The Unwanted Wife (Unwanted #1) Page 37
Author: Natasha Anders

“What is this word?” He growled. “Names aren’t allowed!” She couldn’t help but giggle at his outrage before whipping out a definition of the word for him. He glared down at the dictionary before grumbling to himself in Italian again and going back to studying the board. Theresa smiled slightly to herself, noting the way his hair had slid forward over his forehead and just dying to brush it back, she hid her hands beneath the table and clenched her fists to quell the unreasonable impulse.
“I know that it’s early days yet but I’ve been thinking about decorating the nursery,” she said just to get her mind off of her crazy desire to touch him. Her words caught his attention and he looked up with an unguarded smile.
“That’s a terrific idea,” he nodded eagerly. “We could go shopping for furniture and toys, I saw this huge panda bear at a toy shop a week ago that would be perfect for a baby.” His enthusiastic response completely threw her and she stared at him blankly for a few moments.
“A toy shop?” She finally asked and he went slightly red.
“There’s one... close to the office and I’ve been to it a couple of times during my lunch hour,” he finally, very reluctantly, admitted. “Just to see what kind of toys and things babies need these days.”
Theresa had no clue how she was supposed to respond to that. Should she be concerned that he seemed to be taking more than a casual interest in the baby or should she be pleased? And how on earth was she supposed to react to his assumption that they would be decorating the nursery together? Her emotions were in such turmoil that in the end, she simply said nothing... shoving it aside to be processed later. Sandro, sensing the shift in her mood and seeming to realise that he’d said too much lapsed into an uncomfortable silence and toyed with one of his tiles.
“I’m feeling a little tired. I may just head up to bed,” she suddenly said and he looked up in resentment.
“I still have an hour left,” he pointed out bitterly and she bit her lip nervously.
“Yes, you do,” she finally said and gestured toward the board. “It’s your move.” His eyes glimmered with some indefinable emotion before he shook his head and got up.
“You’re not my prisoner, Theresa, if you’re tired go to bed,” he said wearily, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tailored business suit trousers and totally ruining the cut of the expensive garment.
“Far be it from me to renege on a bargain,” she maintained, remaining stubbornly seated, even though she would have liked nothing better than to flee.
“You’re being so goddamned childish,” he seethed and turned to leave the room before she had a chance to retaliate. She sat there for a few minutes before she realised that he really wasn’t coming back. It was the first time in more than a month that they’d had any kind of serious dispute and Theresa regretted that, knowing that she had been childish, because she hadn’t known of any other way to deal with her emotions. She sighed, acknowledging that she needed to apologise to him and pushed herself up off of the plush heated carpet, thinking that it was best to get it over with as soon as possible.
She headed toward his study and as she approached the slightly ajar door, she realised that he was speaking to someone in a low voice. Not wanting to intrude on his telephone call, her steps slowed slightly and she turned around to head toward the kitchen for a small snack. She was just about to walk away when she heard him groan huskily, before saying, “Francesca...” in the most agonised voice she had ever heard from him. The single word was filled with so much yearning and pain that it froze Theresa in her tracks. Sandro was still talking in that low voice, his words, which were in Italian, sounding more urgent now. Theresa took a step back towards the study and the open door and his voice became slightly clearer, even though he was murmuring intimately.
“Francesca, cara...” were two of the incriminating words she could understand amidst the torrent of Italian and she bit her lip uncertainly, not sure if he was talking to Francesca or about Francesca. God, why hadn’t she learned more Italian? Right now she understood just enough to make her miserable with jealousy and pain. After hearing the woman’s name, for the first time so many months ago, Theresa had tried to put her out of her mind... knowing nothing about her, it had seemed wisest not to speculate for fear of having her imagination run wild. Now, she wished she had done some research on this Francesca, even though having only one name to go on would have made it difficult and Theresa hadn’t been about to ask her father or Sandro for details about the mystery woman.
Sandro was obviously oblivious to her presence outside his study door as he continued his low-voiced conversation and Theresa understood only a few random words that meant little to her. He kept using endearments though; those she knew very well because he’d frequently resorted to them while having sex with her. She had often wondered if that had been his way of de-personalising the act even further since he had rarely used her name during their most intimate moments. She hovered outside her husband’s study door, much like she had been hovering on the outskirts of his life for nearly two years, before turning away and heading back upstairs. She had showered, changed for bed and had long since turned off her bedroom lights when she finally heard his heavy tread on the staircase. She held her breath when he paused, as he always did, outside her door but instead of feeling the usual relief when he moved on a few moments later, this time Theresa turned her face into her pillow and cried herself to sleep.