Currently, he was flying back from Washington, where he’d spent five days overseeing the lobbying of the federal government for one of the firms he represented. Once upon a time, Marnie would have been all over the details of it, and it still saddened her to remember how he used to joke that she knew more about his clients and corporate law than he did. He’d never realised she had zero personal interest in his branch of law and that she’d soaked in all the details for him, not to impress him, but to make life easier for him and save him time. If he needed a fact or figure on a case or client, she could produce it in an instant, and she’d been devastated when she’d realised marrying him meant she would no longer be working for him.
‘You don’t need to work now,’ he’d said with his easy charm two days after their wedding when she’d joined him for breakfast dressed for the office. There had been no time for a honeymoon for the newlyweds.
Their first full day as a married couple had been spent, at Domenico’s insistence, making a dent in the credit card he’d presented her with, shopping for a wardrobe fit for Domenico Cannavaro’s wife. He’d come along with her, given much constructive feedback on the selected items without showing a hint of boredom, and even taken her for lunch at one of London’s most exclusive hotels. If she’d had a brother, she imagined that’s what going shopping with him would have been like. Fun, but with zero physical affection or intimacy.
‘But I love my job,’ she’d protested that second morning, taken aback as he’d never given a hint that he wanted her to stop working for him.
He’d smiled indulgently. ‘I know, but when you get pregnant, I’m going to need to find a replacement for you, so it makes sense to start as we mean to go on. Being my wife and the mother of my children is your job now, Marnie, and I know you’re going to be as great at it as you were at being my assistant.’
In the blink of an eye, she’d gone from spending regular ten-hour days with him and seeing much of the world by his side to being the little wife at home.
Had she stood up for herself and insisted on continuing with her job until their first baby came along? Of course she hadn’t. She’d fallen into line because that’s what she always did, and when he’d left for the office without her, she’d given herself a good talking to and vowed to be the best wife it was possible to be, just as he expected.
What she should have done was pack her bags and leave him, but her love blinkers hadn’t fallen off at that point, only become a little smudged.
The irony that her love blinkers finally fell off around the time Domenico, increasingly desperate for her to conceive, cut down on his international travel and joined her in her bed every night he was in London was one she would have laughed at if she hadn’t come to hate him.
There hadn’t been any big drama over the loss of her blinkers. In all their marriage, they’d never exchanged one cross word. No, it was more that the blinkers had become so smudged that eventually they’d fallen off under the sheer weight of grime stuck to them, and suddenly she’d seen herself as he’d seen her: as his chattel, a walking, talking, Domenico-pleasing doll, invisible to the eye unless needed for playing with, and devoid of life and needs of her own.
He didn’t want her any more than her parents had. He only wanted what he’d pigeon-holed her into being for him.
By the time she’d left him, Marnie had been resentful of every orgasm he’d brought her to.
She’d never understood why she’d missed him so badly. And she didn’t understand why she missed his presence so badly now.
Domenico swept through his front door, rubbing the rain from his hair as he exchanged a friendly greeting with Clive, his butler, and was updated on pertinent household news. About to climb the stairs to see Marnie, Clive cleared his throat and said, ‘Ms Ware is in the orangery.’
If there was one thing Domenico hated, it was his very English butler’s new way of referring to Marnie, and if there was one thing he hated more, it was that he couldn’t correct him as she wasn’t his wife anymore and had dropped his surname when she’d filed the divorce papers.
Biting back the burst of piqued fury, he nodded his thanks and headed off.
The orangery was a sprawling conservatory-type room that wrapped around the east wing of the house. It was a room he rarely visited; had only refrained from turning it into an indoor tennis court because his mother liked to pretend she was English gentry when she visited and take afternoon tea in it. His mother didn’t even like tea.
Stepping into it, he saw the change in Marnie with one glance. She was curled on a rattan sofa at the far end, reading. Her long, choppily layered blond hair was loose and looked recently brushed, the clothing he could see that wasn’t hidden by the blanket on her lap looked like daywear rather than the oversized pyjamas she’d spent eight weeks living in. Although his staff had provided regular updates in his absence, seeing the marked improvement for himself released such unadulterated relief that he sank onto the footstool by her feet with a beaming grin.
For all the complicated contradictions of Domenico’s feelings for Marnie, there had been nothing complicated about how he’d felt watching her suffer these last few months. He’d hated it. If he could have infused her suffering into his own body and set hers free, he would have done.
‘You lookwell.’ A week ago, she’d said she thought the nausea was easing. Now, for the first time in eight weeks, she had a touch of colour in her cheeks. Her eyes—he couldn’t decide if they looked grey or blue today—were brighter than they’d looked in eight weeks, too, the bruises of exhaustion that had lived beneath them much faded.
The touch of a smile curved her cheeks. ‘I’m feeling stronger every day. If I carry on like this, I should be able to go home soon.’
That was definitely a hint of challenge in her voice. She really was improving!
Refusing to take the bait, he instead turned it to his advantage. ‘Let’s get you to full strength before we discuss that step, and I have just the thing to get you there.’
She arched an eyebrow in perfect suspicion.
‘Let’s go to Rome. They’re predicting another two weeks of rain here, but in Rome, they’re forecasting sunshine.’ And he knew Marnie loved his Roman villa. It was the perfect place and setting for her recovery. The romantic nature of the place meant it fit perfectly with his plans to woo her back into his life permanently.
‘You’ve already been thinking about this?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘I’ve done more than think about it. I spoke to your consultant yesterday, and he’s comfortable with you flying out there now that your symptoms have eased. He’s spoken to an Italian colleague who is willing to have you under his team’s care while we’re there. We will take every precaution—I’ve spoken to Lucy and she is happy to travel with us.’ Lucy was Marnie’s favourite member of the nursing team.
‘It seems you’ve spoken to everyone about it except me,’ she commented, her tone dry.
‘I didn’t want to build your hopes up in case the consultant said it was too great a risk, but we are talking about it now. Just think how much better you’ll feel when you’re able to breathe some fresh air and take a refreshing swim in the pool,’ he coaxed.
Marnie turned her stare away from Domenico’s expectant gaze and looked out over the pouring rain. Her heart was racing as quickly as her mind, her hold on her book tight as she found herself filled with a longing to lose herself in the lush grounds of his Italian villa and feel the sun on her face. It hadn’t stopped raining since she’d felt well enough to venture outside. She was sick of being confined indoors.
