Page 231 of Modern Romance November 2024 5-8

He’dseen. She knew it.

It had been the starkness in both his expression and voice when he’d said there was nothing forgettable about her. The emotion that had ballooned in her...

In that moment she’d been helpless to stop her burgeoning feelings from showing on her face, and he’dseenit. And he’d recognised it for what it was. She knew it. There was no hiding it now. From either of them.

Oh, God, the pained look that had flashed over him.

He’d been unable to get away from her fast enough.

What was she going to do?

More sleep, she decided desperately. Bury herself in oblivion until it was safe to leave the apartment.

The weakness in her legs on her walk to the bed had nothing to do with the virus she’d been fighting.

Whether it was all the sleep she’d had since falling ill or the electrical current zinging in her veins, the oblivion she hankered for refused to come. Even burying her head under the pillow didn’t help. All she could see was Marcello’s pained expression.

‘Victoria?’

She threw the pillow off and whipped her face towards the door.

Marcello was standing on the threshold holding a tray with a bowl and a tall glass of water.

Her heart flew up her throat.

He didn’t meet her stare. His shoulders rose, strong, deep olive throat moving. ‘Lunch. None of the delis or restaurants are delivering still, so I am afraid you have to put up with my latest attempt at cooking.’

So that was how he was going to play it? By pretending nothing had happened?

A way out of the nightmare opened itself, and she scrambled to sit up, murmuring her thanks. If he could pretend then so could she.

He stepped into the room. ‘Where do you want me to put it?’

He hadn’t asked that before. He always brought it to her in bed.

‘The table. By the armchair. Please.’ Pulling the duvet off her lap, she climbed off the bed.

Lips tight, jaw clenched, he turned his face away from her.

For the first time since she’d fallen ill, embarrassment at her lack of clothing seared her, and as mortification engulfed her in a burning flame, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the full-length mirror and understood why he’d turned his stare away. The light in the room had made the white T-shirt she was wearing semi-translucent.

Wishing something would fall from the sky and snatch her up and take her far away, Victoria hugged her arms across her breasts and padded to the armchair. Marcello visibly stiffened when she passed him, magnifying her awkwardness. When she went to sit, her thigh bashed into the table. In horrified slow motion, she watched the tall glass topple and hit the side of the tray with a loud crack.

The glass shattered.

In the blink of an eye, water flooded the tray, spilling onto the highly polished, expensive side table and dripping onto the Persian rug.

Could the situation be any more excruciating? she wondered despairingly as she crouched down and attempted to gather the broken shards together, mumbling an apology.

‘Did any of the glass get you?’ he asked tersely.

‘No. It’s all on the tray.’

‘Then leave it. I’ll get a cloth.’

His tone accelerated her despair. Marcello was the least precious man when it came to spillages and breakages.

He really was fed up of taking care of her. Probably fed up with her altogether.

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