Page 50 of On His Bride's Terms

Primo sat back down. A muscle was pulsing in his jaw. ‘Is it, Faye? Really? When we can’t keep our hands off each other?’ He waved a hand. ‘Current circumstances notwithstanding.’

‘That’s just chemistry.’

He looked at her for a long moment, as if he was going to say something, but then he took the tray back onto his lap and filled another spoon with soup. As he brought it to her mouth he said, ‘It’s non-negotiable, Faye. You’re here under my care until you’re strong enough to leave, so get used to it.’

Faye, unused to being spoken to like a recalcitrant child, obediently opened her mouth and let Primo feed her. Something had just shifted between them and she wasn’t sure what it was. But by the time she’d finished the soup she was exhausted again, and only too happy to escape Primo’s stern mood by slipping back into sleep.

Two days later, as Faye was recovering, she was also realising the true severity of her condition. She’d fallen in love with Primo. And how could she not have? It was as if the man had been specifically put on this Earth to get under every single one of Faye’s walls until she was left utterly defenceless. No wonder she’d been raving about that in her delirium. She could only hope Primo had no idea what she’d been on about.

Her assistant had just left Primo’s apartment, after going through Faye’s rescheduled appointments and meetings, and he’d also brought over what had appeared to be half of Faye’s possessions, which were now being installed in Primo’s guest room. Faye had agreed that it would be practical to have some things here, because Primo wasn’t letting her go anywhere until he was satisfied she was completely fine.

She was feeling inordinately vulnerable after this revelation on top of all the signs of Primo exerting his very skilful brand of taking over her life as well as her heart.

When he appeared in the informal living area where she’d had her meeting with her assistant, dressed in those jeans that should come with a health warning and a shirt, Faye—whose reviving libido only made her feel even more exposed—said waspishly, ‘I’m not sure you didn’t make me ill on purpose to engineer this campaign to all but move me into your apartment.’

Primo folded his arms. He looked far too smug for his own good. He said, ‘I’ll be the first to admit that I’m pretty much capable of anything, but I haven’t quite perfected my skills in sorcery.’

Faye scowled at him, hoping that he wouldn’t see the truth of her emotions. How had she let this happen?

As if to help her, a kaleidoscope of images raced through her mind—from that first meeting with Primo, to Venice, then Paris, Dublin, the castle in the West of Ireland, London... It was like a string of jewels laid out, twinkling at her and mocking her for believing she could remain immune to this man’s undeniable charm.

Then he said, ‘I have something for you—a little get-well gift.’

Faye sat up. She wished she was wearing something other than yoga pants and sweatshirt. But it was an improvement on nightclothes.

Primo bent down and retrieved something from behind a sofa. It was a square-shaped item, wrapped in brown paper, measuring about one foot square.

He handed it to her and she held it. Not too heavy. She started to undo the paper, pulling it open, and realised it was a small canvas that looked familiar. Striking deep red and pink tones. She held it up and away from her face—and then noticed the signature on the bottom.

‘Lara Lopez...’ Faye gasped when she realised what it was. A miniature of the original much larger painting she’d admired so much in Paris.‘Life.’She looked at Primo. ‘How...?’

‘I got in touch with her to see if she’d sell the one in Paris, but she has an agreement with the gallery so she can’t. But she told me she had this, which was the genesis of the bigger painting. Her trial run...’

Faye was struck dumb. Beyond moved that he’d not only remembered her loving that painting but that he’d gone to the trouble of trying to track it down. This one was smaller, yes, but it was perfect.

Faye looked at Primo again. ‘I can’t believe you did this...it’s very special. Thank you.’

For a second she was terrified she might cry, when she’d thought she’d cried her last tears over her first husband and the devastation that she’d never give birth to her own children.

Primo took the painting from her and put it on the mantelpiece. ‘You can decide where you want it. We can get it framed.’

Faye stood up, her limbs still feeling slightly wobbly. ‘I love it. I’m glad the other one stays in the gallery, though, because people should get to see it. This is...perfect. Thank you, Primo. You didn’t have to get me anything, but I do love it.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘I have a meeting in the office. Do you mind if I leave the apartment for a couple of hours?’

Suddenly overwhelmed by everything—her revelation and this gesture—Faye said hurriedly, ‘No, not at all. You really don’t have to babysit me.’

Primo was about to leave when he turned back. ‘You’ll still be here when I get back?’

Faye tried to think of some pithy remark but in the end she just nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll be here.’

Primo walked out and Faye sank back onto the couch and gazed at the painting. There, laid bare, was every pulsing, beating bit of emotion she felt for Primo. But Faye knew that, as much as he would prefer her to be absorbed into his world, like an amenable wife, he wouldn’t thank her for falling in love with him.

Primo came back to his apartment that evening and all was quiet. Marjorie would be gone for the day. For a second he imagined that Faye might be gone too, even though she’d said she wouldn’t.

The surge of conflicting emotions that thought brought up propelled him into the main living area. Empty. As was the kitchen. He checked her bedroom. The bed hadn’t been slept in all day. A good sign. But where was she?

Eventually he thought to check the media room and found her on the couch, asleep under a large shawl. Hair flowing around her head. Feet bare. One arm above her head. She was wearing the least enticing outfit imaginable, and yet Primo’s blood leapt.

---