The Proud Wife. Kate Walker

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      The spark in her eyes, the touch of colour in those alabaster cheeks, the way her head was tilted slightly to one side, her neat chin lifted defiantly, told him he could make what he liked of that.

      ‘For your information, Pietro, not everyone has a lawyer at their beck and call—a man so ridiculously overpaid that he is obliged to jump and come running whenever you snap your fingers.’

      From under her lashes those green eyes went towards Matteo just once, briefly, and then came back to fix on his face again. She didn’t need to use words to tell him exactly what she thought.

      ‘You gave me precisely one hour to pack and come to Sicily. I had no choice. But I can just imagine what my lawyer would have said if I had even tried to suggest that he do the same.’

      Let him make what he wanted of that, Marina told herself. He didn’t like it, that much was plain from the way his whole body stilled and tightened in his seat, his head coming up so that his blue eyes blazed into hers. They were like shards of ice, so cold and clear. And she almost felt that the laser-like burn from them might actually mark her cheek where it rested.

      When he sat opposite her like this with his back to the windows, he was little more than a dark silhouette, black against the gloomy sky outside. The surprisingly pale eyes in his carved face were all she could really make out—not that it mattered. The truth was that every stunning feature, from the broad, high forehead down to the surprisingly full and sensual mouth, was seared into her memory, impossible to erase. And, if she let them, those memories would destroy her hard-won composure, take her back to the time when she had worshipped the ground this man walked on. To the time that had almost totally broken her.

      Just in the moment that she had looked up across the narrow road, and had seen him standing at the rain-dashed window, it had been like the first time she had met him. Then she had seen him through rain-spattered glass too, through the windscreen of her elderly Mini in the middle of an ice storm in a London street. She had been so stunned by the shocking sensuality of the tall, dark stranger’s beauty that she had lost control of the wheel just for a second—and had been horrified by the appalling crunch and screeching sound as her car had scraped against the side of his luxurious vehicle.

      The world had seemed to spin round her, her breath stilling in her lungs, and she had hardly been able to remember who she was or think to give him her insurance details. In the end she hadn’t needed them because he had assured her that the damage was slight and that he would cover the cost of repairs to both cars if she would promise to have dinner with him that night.

      She had been totally off-balance where this man was concerned ever since. Just being with him was like being in the eye of some wild, tropical storm every day. She had been swept off her feet, out of reality and into a world of such total delight, wealth and glamour that it had seemed impossible such a fantasy could actually exist.

      She had been right about that, of course. She’d had a few short months of perfect delight, total joy—but in the end the fantasy had crashed in flames, burning up all her dreams and illusions as it flared out of control. The passion they had once shared had turned in on itself and destroyed them. Or, rather, it had destroyed Marina, driving her away in misery and pain while Pietro had simply picked up his life and gone on with it as before. He hadn’t even troubled to contact her, never mind come after her when she had fled the marriage that had turned into a nightmare. He had sent that one cold command that she return, and when she had refused he had turned his back on her as if she had never existed.

      Until now. Until that cold, brutal summons to come to Sicily to discuss the ending of the marriage that had never really been.

      When she had walked into the room and seen him standing to one side of the room, dark and inscrutable, watching every move she made, it was as if the past years had evaporated in a second. Every memory, every sensation she had ever experienced, had returned in the space of a heartbeat. All the defences, the armour she had built around herself in order to be able to get on with her life, had disintegrated, crumbling at her feet, leaving her shaken and defenceless when she most needed to be strong.

      She had told herself that she would be completely in control for this meeting. That she would be cool, calm and collected when she and Pietro came face to face again. She had done all her crying for the loss of her marriage, the destruction of her illusions in the past, and now she was going to put them all behind her. She had thought that she was prepared because, no matter what she had just said, she had known full well that she would have to come face to face with her estranged husband at some point during her return to Sicily. Pietro wouldn’t have ordered her back to the island if he hadn’t intended that to happen. He would have to oversee her final dismissal from his life in person, if only to make sure that he was rid of her once and for all. There would have been no point in the summons otherwise. So she had slapped her emotional armour into place, knowing that it made her look hard and distant as a result.

      Deep inside, hard and distant was the very last thing she was feeling.

      ‘You don’t have a lawyer? You didn’t think that you would need someone to protect your interests?’

      ‘And will I?’

      Marina made her words a deliberate challenge. She knew her own private reasons why she hadn’t felt the need to bring along any legal support, but suddenly she wasn’t prepared to reveal those right away.

      ‘You are my wife.’ Pietro’s shadowed eyes met hers head-on, no trace of doubt or hesitation in his confident stare, though the heavy lids did droop down, hiding their expression behind the long, thick lashes.

      ‘Soon to be ex,’ Marina reminded him, not allowing herself to be intimidated by his merciless scrutiny.

      Oh, he hadn’t liked that; it was obvious from the sudden flare of something dangerous in the depths of his eyes. But he was no longer dealing with the amazed and overwhelmed girl he had married, the one who had been too naive to see him for what he really was. She’d done a lot of growing up in the past couple of years.

      ‘You are my wife,’ he repeated. ‘And as such you will be given what is due to you.’

      Well, that was a double-edged comment, if ever there was one. But which way was she supposed to take it? Marina wondered. As a promise of fair play or a threat of retribution?

      ‘But first there are a couple of conditions.’

      ‘Of course.’

      She should have expected that. She had expected it. From the moment the letter had arrived summoning her here to this office—Pietro’s lawyer’s office, on this island, Pietro’s home territory—she had known that he intended to show that he had the upper hand. And that he very definitely intended to use it. The sting she felt at the thought of that cold-blooded, ruthless determination turned on her made her flinch inwardly, cursing herself for still being weak enough to let him get under her guard at all. She knew what Pietro was like, didn’t she? She should do. She’d spent almost six months as his wife, had seen every side to his character. She knew how cold, hard, how totally pitiless he could be when he was crossed. The lines etched into his face, the burn of ice in those strangely pale eyes, told her that nothing had softened him in the time they had been apart. And the clipped, controlled tone of his voice warned her that he intended to make no compromises, would give no quarter.

      ‘Of course?’ Pietro questioned sharply.

      ‘I expected conditions, yes,’ Marina returned. ‘I’d be a fool not to. You aren’t going to just roll over and give in, are you? That’s hardly your way. Hardly СКАЧАТЬ