“Sandro,” Theresa cautiously breached the sanctity of his study later that night. In all the time they had been living in the house, it was the first time Theresa had ever set foot in the study while he was in it. He looked up to see her hovering uncertainly in the doorway and stood up abruptly, nearly sending his chair toppling. She jumped backward at the sudden violent movement but he was around his desk in an instant and approaching her with one hand outstretched.
“Theresa,” he intoned huskily. “Please come in.” He seemed almost eager to have her there. Not exactly the reception she was expecting. He steered her towards the huge, leather easy chair in one corner of the large study, seating her before taking the chair opposite hers, leaning towards her, with his hands loosely clasped together and hanging down between his spread thighs.
“I want to know why,” she finally whispered, after a lengthy silence. “I want to know what commodity you so casually traded my happiness for. What meant so much to you that you were willing to give up your precious freedom for it?” He was quiet for so long that she wondered if he would bother to respond.
“My father is old and sick,” he finally said in a low voice, keeping his head down and his eyes fixed on his hands. “He grew up on a wine farm. Not a very profitable vineyard but it had been in our family for generations and it meant a lot to him. It was the land he was born on, the land he imagined retiring to and eventually dying on… but before he made his fortune; he ran into some bad luck and made some terrible financial decisions that resulted in the loss of that vineyard. He soon found his footing and got stinking rich but that vineyard had been purchased by your father who quite stubbornly, despite anything my father offered him, refused to sell it. The place is pretty worthless to a man of his fortune, so I can only conclude that he enjoyed having that kind of leverage over my father,” he shrugged helplessly. “All of my life I remember my father waxing lyrical about that place. He always regretted the fact that none of his children had been born on that land, the guilt at losing a huge chunk of family history ate at him and in the last few years, his quest to get it back became an obsession.
“His health started to deteriorate really badly. He was diagnosed with cancer and the doctors aren’t optimistic. Naturally his impending death has made the loss of that land even more unbearable for him and it was killing us to watch him suffer emotionally, physically and mentally. I wanted to give him his pride and dignity back. I want him to find peace and die happy. So I approached your father, who, having seen your reaction to me after our first meeting, finally relented and came up with the terms of sale as you now know them.” Theresa flushed miserably when she remembered how obviously infatuated she had been the first time she had seen Sandro and recognised her own, unwitting role, in this façade.
“How’s your father?” She asked tightly and he nodded slightly, his face betraying the first hint of emotion since he had started telling the sorry tale.
“Content, now that he’s home,” his voice was absolutely racked with the pain he was trying so desperately to disguise.
“And your family knows about this ‘deal’ you made for the land?” She asked her own voice high with tension.
“Yes.”
“No wonder they never expressed any desire to meet me, or made any overtures of friendship towards me,” she said, half to herself and he made a muffled sound and moved a hand towards her face. She flinched away from his reach and his hand dropped halfway between them.
“I’m sorry about your father,” she said tonelessly. “I see now how impossible your situation must have been.”
“Even so… I could have treated you less…” he began, his voice bitter with something very close to self-loathing.
“Never mind,” she cut him off, not really in the mood to hear his moans of regret and self-recrimination. “Thank you for telling me.” She got up slowly, always mindful of the dizziness and he jumped up along with her.
“Theresa, wait… please…” he began.
“I don’t think there’s much more to say…” she turned toward the door.
“What about us? Our marriage?”
“I suppose we go on as we always have,” she shrugged listlessly. “Only, without the intimacy Sandro, I really couldn’t handle that anymore. We lead separate lives…”
“I don’t want that,” he said hoarsely, sounding almost horrified by the prospect.
“It won’t have to be for too much longer,” she murmured faintly, wondering why the door seemed to be getting further away with every faltering step.
“What do you mean?” He asked in alarm. “Theresa?” This last when she swayed slightly, he put a steadying arm around her narrow shoulders and led her back to the chair she had just vacated.
“That’s it,” he snapped, crouching in front of her, while his hands went up to frame her pale face. “I’m calling the doctor! This is…”
“I’m pregnant,” she cut across his words in an appallingly weak voice but quiet and shaky though her statement was, it was enough to stop him in his tracks. He went pale and sank back onto his heels as he absorbed the words.