“Yes… that damned girl can’t do anything right, can she?” Her father suddenly grated and Theresa’s head came up when she realised that they were talking about her. What on earth did… “The one thing you’d expect the woman to be able to do and she botched even that.” Oh God! Theresa finally realised what they had been referring to in such dry, legal terms and she nearly doubled over in pain.
“No-one was to blame for what happened,” Sandro shocked her by saying. “It was just one of those things…”
“Regardless,” her father dismissed. “Sire a boy on the brat and be done with it. Surely the task shouldn’t be too difficult for a strapping young man like you? After that, you’re most welcome to obtain your divorce and live happily ever after with that Francesca woman of yours. The Love of your Life that’s what the Press once called her, right?”
Francesca? Theresa didn’t know what to process first, the fact that this whole marriage had been about her being a broodmare for whatever sick goal they had in mind, or the fact that Sandro had been/was(?) in love with another woman. Both bits of information hurt so much that Theresa felt like she had been physically assaulted. She’d always assumed that Sandro’s desire for a son was fuelled by his Italian male ego; the need to propagate his seed and all that. The thought that it was part of some kind of bargain that he had made with her father had never even crossed her mind! Even though she had hated the way he could never touch her without that ultimate goal in mind, she had always believed that it was something he wanted; a son to carry on his name and an heir to inherit his fortune. Instead the baby would only ever have been a way for him to gain his freedom and carry on his life with Francesca.
But what was supposed to happen to her and the baby once Sandro had fulfilled his end of the bargain? Would he simply leave and forget about them? The one thing she had never doubted was that if Sandro wanted a son, he would love the child. Now she wasn’t even sure of that! Sandro seemed to despise her so much she now knew that even though any baby they had would carry his name, it would ultimately be neglected and unloved by its father just like she had been by hers. She couldn’t allow that to happen… this made her even more determined not to have a child.
As for her father’s role in all this, she certainly knew why he wanted a grandson, absolutely no mystery there! He had always bemoaned his lack of male progeny to carry on his line and his business. Theresa had never been good enough to inherit, he had always made that quite clear but she had never realised how far he would go to ensure a male heir. It was all so archaic… she was so wrapped up in her painful thoughts that it took her a while to register the low buzzing in her ear and realise that the two men had disconnected their call. She very carefully, as if it was the most fragile thing in the world, replaced the receiver in its cradle and sat quite still for a long time before suddenly exploding into action and dashing to the en-suite bathroom where she violently threw up the meagre portion she had had for breakfast.
After she was done she rinsed her mouth and headed back to the bedroom and crawled into the centre of the huge bed, where she sat with her knees drawn up to her chest and her face buried in her hands. She was hurting too much to even cry and was shaking so badly that her teeth were chattering. She didn’t know what to do or where to turn. She needed to get out of this situation, as far away from both of them as she possibly could. Possible solutions and scenarios kept marching their way through her traumatised mind but nothing viable presented itself. There was still Sandro’s threat against Lisa’s business to consider, she also had no real money of her own and she knew that with their considerable resources her father and husband would find her before she could get very far.
She was still mulling it over when a soft knock sounded on the bedroom door. It swung open before she could respond and her big, dark, beautiful husband stood framed in the doorway. His eyes swept over her small, dishevelled form as she sat in the middle of the bed, her knees still drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her folded legs.
“You’ve been in here for nearly three hours, Theresa,” he said in a quiet voice. It was the kind of voice one would use when talking to an unbroken, high-strung horse. Three hours? Theresa hadn’t realised that it had been that long and when she moved, her muscles screamed in protest. She had actually been sitting in one position for nearly that long. She gingerly and with visible effort stretched her arms and legs, trying not to wince in agony as her blood started circulating more freely.
“I didn’t realise,” she murmured, pushing her long hair out of her eyes. “I was going to visit Lisa.”
“Why?” He asked sharply and she shrugged.
“Something to do,” was her casual response.
“I thought…” He hesitated and Theresa’s eyes snapped up to his face in surprise, the hesitation was so unusual in her supremely confident husband. “I thought we could have lunch together… go out somewhere. We haven’t done that in a while.”
“Try never,” she half-laughed incredulously and his brows beetled slightly.
“Of course we have…” he began.
“Once,” she nodded. “About a month before we were married. I remember that once quite vividly because I felt like a heroine in my own personal fairytale. The giddy, foolish, not-quite-so-fair maiden having a meal with her dark, broody, oh-so-handsome prince who couldn’t be bothered to string together two sentences the entire time and checked his watch every five minutes like he had someplace much more important to be. But of course, I didn’t care, that was just the way you were and I ‘loved’…” she sneered the word. “…you anyway. We never went out again after that.”