CHAPTER FOUR

They barely spoke over the next week or so, merely coexisting in the same house. Sandro insisted that they take breakfast and dinner together still and that they sleep in the same bed, but he never touched her, maintaining the distance that she had insisted on. Some part of Theresa was relieved while another bemoaned the loss of the one bond they had shared. She kept telling herself that it was just sex and it had never meant anything.
Besides, she had other, more immediate, concerns. Like the fact that she had thrown up every day for the last week and she was still stricken by dizzy spells at the most unexpected times and that her period was now later than it had ever been before. She was relieved that the intimacies between her and Sandro had ceased, because he was as familiar with her cycle as she was and she would really prefer absolute certainty before telling him anything. She also wanted time to figure out what her next move would be.
Yet another decision taken from her, she reflected bitterly, but at least she could decide the time and place to tell him—if indeed she was pregnant, which she desperately hoped was not the case. She worried at her lower lip with her teeth, staring blindly at the design she had been working on for most of the week. It was supposed to be a necklace, but it looked like no necklace she had ever seen before. She shook her head in disgust; she could not seem to get anything done. She seemed to be experiencing the equivalent of writer’s block, and it was extremely frustrating. Her cell phone buzzed and she snatched it up, welcoming the distraction. She had been exchanging text messages with Lisa all day. Her cousin was feeling under the weather and Theresa had been trying to cheer her up with silly little jokes—a difficult feat when Theresa herself wasn’t feeling all that great. She was expecting her cousin’s response to her latest message but was rather unpleasantly surprised to see Sandro’s name in her inbox. He usually refrained from contacting her during the day. She frowned down at his name, not all that keen on reading the text. Finally she exhaled gustily and clicked on the message.
“Eating out tonight. Dress: casual. ‘Business thing.’ Home by 6. Dinner @ 7:30”
She groaned. Sandro and his damned “appearances”! She was tempted to refuse but didn’t have the energy for the argument that would ensue. At least he’d forewarned her this time. There had been a few incidences in the past where he had come home and told her that they were going out in an hour. A couple of times the events had been formal, leaving Theresa to scramble for appropriate dresses and silently cursing the fact that she hadn’t even had the opportunity to have her hair professionally done. Sighing softly, she gave up on work for the rest of the afternoon and headed for the kitchen for some company. Phumsile was bustling around efficiently, but when she turned and saw Theresa she grinned.
“Teatime?” she asked, and Theresa nodded, settling onto a kitchen stool while Phumsile gathered a couple of teacups and set the kettle to boil.
“You finished with your work already? It’s a little early,” the older woman asked, while she prepared the teapot. Theresa’s relationship with Phumsile was warm and friendly. Theresa knew that Phumsile had long ago discerned the unusual nature of her marriage and while the woman remained discreet and never brought it up, she tended to mother Theresa as a result.
“I couldn’t concentrate, and Sandro and I are going out tonight, so I should probably think about getting ready for that.” Phumsile made a noncommittal sound as she poured the hot water into the teapot and set it onto the counter between them to steep before putting a plate of freshly baked gingerbread biscuits next to it.
“Is it going to be another fancy night?”
Theresa smiled at the terminology and shrugged.
“He said casual. Not sure what that means.” She picked up a biscuit and took a tentative bite.
“The ginger is very mild, it won’t upset your stomach,” the woman said quietly, and Theresa raised her startled eyes to Phumsile’s wise ones. She should have known that Phumsile would notice her nausea over the last few days. The woman rarely missed much.
“Does Mr. De Lucci know?” Phumsile asked.
“I don’t even know,” Theresa admitted.
“A baby is a blessing. Mr. De Lucci will be very happy.”
“He will,” Theresa acknowledged bitterly.
“You’re not happy?” Phumsile seemed confused, and Theresa forced a smile.
“I’m not sure there is a baby, Phumsile, it could just be a stomach bug.” She took a sip of the chamomile tea Phumsile always prepared to perfection and another nibble of the biscuit.
“So what do you want to wear tonight?” Phumsile tactfully changed the subject and Theresa shrugged again.
“I don’t know exactly how casual he means. Jeans maybe. What do you think I should do with my hair? Up or down?” Phumsile tilted her head as she considered Theresa’s long fall of hair.
“Why don’t you go to the hairdresser?” Phumsile asked. “It will cheer you up.”
Theresa smiled at Phumsile as she considered the thought. Looking good tonight would give her ego a boost if nothing else.
“You know, I haven’t had it styled in some time,” she admitted, and rounded the counter to give Phumsile a quick squeeze. “That’s a brilliant idea. Thank you. What would I do without you, Phumsile?”
“Starve,” the woman joked. “You don’t eat enough when I’m not here and you know it.”
Theresa laughed, feeling immeasurably better after her exchange with the housekeeper. Nothing had been resolved, but she felt less alone now that Phumsile was aware of her possible pregnancy.

Sandro was home promptly at six. Theresa was curled up on the sofa, flipping through a coffee table book by an extremely popular photographer, which she had just purchased on her afternoon excursion. He was a wildlife photographer, but his subject matter this time around was a lot closer to home. His latest anthology, entitled Man’s Best Friend, was all about dogs. Theresa, being a huge sucker for dogs, hadn’t thought twice before buying the book. Sandro paused in the doorway, and she looked up to see his arrested eyes on her hair. She lifted a self-conscious hand to her newly cut hair, knowing that it was a big change. She had had her waist-length fall of Titian hair cut to just below her jaw. The style was straight and sleek, with a feathery fringe, and Theresa loved the way it made her look and feel like a new woman. Something she was so desperately striving to be.
Her hair had always been long; her father had absolutely forbade her to cut it, and Theresa knew that the one thing Sandro absolutely adored about her, aside from her rather small breasts, was her hair. When he was having sex with her, he was always touching, stroking, or tugging at her hair. Now she waited with bated breath for his inevitable negative reaction to the cut, which framed her face and emphasized her large gray-green eyes and high, delicate cheekbones. His hands clenched and he seemed to swallow with visible effort.
“You look…” His voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat before starting again. “You look bellissima, cara.” His quiet voice seemed to ring with sincerity and something that, in any other man, would be akin to reverence. “Absolutely stunning.”
She blinked.
“Oh,” was all she could think of to say, and he came farther into the room, still so riveted on her hair and face that he very nearly tripped over a small footstool placed beside an easy chair. He frowned at the offending piece of furniture before sinking into the leather easy chair opposite the matching sofa Theresa was curled up on.
“Uh…” He dragged his focus down to the book in her lap and seemed strangely desperate to make conversation. “What are you reading?” His sharp eyes honed in on the title before he raised his gaze to hers in consternation. “Dogs?” He sounded so nonplussed that she hugged the book defensively to her chest.
“I happen to like dogs,” she said fiercely, and his strangely gentle eyes swept over her tight features before coming to rest on the book. He leaned forward and extended his right hand.
“May I?” He watched her steadily until she reluctantly let up on the death grip she had on the book and handed it over to him. “Thank you.” He leaned back and flipped through the glossy pages, pausing here and there before grinning almost boyishly at her. He looked so breathtakingly handsome that for a long moment she didn’t know that he was talking to her.
“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” she whispered, and his smile widened as he flipped the book toward her, tapping his long index finger on a picture of a grinning black Labrador retriever.
“I had one just like this,” he informed her, and she frowned.
“One what?” she asked blankly, mesmerized by his devastating smile.
“Dog,” he told her patiently before turning the book back toward himself. His expression was gently reminiscent. “I like dogs too. The way I see it, anyone who doesn’t like dogs is not to be trusted. My retriever was called Rocco. He died just before I started university. I’d had him for sixteen years. I suppose you could say that I grew up with him.” She smiled at his obvious affection for what must have been a well-loved pet.
“You must have had a dog too, growing up?” he prompted, and she nodded slowly. “What breed?”
“She was a bit of a mutt,” Theresa whispered, more than a little reluctant to continue.
“What was her name?” Why was he being so damned persistent?
“Sheba,” she supplied, her voice going even quieter, and his smile faded as he leaned forward intently, his eyes fixed on her downcast face.
“Tell me more,” he invited quietly.
“Nothing much to tell,” she shrugged, clearing her throat. “My mother took me to the SPCA for my eleventh birthday and told me to choose any dog I wanted. I’d been going on and on about getting a dog for months before that, promising that I would take good care of it. It was getting to the point where, I guess, she would have done anything to shut me up. So I chose Sheba, with her soulful brown eyes, her scruffy black-and-white coat, and her happy, wagging tail.” He smiled at that and so did she. “She wasn’t much to look at but I adored her.” She sighed heavily before stopping and shrugging, ultimately lifting her eyes to meet his. “Time to get ready for that dinner now, isn’t it?” He frowned before shaking his head.
“How long did you have your dog?” he asked softly in a tone that said he wouldn’t rest until he knew everything, and Theresa tugged at her full lower lip with her teeth.
“About three weeks.”
He smothered a soft curse at the whispered confession.
“What happened?”
“Mom and Daddy didn’t agree on most things, and apparently my getting a dog was yet another excuse to fight. Getting Sheba was Mom’s way of scoring points against Daddy and getting rid of Sheba was Daddy’s way of scoring points against Mom.” Her parents had been deeply unhappy together, and it really shouldn’t have surprised anyone when her mother swallowed a handful of sleeping pills mere weeks later. Theresa had blamed herself for a long time, thinking that if she had been less insistent about the dog, her parents wouldn’t have fought and her mother wouldn’t have abandoned her. She had been petrified for many years that her father would desert her too if she wasn’t the perfect daughter, but by the time she had finished high school, she had understood that Jackson Noble was too selfish to harm himself in any way. By then, being the perfect daughter had become an unbreakable habit.
Now she strove to sound flippant about the dog, but the tremor in her voice made a liar out of her. Sandro said nothing but he seemed to be struggling with something, his jaw so tightly clenched that she could see the little muscles knotting just below his ears, and his knuckles showed white where his grip had tightened on the book.
“What did he do to the dog?” he gritted out, sounding like he was chewing nails.
“I never knew for sure,” she confessed. “Mom said Sheba went to a new family and was happy with them. But I don’t know…I always feared that he took her back to the pound.” Despite her best intentions, tears of long-remembered pain flooded her eyes, and she tilted her chin in an effort to appear casual. “I couldn’t sleep for the longest time afterward, imagining how confused Sheba must have been, and on the really bad nights I pictured them taking her into the vet’s operating room to be put down, because even though I loved her, she really wasn’t cute or clever or all that special. If she went back to the pound, I don’t think she would have gone to another home.”
“You mustn’t think like that,” he admonished.
“I know. Never mind, it’s so far in the past that the wound healed long ago. Not even a scar.” The way he looked at her told her that he didn’t believe a word of it.
“You were eleven?”
She nodded and dropped her eyes, uncomfortable beneath his burning regard. “Didn’t your mother die when you were eleven?” Everybody knew that her mother had committed suicide. She had been found by a servant, and the news had been leaked to the press within the hour. One of the unfortunate by-products of coming from a family such as hers was the complete lack of privacy and respect from the press. Her mother’s suicide had become fodder for the masses and her funeral a three-ring circus. It had made Theresa very cagey around the media and she tended to stay as far removed from the limelight as possible.
Her marriage to Sandro hadn’t made that easy—not when his family history was almost identical to hers and his glamorous sisters were always being hounded by the paparazzi.
“About two weeks after I lost Sheba,” she admitted, and he inhaled sharply, a muffled curse word dropping from his lips. “So, you see, I soon had bigger things to worry about than poor little Sheba’s fate.”
“I think I see a lot more than you want me to, Theresa,” he stated cryptically, and she raised her eyes back up to his only to be confounded by the tenderness and understanding she saw there. He handed the book back to her, and she took it with a nod, making sure to avoid all contact with his large hands. He noticed the evasion and, while his eyes narrowed, he chose not to say anything about it.
“So how casual is this business thing?” she asked, changing the subject abruptly, getting up carefully, not wanting another revealing wave of dizziness in front of him.
“Extremely casual,” he responded quietly, choosing not to challenge the blatant subject change. “Jeans, T-shirt, and a jacket will do.”
“You mean I had my hair done for nothing?” She frowned, rather disgruntled that she wouldn’t be showing off her new look in the best possible setting.
“I hardly think it was for nothing,” he protested with another one of those rare, breathtaking smiles of his. “I think the result was well worth the effort. I loved your long hair, cara, but this new chic, sleek little cut…Words fail me. You look…” He shook his head and in a quintessentially Italian gesture, raised his fingertips to his lips and kissed them to signify his approval. For some reason that struck Theresa as funny, and she stifled a giggle with her hand. Her eyes were iridescent with laughter, and he stood for a long moment, staring at her, before he cleared his throat.
“Go on, Theresa,” he prompted gently. “Meet me down here in half an hour?” She nodded at the question in his voice.

Sandro remained closemouthed about where they were going, ignoring Theresa’s increasingly desperate pleas for information. It was highly unusual for him not to tell her what to expect. He usually drilled information into her, what their hosts liked and what he wanted her to talk about. He always seemed afraid that she would mess up somehow, but he was markedly different this time. He was relaxed, and every time Theresa asked about their eventual destination, he told her not to worry about it. She peeked at his handsome profile, hating his nonchalance in the face of her edginess. He was dressed even more casually than she was, wearing name-brand sweatpants that had definitely seen better days, battered sneakers of the same brand, and a jacket to match the pants.
“Stop staring,” he growled, keeping his eyes glued to the road ahead. “You’re making me nervous.”
Yeah right! Mr. Nerves of Steel, who handled the powerful Ferrari with grace and confidence, was nervous. She didn’t believe that for a second. She pursed her lips and diverted her eyes to the rapidly darkening horizon beyond her window. They had been driving for nearly forty minutes, and Theresa had no clue where they were. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes for a few moments, feeling like the past few weeks of uncertainty were catching up with her.
“We’re here.” Sandro’s voice jerked her out of her doze sometime later, and she stretched before sitting up to take stock of their surroundings. The car was already parked in the driveway of a huge house. The place made their, not immodest, house seem like a garden cottage. There were five other sleek and expensive sports cars parked in the driveway, and every light, both inside and out of the house, seemed to be on.
Theresa unbuckled her belt and was out of the car before Sandro could even move. She stood with her hands braced on the roof of the Ferrari and stared up the immense house in unabashed curiosity. She was aware of Sandro, rummaging about in the space behind the front seats before climbing out of the low-slung car with feral grace and rounding the bonnet to join her on the passenger side of the car.
“Theresa, I don’t want you to think that—” Whatever he had been about to say was cut off when another car, this one an expensive metallic-blue Lamborghini, slid to a stop behind theirs. Sandro glanced over and swore when he seemed to recognize the car.
The sole occupant emerged from the car and Theresa could see him quite clearly beneath the bright lights flooding the driveway. He was a tall, dark-haired, gorgeous man about Sandro’s age, and he had a huge, friendly grin on his face as he strode over to them. Theresa found herself admiring his sexy, loose-limbed gait. He was dressed in similar fashion to her husband, just sporting a different name brand on his sweat suit.
“De Lucci!” He greeted her austere husband with a hearty slap on the back.
“Max.” Sandro nodded in return, not seeming to share the man’s exuberance. He turned to fully face the man and placed a peremptory hand in the small of Theresa’s back to turn her as well. He kept his hand there even after they were both facing the other man.
“Who’s this gorgeous babe?” Max turned that killer smile on her, and Theresa found herself unable to resist returning it. Sandro leveled a fulminating glare at the other man, who seemed to take his ill-humor in stride and grinned even wider.
“My wife, Theresa,” Sandro snapped curtly, the warning in his voice more than a little obvious.
“You’re married to this goddess?” Max kept his very appreciative focus on Theresa’s blushing face, and his grin became a smile of genuine warmth. “I always knew you were a man of impeccable taste, De Lucci, but I have to admit, my opinion of you has just skyrocketed!” He held out a hand toward Theresa, who took it after only the slightest hesitation.
“Charmed, I’m sure.” His smile gentled and he lifted her hand to his mouth, dropping a reverent kiss on the back of it. “I’m Max Kinsley.”
“Uh…T-Theresa,” she stammered, choking back a giggle at the man’s theatrics. She suspected that he was just trying to wind Sandro up, and it seemed to be working because her husband’s hand had curled into a fist in the small of her back. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Kinsley.”
“There will be none of this formality between us,” he admonished. “I’m Max and you are Terri! Or Tessa if you’d prefer. Now, please…allow me to escort you inside.” His grip on her hand tightened slightly as he tugged her toward him, but Sandro’s hand shot up to the elbow of her free arm.
“Her name is Theresa, and I will be escorting my own wife inside!” Sandro gritted out through his teeth, obviously holding on to his temper by the barest of threads.
“How remiss of me,” Max said with feigned regret, releasing her slender hand with exaggerated reluctance. “I’d completely forgotten that you were there, De Lucci!” Sandro made a slight growling sound in the back of his throat, and Theresa couldn’t stifle her giggle this time. Max looked delighted by the sound and stepped back with a jaunty little salute.
“We will continue our acquaintance inside, Tessa my darling,” he promised before turning away and bounding up the stairs leading toward the front door of the house. He had a tog bag, which she hadn’t previously noticed, slung over one broad shoulder.
“I like him.” She smiled up at Sandro, who was glowering at the front door through which Max had just disappeared.
“Don’t mistake his flirtation for anything more than it is, Theresa,” he muttered in warning. “He’s got a girlfriend.”
“I’m not a complete idiot, Sandro. He was needling you…quite successfully too, I might add.”
“Dio, this is not the best time to be arguing, Theresa.” He sounded weary. “Let’s try—”
“Are you coming in or what?” A voice interrupted whatever Sandro had been about to say and they looked up toward the house, where another tall, broad-shouldered man was silhouetted in the doorway.
“Come on,” Sandro muttered, taking her hand and picking up a tog bag similar to the one Max had been carrying. He led her to the front door, where the rugged man stepped aside to let them in.
“Hey, Sandro…” His casual greeting was followed by some more masculine back-thumping, and this time the friendly overture was returned by Sandro.
“Gabe.” Sandro nodded before tugging Theresa forward. “This is Theresa.”
“Theresa?”The man did a double take as he took a closer look at her, before he recovered from his astonishment with a warm smile. “I’m very happy to meet you. I’m Gabe Braddock.”
…And the penny finally dropped. Theresa stared up at the warmly smiling man and felt like a complete idiot for not connecting the dots sooner. It was Friday night, Sandro was dressed in his sports gear, and he had brought her to his regular bloody football game! How typical. The man certainly pulled out all the stops when faced with an obstacle, but this was just despicable and so unbelievably obvious. He had given her no warning whatsoever. No wonder he was such a successful businessman; he was a master at manipulating a situation to his advantage, and this was a classic example. Give the woman what she wants and maybe her rebellion will subside and she will get down to the business of being a human incubator.
“I’m so happy to meet you, Mr. Braddock,” she said softly, taking the man’s proffered hand and disguising her anger behind a sweet smile. “Why, just recently I expressed a wish to meet you!” She refused to look at Sandro but she sensed him uncomfortably shifting from one foot to the other. “And here we are.”
“Indeed.” The other man smiled even though it was obvious, in the way he glanced at Sandro, that he knew something was amiss. “I’m glad you overcame your aversion to football and decided to join us tonight. The guys will be delighted to meet Alessandro’s beautiful wife.” Her aversion to football? So that was how he’d explained away her conspicuous absences.
“And I’m looking forward to meeting them,” she said warmly. She was annoyed with Sandro and hurt by his transparent ploys to keep her appeased, but this tall, broad-shouldered man with the warm smile seemed lovely, and Theresa could not help but instinctively like him.
“Everybody’s around back, Sandro,” Gabe informed the silent man who stood at her back. “I’ll join you soon, I’m waiting for Bobbi.” He relinquished Theresa’s hand and grinned down at her. “Don’t let the guys flirt with you too much, Theresa. They’re an incorrigible lot and they’re suckers for a pretty girl!” He seemed to mean it, if his lingering glance over her blushing face was any indication.
“Enough with the flirting, Braddock,” Sandro suddenly growled, stepping forward to place a possessive hand on her elbow, and Gabe’s grin took on a decidedly wicked slant.
“I can’t believe it,” Gabe hooted, his voice alive with discovery. “You’re jealous…of me!” The very idea was so ludicrous that Theresa laughed along with him, but Sandro’s grip tightened on her elbow.
“I’m not jealous,” he retorted scathingly once their laughter had died down. “Just trying to protect my wife from your smarmy attentions, you smart-ass.”
“No, I’m beginning to believe you kept her away from all of us for so long because you can’t handle the competition,” the other man ribbed with the nerve that only a long-standing friend would possess.
“I am confident of my wife’s excellent taste,” Sandro dismissed before trying to steer Theresa away, but she resisted.
“Now hold on a second, Sandro. I haven’t exactly been spoiled for choice, you know! I may find that my taste has changed.” Oh, he did not like that, not one bit! He slanted a hard, narrow-eyed glare at her that the other man, who was laughing in delight at her pithy comeback, did not see, and Theresa tilted her chin stubbornly and met his glare with a defiant glare of her own.
“Ooh, I like her, Sandro,” Gabe laughed, wiping at his eyes. “She’s a feisty one.”
“Yes…” Sandro’s eyes warmed with reluctant amusement. “This I am beginning to see for myself.” He tugged at her arm again, and before Theresa could say or do anything more, he was leading her away. She followed docilely until she was certain that they were out of sight and earshot of the other man before she yanked her elbow from his grasp and turned on him furiously.
“You despicable, manipulative bastard!” she seethed, venting her frustration by punching him in the chest for good measure. He grimaced and rubbed at the spot she had hit before stepping out of the range of her swing.
“What the hell is your problem?” he growled angrily.
“My problem?” She managed to keep voice just under a screech. “My problem is you! You lied to me…again. You said that this was a business thing.”
“Technically, it is. I am in business with at least five of the men here tonight!” he responded defensively.
“But this isn’t really business is it? This is your precious little football game, the one I wasn’t good enough to be invited to until after I threatened to leave you!”
“You said that you wanted to meet my friends.” He seemed genuinely baffled. “Now when I give you that opportunity, you go crazy! I don’t understand you at all.”
“The only reason you brought me here tonight was because you thought it would appease me. Throw the vicious dog a bone, and it’ll soon be eating out of your hand!”
“More like vicious bitch,” he muttered beneath his breath, and when he realized that she had heard him, he shrugged unrepentantly. “If you’re going to be using animal metaphors, you might as well get it right.”
“Fine, I’m a bitch…whatever!” She knew her response was childish, but she was feeling more than a little put out by the situation.
“Look, I don’t understand why you’re so angry when you said you wanted to meet them.”
“A year ago, sure. But not now! Don’t you understand that this is too little too late?” She shook her head in frustration. “It’s like putting a Band-Aid on an amputation!”
“You’re being overdramatic, as usual,” he said dismissively.
“Oh, you knew what my reaction would be, and the only reason you knew that was because you recognized how inadequate and pathetic this gesture really is.”
“And how do you figure that?” he asked defensively, crossing his arms over his broad chest and glaring down his beautiful nose at her.
“Why else would you be so sneaky about bringing me here?”
“Maybe because you’ve been so ridiculous about going anywhere with me lately!” he snapped angrily. “I knew you’d refuse if I asked you to come here tonight, so I had to fabricate a business dinner. Recently you’ve done nothing but overreact to everything I say and do, as well as completely misread my intentions, so I couldn’t take the chance. I was hoping that for once I’d be wrong about you…but sure enough you had to go and be unreasonable about this too. You’re so determined to put a negative slant on everything I do these days, that you’re not willing to accept anything at face value. There are no ulterior motives here. I merely recognized that you had a point about never meeting my friends. I have been unfair, and I wanted a chance to make it right.” She bit her lip, unwilling to trust him but unable to resist the sincerity in his eyes. He looked like he actually meant his words.
“Don’t you know how foolish I feel?” she whispered, looking down. “Meeting them now…What must they think of me? I feel like I’m on display, your mystery wife who has shunned them for more than a year.” He took a hesitant step toward her before wrapping his arms around her and dropping his forehead to hers. He brought his hands up to cup her face.
“They’ll know whose fault it was, Theresa. I’ll make sure of that,” he promised huskily.
“How?”
“I’ll get them to believe that I really was too possessive to share you with them. They’ll think that I wanted you all to myself.”
“But that would make you look…” She struggled to find the correct word. “Insecure.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Or maybe they’ll take one look at you and understand why I’d react like that.”
“What do you…?” His thumbs pressed to her soft lips, silencing the question.
“Silly little Theresa,” he chided softly. “I may not have said it much, or at all for that matter, but you’re so beautiful I ache just looking at you sometimes.” She wasn’t beautiful—she knew she wasn’t—but just this once she wanted to believe him. She had never seen such stark honesty in his eyes before, and it warmed her down to her toes. He leaned even closer, his lips just millimeters away from hers when an amused voice had them leaping apart guiltily.
“Come on, guys, your honeymoon ended ages ago. Give it a rest!” It was Gabe, coming up behind them. Theresa went a fiery red, while Sandro frowned, hunching his shoulders and dropping his hands into his pockets. He slanted a quick and inscrutable look at Theresa, who averted her eyes. She couldn’t think about that achingly sweet moment and she certainly couldn’t wonder about that near-kiss. Not right now.

She was quiet on the drive home and still confusing reality with fantasy. Sandro’s friends had been lovely, and she’d enjoyed cheering them on from the sidelines. She had been uncomfortable around the other wives and girlfriends at first, but they’d been so genuinely welcoming that Theresa had relaxed almost immediately. Sandro’s constant attention had helped a lot. He would often trot over to where she was sitting to ask if she was okay, if she needed anything, if she was warm enough, and it had become embarrassing after a while, especially when his friends started ribbing him about it. Theresa had known, of course, that it was all an act, but it had still been a heady sensation to have his entire focus on her like that. Theresa had found the actual football game surprisingly riveting, especially since she had been unable to tear her eyes away from her graceful and talented husband. Afterward they’d had a barbecue, and again, Sandro had been constantly attentive and almost affectionate, holding her hand or wrapping his arm around her shoulders. After the initial awkwardness, Theresa had found herself relaxing more and more.
Now in the confined space of the car, there was a shimmering tension between them, and Theresa leaned forward to fill the silence with music, but he caught her hand to prevent her from turning on the CD player.
“Don’t…” She turned to look at the silhouette of his profile, but he kept his eyes glued to the road.
“But…”
“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asked gruffly.
“Yes…they’re all lovely people.”
“I’m glad.” Silence again. He still hadn’t released her hand, keeping it pinned between his hard thigh and his large hand.
“Everybody really liked you.” She could hear the warmth in his voice but didn’t know if it was directed at his friends or at her. “I was…proud…to have you there.” She blinked, not at all sure how to take that. “And I felt guilty for leaving it for so long. I never meant to make you feel like I was ashamed of you, Theresa. I didn’t want to marry you, it’s true, but not at any point did I ever feel that you would shame me.”
“Thank you for saying that,” she whispered. “It means a lot.”
His hand tightened on hers before he let her go, and she reluctantly lifted her hand from his thigh. There was silence again, but this time it didn’t feel quite so unfriendly and unwelcome.