sharp inward breath.
He could imagine the gossip if he’d tried to end their union that way. There’d be salacious speculation about why they hadn’t slept together. No one would believe it was because he wouldn’t touch his pretty little bride. Not when every man at the wedding, and untold others who’d seen the media photos, had been busy imagining themselves in Cesare’s position, stripping that diaphanous bridal gown off her slender body.
He lifted his glass and tossed back the fiery aniseed alcohol.
The burn down his throat was the distraction he needed from the well-worn direction of his thoughts. It was too easy imagining himself helping Ida out of her wedding dress or that slinky nightdress that had provoked him, finally, into losing his cool.
Cesare looked at his empty glass, surprised that he’d finished it. Moderation in all things was his motto, learned from his beloved grandfather and reinforced by his father’s appalling example.
Cesare always stood strong in the face of provocation and temptation. Even when, in Ida’s case, he’d teetered on the brink.
‘That’s why I’m here. To sort out the divorce.’
The sooner the better. After four years’ absence this woman still messed with his head. It was inexplicable.
‘Good.’ She put down her drink and sat forward. ‘Where do I sign?’
Cesare had expected prevarication or pleas. Coaxing or apologies. Not eagerness.
He struggled not to betray his stupefaction. ‘You agree to the divorce?’
‘Of course.’
For the first time tonight those amazing eyes looked clear and unguarded. Her plush mouth even crooked at the corners. As if it was the best news she could imagine.
Cesare leaned back, surprised.
She was giving him what he wanted. What heneeded. Yet he hadn’t been prepared for it to be so easy. He’d expected her consent to cost him.
Had hewantedher to object? Was her enthusiasm a blow to his pride?
He was accustomed to women trying to persuade him to extend their time together, though admittedly that hadn’t been for a while. The last four years he’d had no time for women, devoting his energy to wresting the company free of Calogero’s clutches.
Maybe his appeal had diminished in that time?