“It’s not like that,” he denied, almost stumbling in his haste to reach for her but she stepped away before he could touch her.
“Yes it is. Please don’t insult my intelligence by denying it…” she desperately looked around for her panties and finally saw them lying beside her drawing board. She very quickly swooped them up before turning back to face him.
“I need a shower,” she whispered bitterly. “You know what it’s like when you have an overwhelming urge to scrape the touch, the scent, the very essence of someone off of your skin, don’t you? After all, that’s what you usually do thirty seconds after your orgasm and I can finally relate to that” She turned and left the room before he had the opportunity to respond.
Chapter Four
They barely spoke over the next week or so, merely co-existing in the same house. Sandro still insisted that they take breakfast and dinner together and that they sleep together but he never touched her in bed, maintaining the distance that she had insisted on. Some part of Theresa was relieved while another, even larger part, bemoaned the loss of the one bond they had shared. Still, she kept telling herself that it was just sex and it had never meant anything.
Besides she had other, more immediate, concerns. Like the fact that she had thrown up every day for the last week and the fact that she was still stricken by dizzy spells at the most unexpected times… like the fact that her period was now than it had ever been before. She was relieved that the intimacies between her and Sandro had ceased, because he was as familiar with her cycle as she was and she would really prefer absolute certainty before telling him anything. She also wanted time to figure out what her next move would be.
Yet another decision taken from her, she reflected bitterly but at least she could decide the time and place to tell him, if indeed she was pregnant, which she desperately hoped was not the case. She worried at her lower lip with her teeth, staring blindly at the design she had been working on for most of the week. It was supposed to be a necklace but it looked like no necklace she had ever seen before. She shook her head in disgust; she could not seem to get anything done. It was the equivalent of writer’s block and it was extremely frustrating. Her cellphone buzzed discreetly and she snatched it up, welcoming the distraction. She had been exchanging text messages with Lisa all day and was expecting the message to be from her cousin. She was rather unpleasantly surprised to see Sandro’s name in her inbox. He usually refrained from contacting her during the day. She frowned down at his name, not all that keen on reading the text. Finally she exhaled gustily and clicked on the message.
“Eating out tonight. Dress: casual. ‘Business thing’. Will be home by 6. Dinner @ 7:30”
She groaned, Sandro and his damned “appearances”! She was tempted to simply refuse but didn’t have the energy for the argument that would ensue. At least he’d forewarned her this time, there had been a few incidences in the past where he had simply come home and told her that they were going out in an hour. A couple of times the events had been formal, leaving Theresa to scramble for appropriate dresses and silently cursing the fact that she hadn’t even had the opportunity to have her hair professionally done. Sighing softly, she gave up on work for the rest of the afternoon and instead decided to get her hair done. Looking good tonight would give her ego a boost if nothing else.
Sandro was home promptly at six. Theresa was curled up on the sofa, flipping through the coffee table book by an extremely popular photographer, which she had just purchased on her afternoon excursion. He was a wildlife photographer but his subject matter this time round was a lot closer to home. His latest anthology, entitled “Man’s Best Friend” was all about dogs. Theresa, being a huge sucker for dogs, hadn’t thought twice before buying the book. Sandro paused in the doorway and she looked up to see his arrested gaze on her hair. She lifted a self-conscious hand to her newly-cut hair, knowing that it was a big change. She had had her waist length fall of Titian hair cut to just below her jaw. The style was straight and sleek, with a feathery fringe and Theresa loved the way it made her look and feel like a new woman. Something she was so desperately striving to be.
Her hair had always been long, her father had absolutely forbade her to cut it and Theresa knew that the one thing Sandro absolutely adored about her, aside from her rather small breasts, was her hair. When he was having sex with her he was always touching, stroking or tugging at her hair. Now she waited with bated breath for his inevitable negative reaction to the cut which framed her face and emphasised her large, grey-green, eyes and high, delicate cheekbones. His hands clenched and he seemed to swallow with visible effort.
“You look…” his voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat before starting again. “You look bellisima, cara.” His quiet voice seemed to ring with sincerity and something which, in any other man, would be akin to reverence. “Absolutely stunning…”
She blinked.
“Oh,” was all she could think of to say and he came further into the room, still so riveted on her hair and face that he very nearly tripped over a small footstool placed beside an easy chair. He frowned down at the offending piece of furniture before sinking down into the leather easy chair opposite the matching sofa Theresa was curled up on.
“Uh…” he dragged his gaze down to the book in her lap and seemed strangely desperate to make conversation. “What are you reading?” His sharp eyes honed in on the title before he raised his gaze to hers in consternation. “Dogs?” He sounded so insultingly nonplussed that she hugged the book defensively to her chest.