Now she sat with her feet up, staring gloomily out at the rain pouring down outside. It was an unusually wet and miserable spring afternoon in October and Theresa had long ago abandoned her book in favour of her roiling thoughts. So absorbed was she in those thoughts that she didn’t hear Sandro come in and nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a large hand on her shoulder.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmured, bending down to drop a quick kiss onto the soft, exposed skin where her shoulder and neck met. “I called your name at least twice but you were totally wrapped up in your own little world.”
“I was just thinking…” she shrugged, her voice trailing off.
“About?”
“Everything… nothing,” another listless shrug.
“How are you feeling?” He asked, coming down on his haunches in front of her.
“I’m fine. A little tired…” He lifted a hand and gently traced one of her delicate cheekbones with his thumb before nimbly jumping to his feet and sitting down on the sofa next to her. Neither of them said anything for a while, they just listened to the rain and watched it cascading down the window like a waterfall.
“I want you to meet my father,” he suddenly announced unexpectedly and she froze before turning her head slowly to meet his brooding gaze.
“What?”
“My father…” he repeated and she bit her lip before clearing her throat uncertainly.
“I don’t know if that’s…” she began but he interrupted her before she could finish.
“His condition is deteriorating very quickly,” he said abruptly, his voice broke slightly as he said the words and his jaw clenched.
“Oh Sandro, I’m so sorry…” she whispered, her eyes going liquid with sympathy for him. “When’s your flight?”
“I’m not leaving,” he told her grimly and her eyes shadowed in confusion, before flaring as she realized why he refused to go and be with his father.
“Sandro,” her voice was so low it barely carried to the man who sat inches away from her. “You can’t stay because of me. You have to go and be with your family. Your place is with them right now.”
“You’re my family too, Theresa,” he suddenly snapped, a maelstrom of frustration and pain welling up in his eyes. “And I refuse to leave you here alone.”
“Hardly alone, Sandro…” she dismissed airily. “The staff, Lisa and Rick and even my father are here for me. Go home to your family…”
“This is where I have to be, this is where I’m staying. Stop arguing with me for God’s sake!” he growled.
“You are not going to blame me for this too, Sandro…” she fumed impotently, recognizing the stubborn tilt of his jaw and the steely resolution in his eyes and knowing that his mind was made up and he wouldn’t budge on the issue unless something drastic happened to change his mind. “The only reason you’re here now is because of my father and his corrupt little blackmailing scheme! My father and I have messed up your life and your family enough; don’t make it worse by staying here with me of all people, when the family you sacrificed your freedom for needs you the most.”
“Don’t you ever,” he suddenly seethed, grabbing and gripping her hand so tightly he cut off the circulation. “Lump yourself into the same category as your father again, Theresa, none of this is your fault and right now you need me too.”
“I do not need you,” she enunciated clearly. “I refuse to let you martyr yourself like this. Duty above all else… is that it? Long-suffering Sandro, always doing the right thing, always putting everybody else’s needs before his own. Always sacrificing his own happiness at the altar of familial obligation. I am not going to be your obligation, Sandro. I refuse… go be with your family!”
“You are my family, damn it! You, you, you!” He suddenly shouted in frustration and she jumped in fright, her jaw going slack as he leapt from the sofa to loom over her furiously. So rarely did Sandro lose his cool like this that Theresa simply stared up into his frustrated, wretched face in shocked silence. All the air suddenly seemed to leave his sails and his shoulders sagged as he dropped to his knees in front of her, bringing his eyes down to the same level as hers. “I want to be here with you… why is that so hard for you to understand?” His voice had dropped down to a whisper. His eyes suddenly, shockingly, filled with moisture which he made no attempt to hide from her and he muttered something in Italian, his voice thick with emotion. She bit her lip and shook her head.
“I don’t understand…” she whispered regretfully and he reached out a large hand to cup her cheek.
“My father is dying, cara,” he repeated in English, his voice absolutely wracked with emotion. “Please… I need you to just not fight with me right now.” She nodded and reached out with both hands to stroke his hair back from his broad, proud forehead. The gesture seemed to undo him and his face crumpled before he wrapped his strong arms around her thickened waist and buried his face in the mound of her stomach and Theresa curled her upper body protectively over his head as she whispered soothing little snippets of nothing into his hair.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to make this more difficult; I just thought that you were staying out of some misguided sense of honour and obligation. I would hate that, Sandro. I would hate for you to stay and then if the… the worst happened… you would blame me because you couldn’t be there at his side.”