Page 141 of Exotic Affairs: The Mistress Bride\The Spanish Husband\The Bellini Bride

The lift took them upwards, with her shaking like crazy and him with his fists clenched to stop him taking hold of her and shaking her some more! When they reached the apartment door it was Marco who opened it; Antonia didn’t seem capable. But, once inside, the few seconds it required for him to deactivate the alarm system gave her the chance to get away from him.

She headed straight for the bedroom. He stayed where he was long enough to utter a few choice curses before grimly striding after her. If she’d locked the bedroom door on him then she was in for one hell of a shock! he vowed.

But the door wasn’t locked. And what he found when he tossed it back on its hinges stunned him to a complete standstill.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘—WHAT the hell are you doing?’ he raked out incredulously.

But he could see what she was doing. A suitcase already lay open on the bed and she was tossing things into it like a criminal on the run.

‘Antonia!’ he demanded when she didn’t answer.

‘I’m l-leaving,’ she stammered, then froze within the midst of what he realised was full-scale panic to stand with body stiff, arms straight, fists tightly clenched, while she fought a battle with whatever emotion was suddenly tryi

ng to overwhelm her.

‘The hell you are,’ he grimly countered, but his own voice no longer sounded quite so steady.

He began striding towards her, and the act jolted her back from wherever she’d gone to and she turned on him, paste-white, stark-eyed—he had never seen an expression like it in all his life.

‘Cara…’ he murmured hoarsely. ‘For goodness’ sake…’

‘I’m leaving you, Marco!’ She almost screamed the words at him she was so out of control. ‘Now—tonight! I n-never want to see you again.’

The fact that he could see it had almost killed her to say that didn’t make him feel any better, because he could see she actually meant it—and that was scaring the life out of him.

She turned back to the suitcase. With a swipe of his hand he sent it flying to the floor. Clothes scattered everywhere. Silly things like a couple of sets of underwear, a couple of skirts, a couple of simple cotton tops.

He tried swallowing and found he couldn’t. He tried making sense of the evidence he was looking at. He couldn’t do that either. For no woman—no woman! left Marco Bellini with only the clothes she’d come to him with!

No woman left Marco Bellini.

‘You aren’t going anywhere until you’ve answered some questions,’ he growled, and grabbed her hand. ‘Maybe once you’ve done that I’ll be glad to see the back of you!’ he threw in for furious good measure, and began trailing her behind him out of the bedroom and down the hall while she tried her best to get free of him.

No chance, he vowed silently. No damn chance.

Throwing open the door to his study, he strode them over to the locked door. Still holding her hand prisoner, he stabbed in the security pin-number, hauled her inside, then over to the Mirror Woman.

‘Now, let’s start right here,’ he gritted. ‘Who is she?’

Anastasia, Antonia thought tragically, and began shaking all over again, fighting a battle with tears that reached right down to her abdomen. Sad, tragic—beautiful Anastasia.

‘Mirror—mirror,’ she whispered thickly.

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Marco said harshly.

It was no use lying, no use trying to pretend that she didn’t know what he was talking about. The game was up. She had been exposed as the fraud she was.

‘This,’ she said, ‘is Anastasia…’

It took a few moments, then it hit him. ‘My God,’ he rasped. ‘Are you saying that she is your twin?’

A laugh left her throat on a strangled sob. Her amber eyes shimmered with tears and a pained kind of humour, because Anastasia would have so loved to have been here to hear this big handsome Italian say that.

‘No, not my twin,’ she murmured softly. ‘She was my mother…’

My poor, wretched, haunted mother, she silently extended, while the silence grew thick all around her.

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