Page 35 of The Italian's Marriage Bargain

‘You are a good student.’ Rosa shrugged. ‘I hope you both have a nice night.’

As she turned to go Felicity felt a surge of panic. For weeks now she had wanted this, a night alone with Luca, but now it was finally here she balked at the final hurdle, terrified of his reaction to the news she had to tell him. She wanted to call Rosa back, wanted the relative safety of an audience, but deep down Felicity knew she needed to face this alone.

She was having a baby.

And tonight Luca was going to find out.

CHAPTER NINE

LUCA’Smethods of transport had some advantages.

The low throb of rotors nearing gave Felicity time for a final check. Lighting the candles, she flicked the switch on the CD player, hoping that the fact Puccini’sLa Bohèmewas at the top of the pile meant it was one of Luca’s favourites. Standing at the fireplace, she checked her reflection for maybe the hundredth time.

A warm bath and the crackling fire she had lit brought a warmth to her pale cheeks that was so unfamiliar these days. Her blonde hair gleamed, piled high on her head and twisted into a coil, tendrils escaping around her face and neck, and a flash of lipstick accentuated her curvy mouth. The pale pink cashmere dress, another of her fabulous purchases, scooped low, her creamy décolletage for once filled something, and the soft pink hugged her swollen breasts, tapering into her waist. As the flash of helicopter lights flooded the lounge room she caught the reflection of her own glittering golden eyes. The nausea, so ever-present these days, was pleasantly absent—just the military march of her heart thumped as she struggled with her news.

Tried to fathom Luca’s response.

‘Where’s Rosa?’

It wasn’t exactly the most romantic of greetings, but given the frostiness of the morning’s departure Felicity couldn’t blame Luca. Barely dusting her cheeks with his lips he marched through the hallway and she clipped behind him in her heels. If anything his restless, brooding mood only made him more desirable, made it more imperative that she tell him the truth.

‘I gave her the night off,’ Felicity said in a falsely cheerful voice as Luca tossed his jacket in the vague direction of the couch. ‘I thought it would be nice to spend some time together.’

‘That wasn’t the impression you gave this morning.’ The sarcastic edge to his voice didn’t go unnoticed. ‘In fact this morning you gave the impression that some timealonewas exactly what you wanted.’

Despite his aloofness Felicity knew he was hurt, knew that he was confused. After all, since their arrival in Italy she had hardly been the loving, giving wife he had so recently married. Constant nausea had put paid to that, but soon it would all be behind them. Once Luca understood the reason behind her distance they could finally move on, alone or together.

Now all she had to do was tell him.

‘I did need some time alone this morning,’ Felicity admitted slowly, bracing herself—but it was too soon; she wanted them to be sitting down, a meal between them, not this hostile confrontation. ‘But now—’

‘Oh, you’ve changed you mind,’ Luca broke in, and Felicity snapped her mouth closed. ‘Just like that.’ He clicked his fingers so loudly, so close she jumped back. ‘Never mind that I wanted to talk at the hotel. Never mind that you’ve pushed me away in bed for a full week. Now you’ve decided you want some quality time! Does it not enter your head that I might have had a bad day? That the very last thing I need right now is an in-depth discussion? That all I want to do is come home and have dinner?’

‘I can understand you’re upset, and I know it seems as if I’ve been pushing you away…’ Felicity ventured as Luca pulled off his tie and simultaneously filled a whisky glass.

‘You understand, do you?’ Gulping his drink, he tore at his tie, cursing himself for his weakness. For weeks now she had pushed him away, the mere touch of him making her recoil. This morning’s exchange had churned his stomach all day, and he wanted to hold that thought, to stay angry, to let her feel some of the pain he had, but he hadn’t reckoned on this. Hadn’t even contemplated coming home to her so sweet and warm, the effort she had gone to, the genuine appeal in her eyes—and that dress!

That body, wrapped, bathed in the softest pink, her breasts jutting out, her nipples swelling like berries…The need to touch, to possess was so strong he wanted to grab at those pins that held her hair, to feel it spill through his fingers, but more appealing, more utterly endearing, was seeing the fire in her eyes. The feisty woman he had first met seemed back now, the lethargic, tearful stranger had happily disappeared, but he couldn’t let it go—couldn’t just walk in and carry on as if nothing had happened, jump to her tune. There was too much pride and too much pain.

‘I’ve cooked.’

‘Why?’ he asked rudely. ‘I didn’t bring you to the other side of the world to cook for me. Rosa is the cook; I employ her to cook for me.’ An angry hand tossed at the air and Felicity felt her goodwill evaporate. Gorgeous he might be, but she damned well wasn’t going to just stand there and let him walk over her…

‘Oh, and I suppose a wife has other duties?’ Felicity bit back.

‘Exactly.’ Downing his drink in one gulp, he turned his fiery eyes to hers. ‘So now I have a housekeeper who doesn’t cook and a wife who doesn’t like sex!’

His words were like a slap, but instead of defusing her mounting anger they only fired it. ‘Well, maybe you should take more care with who you employ, Mr. Santanno,’ Felicity retorted, her angry eyes a match for his, her chin jutting defiantly, five-foot-three of bristling indignation rising on her high heels. ‘So far you don’t appear to have a very good track record.’

‘I assume by that you’re referring to Matthew?’ His voice was like ice, a muscle pounded in his cheek, and Felicity knew their argument had overstepped the mark, gone into uncharted territory. The festering boil needed to be lanced, but not like this; never like this. ‘Do you really think he would have put up with this? His wife mooching around the house, barely talking, pretending to be asleep in bed at night?’ He saw the colour rise on her cheek and gave a malevolent smile. ‘You think I don’t know when you pretend?’

‘At least I knew where I stood with him!’ Even as the words came out Felicity regretted them. There was no comparison in her relationships to Matthew and Luca. He was livid now, his olive skin tinged with grey, his eyes glinting dangerously as they narrowed, his hand so tight around the glass Felicity half expected it to shatter.

‘Do I have to remind you that excuse of a man not only drugged you, he was blackmailing you also?’ He slammed the glass down, and Felicity flinched as the verbal attack continued. ‘I have never treated you with anything other than respect. Have I forced myself upon you? Have I pushed when it was clear you didn’t want to sleep with me?’ And you have the—the…’ his fingers were snapping furiously, his mouth contorting in furious rage as he tried to fashion the word ‘…you have the—’

‘Audacity, I think is the word you’re looking for, Luca,’ Felicity shouted, anger blurring her senses, crossing the invisible line they had drawn, pushing for a confrontation she wasn’t sure she really wanted. But she was too fired up to care now. Tonight should have been so perfect. Tonight she had been going to tell him. And instead they were nose to nose, pouring out insults that could never be taken back. ‘Yes, Luca, I have the audacity to expect my husband to understand that maybe I don’t feel well, maybe there is a reason I’m not swinging off the chandeliers at the moment, and respect that, not rush off to another women’s bed!’

He closed his eyes, every muscle in his face rigid as he raked his fingers through his hair. Dark, angry eyes finally opened, and for the briefest second the flash of pain she read in them cut her to the core. But the words that followed were more damning, more agonising than Felicity could ever have imagined.

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