Modern Romance March 2017 Books 5 -8. Natalie Anderson

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       CHAPTER SIX

      ANGIE WOKE THE next morning heavy-headed and bleary-eyed. Apprehensive about what lay ahead, confused about what had happened between her and Lorenzo last night, she dressed in jeans and a tunic, threw her hair into a ponytail and headed downstairs to the breakfast room, hoping it would be empty so she could spend a few minutes composing herself over coffee.

      Her wish was not to be granted. Her husband sat by himself in the sun-filled room that overlooked the bay, the morning’s newspapers spread out in front of him. He looked gorgeous in jeans and a navy T-shirt, his thick, dark hair still wet and slicked back from his shower. It was utterly disconcerting the way her heart quickened at the sight of him, as if it had a mind of its own.

      He looked up, gaze sliding over her face. “You slept in. That’s good. You needed it.”

      She took a seat beside him at the head of the table, even though her brain was screaming for distance. It would have looked churlish to do otherwise.

      “Constanza made your favorite,” he said, waving an elegant, long-fingered hand at the freshly baked banana bread on a plate. “And the coffee’s hot.”

      “Thank you.” She poured herself a cup of coffee. “Where are my parents?”

      “Your father went for a run. Your mother’s still in bed.”

      And would be for a while, she figured, taking a sip of the hot, delicious coffee. His brow furrowed. “Your father, he is always this...distant when it comes to dealing with your mother?”

      “Always. He thinks she is weak. That she should be able to conquer this addiction. When she slips it infuriates him.”

      “That’s no way to get to the heart of the problem. Your mother needs support above all things.”

      She eyed him. “You were the king of distancing yourself when I displeased you.”

      “Yes,” he agreed, dark gaze flickering. “And we’ve talked about how I’m going to work on that.”

      Right. And she was just supposed to take that at surface value? Forget the big stretches of complete alienation that had passed between them when he’d retreated into that utterly unknowable version of himself? How every time they’d made up in bed she’d thought it would be better just like she’d thought it would be better every time her mother promised to stop drinking, only to discover nothing had really changed.

      She twisted her cup in its saucer. “It’s always been that way in my family. We are the exact opposite of the Riccis—instead of expressing our emotions we bury them. Instead of talking about things we pretend they don’t exist.”

      He frowned. “Ignoring an addiction, continuing to perpetuate an illusion that everything is fine when it isn’t, is inherently damaging to all involved.”

      “I told you my family is dysfunctional.”

      The furrow in his brow deepened. “You said your mother started drinking when you were fifteen. What do you think precipitated it?”

      She lifted a shoulder. “She always had the tendency to drink to cope with all the socializing. But I think it was my father’s affairs that did it. Ask her to represent the family three or four times a week—fine. Ask her to do that when everyone is talking about who my father is screwing that week...to suffer that humiliation? It was too much.”

      “Why didn’t she leave him?”

      “She’s a Carmichael. Image is everything. A Carmichael never concedes defeat. Ever. If we don’t get her help, she will drink herself into the ground proving she can make this marriage work.”

      “That’s nuts.”

      She arched a brow. “Didn’t you say there’s never been a Ricci divorce? It’s what our families do.”

      He sat back in his chair, a contemplative look on his face. “That’s why you don’t like this world. Why you hate parties like the one we had last night. You hate what they represent.”

      “Yes.”

      “So you decided to leave me so you would never end up like your mother. You crave independence because you need to have an escape route in case our marriage falls apart like your parents’ did.”

      Her mouth twisted. “That’s far too simplistic an analysis.”

      “Perhaps, but I think your experiences drove your thinking with us. My withdrawal from you evoked shades of your father. Leaving you alone to cope while I went off to manage an empire. Except my vice wasn’t other women, it was my work.”

      Her lashes lowered. “There may be some truth in that. But saying you’re going to be more present and doing it are two different things.”

      “True,” he conceded. “We can start with your mother, then.”

      “That’s my issue to handle.”

      “No,” he disagreed. “It’s our issue. Like I said СКАЧАТЬ