Page 12 of Coerced Wife

Something twists in my chest. Wrong answer. Yes, it’s also the right answer. Yes, I care about my baby’s wellbeing. I just want him to care about me too. But this isn’t about me. This is about Saverio. He’s offering to talk about a subject that’s painful for him because, for a reason I don’t understand, he cares about the child I carry. Tothrow that back into his face would not only be a sign of bad character but also cruel.

It hurts to push my own sentiments down. A bruise spreads in my heart as I open my mouth and ask, “How long ago did it happen?”

He adopts a stoic expression, no doubt bracing himself for the pain that comes with talking about his breakup. “Six months.”

Ouch. That’s still new. My heart squeezes with compassion. “How long were you married?”

His answer is clipped. “Five years.”

“Why did you break up?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “She met someone else. They had an affair for a year before I found out.”

“Saverio,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says in a harsh voice. “It is what it is. I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

“I didn’t mean?—”

“Let’s just get on with it.”

Should I push him for more? Will it help him to get it off his chest?

“Go for it, treasure,” he says with a smile that breaks my heart. “After today, we won’t bring up this topic again. This is the only chance you’re getting.”

Instead of soothing me, his words hurt me more. He’s not being open with me willingly. He’s only offering a consolation. Yet I can’t stop myself from asking, “How long have you loved her?”

He stares at me while working his jaw from side to side. I don’t know if he’s reluctant to answer because he wants to spare himself or me.

Just when I think he’s not going to reply, he says, “Since I was fourteen.”

Oh my God. No wonder it’s hard for him. He’s lovedher for just about forever. Giorgio was right when he said no woman could rival Rachele.

“How did you meet?” I ask. “Did you become friends with Giorgio after you met his sister or was it the other way around?”

“We didn’t attend the same school. Rachele went to a private girls’ college. I met her when Giorgio invited me home.”

“Did she feel the same way about you?”

He gives me a grim look. “Our marriage was arranged.”

“Like Elena and Raphael.”

“Yes.” The only sign of emotion he shows is in the slight flare of his nostrils. “I thought I’d win her over in time.” His laugh is mocking. “I failed spectacularly.”

“Don’t put yourself down. Just because your first love didn’t work out doesn’t mean you should carry all the blame.”

His expression is almost pitying, as if he feels sorry for me for not getting it. “You know where I come from. Rachele is in a different league.”

“Where you come from doesn’t define the man you became.”

“Our relationship wasn’t like that.”

I frown. “How was it?”

“Rachele is from good stock.”

Unlike me. The most important is always what’snotsaid.

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