The Unwanted Wife Part 12

"Yes... I often speak to my family in Italy by those means," he revealed.

"Okay," she nodded slowly. "So when do you want to do it?"

"I was thinking about tonight?" He half-asked and her stomach did a slow, nervous roll before she nodded again.

"Okay," she said again, actually physically incapable of saying much else.

"They're going to love you," he rea.s.sured, squeezing her hand rea.s.suringly.

"They?" She asked queasily, suddenly filled with doubts. "I thought it would be only your father."

"My mother and grandmother will probably be there... maybe a couple of my sisters. With my father so sick, they're probably all there."

"Your father's at home?" He nodded, his eyes darkening again.

"He refuses to be hospitalized, he says that if he's going to die, he wants to do it at home... he has the best medical care and facilities money has to offer to him at home."

"That's understandable," she nodded sympathetically. "He's waited so long to go back home." There was a moment's awkward silence.

"I'm really glad you could get it back for him, Sandro," she blurted impulsively. "Even if it cost you more than it should have." Again the silence, before he nodded tautly, his grim face looking hewn from rock.

"Uhm... when do you want to do it?" She broke the uncomfortable silence a few moments later and he cleared his throat. "Do they know I'll be... are they expecting to meet me?"

"I've been making noises about wanting them to meet you for a while now," he informed. "So they won't be too surprised by it."

"Always thinking ahead aren't you?" She asked caustically.

"If you mean that I'd antic.i.p.ated having to introduce you to my dying father by these less than ideal means, then no, I wasn't really preparing for this eventuality!" He snapped irritably.

"I didn't mean it like that," she whispered defensively.

"Of course you didn't," he agreed sarcastically and stung, she managed to lever her bulky form up from the sofa, ignoring him when he jumped up lithely to offer a.s.sistance.

"I'm tired, I think I'll take a nap before dinner," she said wearily. "I'll see you later..." She left him behind without a single backward look, just plain sick and tired of the constant tension that they both had to live with.

"Are you ready?" He asked her quietly a few hours later. They were both in his huge study where he had set up the computer and camera for the video conference. No simple webcam and computer screen for Sandro, he had proper video camera with a large screen television screen set up. He explained that it would enable to allow his family to see both of them at the same time, further explaining that his parents had a similar setup at their home.

"As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose," she nodded nervously and he led her to a large, comfortable sofa that was facing the camera. He made sure she was sitting comfortably before kneeling in front of her unexpectedly.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he said softly, his dark eyes piercing as they stared intently into hers. "Being around you is a curiously humbling experience... I do not believe I have ever apologized this much to one person in my entire life before. I always seem to be getting it wrong with you. "

"You're under a lot of emotional strain at the moment, Sandro... and I know that I probably wasn't making it any easier on you. Please just forget about it." He sighed deeply before nodding and sitting down next to her. He picked up a small remote control from the coffee table in front of them and started up the camera, indicating towards the blinking red light that he had told her would mean that the camera was on. An image of an elderly couple suddenly filled the previously blank screen of the big television to the left of the camera. Broad smiles suddenly lit up their faces and they both started chattering at the same time. Theresa knew that they were his parents from the pictures she had seen in Sandro's study. His father looked a lot frailer and more tired than the robust man in the photographs though and Theresa could see from the sallow skin and sunken eyes, how very ill the older man was.

Sandro was smiling warmly as his parents continued to chatter, before he finally raised a hand and they reluctantly fell silent. He said something to them in Italian, before indicating towards Theresa, who sat with a frozen smile on her face. She wasn't sure what to do, or what to say, she wasn't even sure if they spoke English.

"Mama, papa... I know this has been a long time in coming," he said, in heavily accented English. "But this is Theresa... la mia moglie, my wife."

"Piacevole per incontrarli," she murmured haltingly, not sure if she had said it right or if they even understood her but the smile Sandro directed down at her was filled with so much overwhelming pride and tenderness that Theresa felt bathed in its warmth. He entwined the long, lean fingers of one hand with hers but she didn't understand why he felt the need to make the gesture when their hands were out of the camera's sight.

"I'm pleased to meet you," she repeated in English, in case the couple hadn't understood her, which seemed likely if their baffled expressions were anything to go by. His mother's lips pursed in what looked like disapproval but his father's smile broadened and he said something in rapidfire Italian that Theresa didn't stand a chance of understanding.

"My father says that you are truly beautiful," Sandro translated for her. "And that he is very happy to finally meet you." Her eyes flooded with tears and she nodded slightly.

"Thank you... grazie," she smiled warmly at the fragile looking old man and he looked delighted by it. He once again said something in high speed Italian and Sandro chuckled before responding in an amused voice. It was obvious that they were talking about her and she turned to Sandro waiting for the translation, when it didn't look like it was forthcoming, she prodded him with a nudge from her shoulder and he grinned before saying something in a wry voice to his mother and father before turning to her with that same warm humour in his eyes.

"My father says that while you look as sweet and docile as an angel he does not imagine that a woman with your red hair can be easy to live with. He believes that the angelic exterior must hide a fiery temper..."

"Oh?" She asked in a deceptively calm voice, even while she narrowed her eyes at him. "and what did you say?"

"I told him that he definitely knows women a lot better than I do because when I married you I thought that the angel was all there was, until I provoked the fiery demoness into showing herself, to my detriment."

"Demoness?" She asked in a highly offended voice and both his father and he chuckled simultaneously.

"Easy cara," he lifted his free hand in a gesture of surrender and his father burst into warm, genuine laughter, the sound so happy and carefree that for an instant everyone, including his wife simply stared at him with huge smiles. The older man finally brought his laughter under control and said something in Italian, which seemed to be aimed at Theresa. She looked at Sandro for a translation and he hesitated for a millisecond before clearing his throat and turning back toward Theresa.

"My father says that it's good to see me with a woman who isn't intimidated by me, who can give as good as she gets. He thinks we will have strong sons and daughters..." he cleared his throat slightly before continuing, even though the huskiness persisted. "He is honoured to call you daughter and is proud that his son's children will come from a worthy woman like you."

"Oh..." Theresa whispered, her hand going up to cover her mouth and her eyes flooding with tears. "Oh G.o.d."

"Cara," his soft voice in her ear pleaded with her to keep it together and she nodded, closing her eyes briefly to keep her surging emotions under control, before bracing herself and opening her eyes to meet the wise, old eyes of a man who was halfway across the world.

"Thank you," she told him again. "You are so very kind to say that. I am equally proud to know that my child comes from a strong family such as yours. I look forward to the day I can present my son to you, sir."

"Or daughter," Sandro inserted smoothly, before translating what she had said to the beaming older man.

"You are... lovely girl. I sorry for all trouble," the man suddenly said in broken but understandable English and Theresa's lips trembled with emotion. "You make my boy happy. I see this... grazie. I so worry... but I see now, he very happy with you. Very much love here. I see."

She couldn't respond to that with much more than a nod and another emotional grazie, overwhelmed by the perception that had allowed the sick old man to see how much she loved his son. He and Sandro were now having a solemn conversation and the older man started pausing more and more frequently, seeming to lose track of his thoughts more and more until his wife stepped in and called a halt to the conversation.

"Mama says he is tired and needs to take his medication and rest," he whispered to Theresa, as they watched the older man protest half-heartedly before allowing himself to be wheeled, for he was in a wheelchair, out of the room with a few last farewells to Sandro and Theresa. Sandro's hand was squeezing hers so hard that it stopped the blood flow into her fingers but Theresa didn't protest, knowing that Sandro was probably wondering if it would be the last time he would ever see or speak to his father. They watched in silence as the door closed behind his mother's ample form before they both suddenly became aware of the fact that another person was in the room on screen. A wizened old woman suddenly plonked herself into the seat, Sandro's mother had just vacated and Sandro's entire face lit up.

"Nonna!" He greeted with warm enthusiasm and turned to Theresa, who had already gleaned who the little, old lady was. She was tentatively starting to smile, when the woman suddenly launched into speech, her voice low and furious. Whatever she was saying wiped the smile off Sandro's face in seconds and she watched as his eyes darkened in fury and his lips tightened in an expression she was more than a little familiar with. He released Theresa's hand and hissed something equally dire sounding back at his grandmother, who gasped in horror before launching into an even angrier seeming tirade. By this time two younger women, whom she recognised as Sandro's sisters had stepped into the room and upon hearing whatever it was their grandmother had said added their own two cents' worth until there was nothing but unintelligible squawks coming from the speakers. Suddenly the old woman's words turned to English and her eyes were seemed trained on Theresa.

"You make my family miserable! You take my grandson and keep him away from his family, keep him away from his dying father... you nothing but selfish. Why you want a man who no love you? No pride... you no pride. He love a good woman, he no love you!"

Theresa gasped in horror and raised her hands to her mouth, defenceless against the hatred she saw burning in the old woman's eyes. Her eyes flooded with anguished tears and Sandro swore shakily before saying something soft and dangerous sounding to the three women on the other end of the camera but Theresa had blocked them all out and was struggling to her feet, ignoring Sandro's desperate protest.

She was out the door and halfway up the stairs before he caught up with her.

"She's old, cara," he said desperately, holding onto her arm as she tried to wrest herself away from him. "She's old and stubborn. What she said was not true."

"I didn't make your family miserable?" She asked brokenly. "Of course I did, Sandro. You know that's true... I didn't keep you away from them? Or away from your dying father? I did that too. You don't love me? No news there. You're in love with someone else? Again. Old news... and she was right. I have absolutely no pride. None whatsoever... if I did I would never have stood for this sham of a marriage. But everything she said was true. So she was just being honest... and that's my shame to deal with."

"Theresa, please..." she didn't know what he wanted from her. She yanked her arm from his grip and found herself teetering desperately on the edge of the step... nearly falling until he yanked her back towards his strong body and braced himself to absorb her weight.

"You foolish woman, stop fighting me and just listen, d.a.m.n it!" He hissed into her ear... and shocked by her close call she could do nothing but stand trembling in his arms. "She didn't get it all right; you have more stubborn pride than any person I have ever met. You did not keep me away from my father, I chose to stay."

"Because of me," she inserted despondently.

"Because I chose to be with you," he emphasised but not really seeing the difference, Theresa simply remained quiet. "Don't you see, Theresa? I wanted to be with you!"

"I'm tired, Sandro," she finally whispered after a long pause, sending a pointed glance down at the restraining hand he had on her elbow. His grip tightened slightly before he reluctantly released her and stepped back to allow her to proceed up the stairs.

When Theresa woke from a restless sleep a few hours before dawn it didn't take her long to realise that Sandro was lying in bed with her. His big, hard body was curved around hers, his knees spooning in behind hers. He had one arm curled in under her neck and the other slung heavily across her waist, his large hand cupped protectively over her swollen abdomen. She could feel his deep breath against the nape of her neck, indicating that he was asleep and it had been so long since she'd found herself in bed with him that she allowed herself to simply enjoy his relaxed warmth and closeness without the tension that was usually between them when he was awake. Even before they'd started sleeping apart, he'd never simply held her in his sleep... so this was a novel and overwhelmingly enjoyable experience that she couldn't deprive herself of. She was just about dozing off again, when the telephone buzzed quietly from the nightstand beside her bed. She jerked slightly her and the movement woke Sandro, who was instantly on alert behind her.

"You okay?" he asked groggily and she nodded just as the phone buzzed again.

"Hmmm... who could be calling at..." she squinted at the digital clock beside the phone. "Four in the morning?" She realised who it could be the instant the question escaped her lips and from the sudden tension in Sandro's body, she knew that he realised it too. He sat up abruptly and she immediately felt cold, as he leaned over her to yank up the receiver.

"De Lucci," he barked once he had it up to his ear. "Si... si..." she sat up and pushed her hair out of her eyes as she tried see his expression in the dim light of the LCD display of the clock. His face closed up tighter than a fist and he bowed his head slightly. Biting her lip, as she fought back the tears, Theresa lay a comforting hand on one tense, naked shoulder.

"Quando?" He asked tersely, his voice hoa.r.s.e. He said a few more things but Theresa tuned his words out, hearing only the pain he was ruthlessly keeping at bay behind the harshly controlled voice. She lowered her head to his broad shoulder, wanting only to comfort and kept stroking his back as he spoke. He was silent for a long time, before she realised that he was done speaking and that he had lowered the receiver to the bed beside him. She turned her head to look up into his face and realised that he was staring off into the distance. It was still too dark to see much of his face but from the grim set of his jaw it was obvious what the news was.

"When?" she asked gently, reaching for the receiver and placing it gently back into its cradle. He shook himself slightly before turning his head to face her.

"About ten minutes ago," he whispered and she nodded, lifting a small hand to cup his tense jaw.

"You go and grab a shower, I'll pack a bag for you..." she clicked on the bedside lamp before awkwardly heaving herself up and off of the bed. He remained where she had left him and she sighed softly, before leaning down to kiss the top of his head gently.

"Come on, Sandro," she murmured firmly. "You grab that shower and I'll take care of everything else." Something about the tone of her voice got through to him and he nodded and got up like someone in a trance before heading to the bathroom. Theresa stood there for a while until she heard the shower going before she waddled out to his room down the hall and packed a bag for him.

Twenty minutes later, when she returned to her guest room, it was to find the shower still running. Concerned she stepped into the bathroom and could barely make out his shape behind the frosted gla.s.s of the shower door but she could see enough to tell that he was still in there and not really moving. She sighed and bit her lip before, decision made, she stripped down to her skin and stepped into the cubicle with him. He was standing with his back to the cubicle door, his head bowed beneath the strong spray and his hands braced against the tiled wall, long arms outstretched in front of him and muscles tensed. He didn't seem to realise she was there until her small hands touched the bunched muscles of his shoulders. She could feel his instinctive jerk of surprise beneath her touch and very gently moved her hands until they crept down under his arms and around to his broad chest. She could feel his bone deep tremors and with gentle insistence tugged him back towards her until she was able to rest her cheek against the warm, wet skin of his back. Her hands were splayed across his chest and she could feel the strong beat of his heart beneath her touch.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, dropping warm kisses across the skin of his back. "I'm so sorry, Sandro." He shuddered violently before turning with a groan and gathering her into his arms, hunching his body around hers and burying his face in her still-dry hair. They stood that way for a long time before he lifted his ravaged face and looked down at her. His eyes were wet with tears and he reached up to cup her face before lowering his lips to hers and kissing her hungrily. He did nothing more than that just kissed her like he would never get the chance to do so again. He kissed like a man who knew that he would have to go without sustenance for an unknown amount of time. Finally, chest heaving, he lifted his head and stared intently down into her dazed face.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered gently. "The most beautiful thing in my life. I don't want to leave you here. Not now."

"I'll be fine," she rea.s.sured, this time she was the one to reach up and stroke his worried face. "The baby will be fine. I have Lisa and Rick... You have to take care of your family now, Sandro."

"You're my family too," he repeated his words of the previous afternoon. "I have to take care of you too."

"No," she reached around him to shut off the water and met his eyes squarely. "I can take care of myself. And to be honest, having you here when you should be with your family, will simply add to my stress." He said nothing for a few moments before shutting his eyes and nodding abruptly.

"Okay," he inhaled deeply. "Okay, I'll arrange my flight immediately." She opened the door and reached for a couple of the heated towels hanging from the railing beside the shower cubicle, handing one over to him before wrapping one around herself, happy to be covering up her huge frame again.

An hour later she and Sandro were standing on the doorstep. The chauffeur of the driving service they sometimes used when they were going out to parties, stood waiting patiently beneath an umbrella next to the shiny black sedan parked out front.

"Promise me that you'll eat well," Sandro urged and she nodded sombrely, knowing that he would need to have his head clear for what was to come. "And you'll contact Elisa and Richard if you feel unwell." Another nod. "And you will remember to take your vitamins?"

His voice was starting to get hoa.r.s.e with emotion and she gave him a wavering smile before nodding again.

"I promise..."

"You say this... but you forget... I know you," he shook his head in frustration. "It is important for your health, cara and you no remember to take. It drive me crazy. I worry..." it was a sign of his anxiety and stress that his normally impeccable, lightly-accented English had failed him so completely and she stepped toward him and went on tip-toe to drop a kiss onto one of his lean cheeks.

"Why don't you call Phumsile and Lisa once you land?" She suggested gently. "And if you're worried about me forgetting you can have them remind me."

"Yes," he nodded, appeased. "I will. Please, Theresa, call me. Anytime... if you need anything, if you want to talk... call me. I'll call you everyday..."

"That's good..." she said quietly, not sure if he'd have the time to talk with her everyday but knowing that he needed to make the promise. "Now you'd better go before you miss your flight," he nodded and dragged her into his arms for a pa.s.sionate, desperate kiss before letting her go abruptly and striding down the steps toward the car. He paused when he reached the car and turned around for one last, lingering look at her before he climbed in and was gone.

Theresa turned blindly toward the house and once she was inside she felt completely lost. Not sure where to turn or who to turn to she found herself walking towards Sandro's study. She'd been in the room very few times before and those times had always been in Sandro's company, now she felt like she was intruding into his domain but it was the one place she felt closest to him. Everything bore his stamp... it was the only room he had insisted on decorating himself. He'd largely left the rest of the house up to Theresa and she now knew it had been because he hadn't much cared what their home together would look like since he'd never had any intention of it being permanent.

Now, as she looked at the masculine room with its dark, heavy furniture and minimalist, almost Asian decor, she realised how completely different it was from the rest of the house and her heart broke at this additional sign of how doomed their relationship had been from the start. She sank down onto the plush, black leather sofa, curled up into a ball and cried for the life she could have had if she'd just been the woman Sandro had wanted to start off with. Once the bout of self-pity had pa.s.sed, she sat up and wiped at her eyes before gently running her hands over her distended abdomen.

"You and I will make our own lives, darling," she promised. "And we'll be so happy. Just you wait and see."

Chapter Ten.

Sandro had made good on his promise and had enlisted both Lisa and Phumsile's aid in ensuring that she took her vitamins and rested enough... but that was the only promise he kept. A month pa.s.sed with barely any word from him, his phonecalls, the few that came, were rushed and impersonal and barely lasted three minutes each time. When Theresa tried to contact him, he was never available, or so the cold female voices on the other end of the line told her. She had no choice but to take them at their word.

She kept track of Sandro's movements through the news; online, televised and printed, his father's death and Sandro's subsequent taking over of an empire were pretty hot news items and barely a day went by that it wasn't mentioned in some form of news. There had been paparazzi coverage of the funeral, despite the media ban the family had put on proceedings, some intrepid photographer had managed to get a picture of Sandro standing over his father's open grave, his face closed up tighter than a fist, flanked by his mother and by Francesca who had stood with her hand woven through his arm, offering the support of a lover, the support a wife would offer. A lot had been written about that photograph, a lot of cynical criticism had been aimed at his cold, absent wife and a lot of praise for the stoic Francesca who stood by him through thick and thin.

No word about her difficult pregnancy which made travel nearly impossible for her. A few local reporters had contacted her, wanting her "side of the story" and her refusal to be interviewed or offer any comment had merely added fuel to the fodder that she was unfeeling and cold. The media, when given free rein, were ruthless. For the most part they left her alone, content to write what they wanted and in every article the beautiful, vivacious Francesca was lauded for her unwavering and loving support, while the "plain and anti-social" Theresa was criticised for her seeming neglect of her husband in his time of need.

She sighed quietly, as she stared out at the heavy downpour, missing Sandro so much it hurt and wishing that she could just talk with him. The baby moved restlessly and she winced slightly as a tiny foot caught her just beneath the ribs. She sang a quiet lullaby and ran her hands over the mound of her stomach. She was feeling her burden more and more with each pa.s.sing day and it was getting increasingly difficult just to make it through the day.

"Theresa?" The quiet voice coming from behind her made her jump nearly out of her skin and she yelped before turning to face Lisa and Rick both of whom stood framed in the doorway of the den.

"G.o.d, you startled me," she gasped as they stepped into the room, neither cracking a smile, both looking relentlessly grim. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"

. "Terri... we have to get you out of here," Lisa said urgently, rounding the sofa to stand in front of her.

"What? Why?"

"We'll explain once we're out of here..."

"No," she shook her head stubbornly. "Tell me now. Is it Sandro? Was he hurt?"

"He will be once I get done with him," Rick suddenly threatened furiously.

"Rick, not now," Lisa groaned and Theresa's eyes settled on the grim-faced man in confusion.

"I don't understand..." her confused gaze went from Lisa's frantic expression to Rick's furious one. "What's going on?"

"A story just broke in the European newspapers..."

"What story?" She asked in bewilderment and Rick swore softly.

"Sweetheart we can discuss it later, for now we have to leave before the vultures descend."

"No, Rick," she maintained stubbornly. "I'm not leaving my home without good reason." Rick's jaw clenched and his expression clearly gave away his frustration with her.