“Why don’t you call Phumsile and Lisa once you land?” She suggested gently. “And if you’re worried about me forgetting you can have them remind me.”
“Yes,” he nodded, appeased. “I will. Please, Theresa, call me. Anytime... if you need anything, if you want to talk... call me. I’ll call you everyday...”
“That’s good...” she said quietly, not sure if he’d have the time to talk with her everyday but knowing that he needed to make the promise. “Now you’d better go before you miss your flight,” he nodded and dragged her into his arms for a passionate, desperate kiss before letting her go abruptly and striding down the steps toward the car. He paused when he reached the car and turned around for one last, lingering look at her before he climbed in and was gone.
Theresa turned blindly toward the house and once she was inside she felt completely lost. Not sure where to turn or who to turn to she found herself walking towards Sandro’s study. She’d been in the room very few times before and those times had always been in Sandro’s company, now she felt like she was intruding into his domain but it was the one place she felt closest to him. Everything bore his stamp... it was the only room he had insisted on decorating himself. He’d largely left the rest of the house up to Theresa and she now knew it had been because he hadn’t much cared what their home together would look like since he’d never had any intention of it being permanent.
Now, as she looked at the masculine room with its dark, heavy furniture and minimalist, almost Asian decor, she realised how completely different it was from the rest of the house and her heart broke at this additional sign of how doomed their relationship had been from the start. She sank down onto the plush, black leather sofa, curled up into a ball and cried for the life she could have had if she’d just been the woman Sandro had wanted to start off with. Once the bout of self-pity had passed, she sat up and wiped at her eyes before gently running her hands over her distended abdomen.
“You and I will make our own lives, darling,” she promised. “And we’ll be so happy. Just you wait and see.”
Chapter Ten
Sandro had made good on his promise and had enlisted both Lisa and Phumsile’s aid in ensuring that she took her vitamins and rested enough... but that was the only promise he kept. A month passed with barely any word from him, his phonecalls, the few that came, were rushed and impersonal and barely lasted three minutes each time. When Theresa tried to contact him, he was never available, or so the cold female voices on the other end of the line told her. She had no choice but to take them at their word.
She kept track of Sandro’s movements through the news; online, televised and printed, his father’s death and Sandro’s subsequent taking over of an empire were pretty hot news items and barely a day went by that it wasn’t mentioned in some form of news. There had been paparazzi coverage of the funeral, despite the media ban the family had put on proceedings, some intrepid photographer had managed to get a picture of Sandro standing over his father’s open grave, his face closed up tighter than a fist, flanked by his mother and by Francesca who had stood with her hand woven through his arm, offering the support of a lover, the support a wife would offer. A lot had been written about that photograph, a lot of cynical criticism had been aimed at his cold, absent wife and a lot of praise for the stoic Francesca who stood by him through thick and thin.
No word about her difficult pregnancy which made travel nearly impossible for her. A few local reporters had contacted her, wanting her “side of the story” and her refusal to be interviewed or offer any comment had merely added fuel to the fodder that she was unfeeling and cold. The media, when given free rein, were ruthless. For the most part they left her alone, content to write what they wanted and in every article the beautiful, vivacious Francesca was lauded for her unwavering and loving support, while the “plain and anti-social” Theresa was criticised for her seeming neglect of her husband in his time of need.
She sighed quietly, as she stared out at the heavy downpour, missing Sandro so much it hurt and wishing that she could just talk with him. The baby moved restlessly and she winced slightly as a tiny foot caught her just beneath the ribs. She sang a quiet lullaby and ran her hands over the mound of her stomach. She was feeling her burden more and more with each passing day and it was getting increasingly difficult just to make it through the day.
“Theresa?” The quiet voice coming from behind her made her jump nearly out of her skin and she yelped before turning to face Lisa and Rick both of whom stood framed in the doorway of the den.
“God, you startled me,” she gasped as they stepped into the room, neither cracking a smile, both looking relentlessly grim. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”
. “Terri... we have to get you out of here,” Lisa said urgently, rounding the sofa to stand in front of her.
“What? Why?”
“We’ll explain once we’re out of here...”
“No,” she shook her head stubbornly. “Tell me now. Is it Sandro? Was he hurt?”
“He will be once I get done with him,” Rick suddenly threatened furiously.
“Rick, not now,” Lisa groaned and Theresa’s eyes settled on the grim-faced man in confusion.
“I don’t understand...” her confused gaze went from Lisa’s frantic expression to Rick’s furious one. “What’s going on?”