By the time he’d headed into the elevator to take him up to his penthouse office, Marnie had been smitten.
Now, the sensuous mouth she’d spent years dreaming of kissing hers tightened, and then his neck extended, his gorgeous features loosened, and the tall, lithe body currently wrapped in a silver shirt and black jeans wound its way towards her. The glittering in the light brown eyes was the glitter of menace.
By his own admission, Domenico had drunk more than was good for him. Much more. He didn’t care. He’d earned the right to the coming hangover and had made sure to clear his diary in advance of it. If he could wake tomorrow with little memory of the night before, he would consider it a good night. He rarely drank to excess, but on this occasion felt he deserved to party into oblivion. Let him have this one night when he didn’t fall asleep with her face haunting him. Taunting him.
When Jessica grabbed his arm and said Marnie was there, he’d thought she was playing some kind of sick trick on him. He hadn’t expected to turn around and actually find her there. In his home. The home she’d walked out of when she’d walked out on him.
A swell of fury rose that she should choose this night of all nights to walk back in. Marnie had forfeited her right to enter his home uninvited, and he had no idea why he hadn’t ordered the voidance of her security clearance.
When he reached her, he looked her up and down, well aware that everyone in the basement was watching them, insanely curious as to what she was doing there. ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he said, speaking as casually as if the last time he’d seen her she hadn’t told him in a voice injected with steel to leave her flat and never come back. ‘You should have told me you were coming—I’d have had your cauldron prepared for you.’
She showed no reaction whatsoever to his jibe. ‘When I set off, I didn’t realise you were having a party.’
‘You should have called.’
‘I did. I guess you didn’t hear your phone over all this noise.’
‘It’s not noise, it’s a party.’ He brought his face close to hers. ‘A party to celebrate the end ofus.’
Her plump, heart-shaped lips tightened before she shook her head. ‘There was never anyus, Dom.’
‘I’d say that marriage implies a great deal ofus, butusis no more, so I’m afraid it’s too late to be regretting your life choices.’ He held his hands in the air and wiggled his fingers. ‘You’re welcome to stay and party. Have a drink or two—who knows, a couple of vodkas inside you might inject you with some personality.’
That jibe hit the mark. Marnie, the woman whose emotions so rarely showed on her face, flinched. The expected satisfaction off the back of it failed to come; instead came an immediate awareness that he’d gone too far.
God damn her. When Carmela, his first wife, left him for his closest friend, he’d been humiliated. That it had come hot on the heels of his elderly father’s death had left him devastated, but he hadn’t fought the divorce or been cruel in the aftermath. One of the reasons he’d chosen to marry Marnie was that she was too boring for him to develop any great passion for her, and it infuriated him that he’d been unable to stop himself fighting and fighting to force her back to him.
He’d worked closely with her for years, had always found her a very calm and soothing presence in what could be a very combative business, so when he’d turned thirty-five and decided it was time to have the brood of children he’d always wanted while he was still young enough to enjoy them and be around long enough to guide them into adulthood, he’d decided she was the perfect candidate for the role of their mother. Of course, in this day and age, it wasn’t necessary for children to go hand in hand with marriage, but Domenico had been raised with the security of parents in a committed marriage and wanted the same for his own offspring.
Not only had Marnie been perfect mother material, she’d been perfect wife material for him too, being too placid and lacking in imagination to even imagine passion. He’d done passion and been burned badly for it, so never again. In all the years he’d known her, Marnie had never questioned him, contradicted him or voiced an opinion to him. She followed his orders to the letter and, most importantly, proved willing to devote her life to his needs. She was perfect! As his wife, she would be content to fit in the background of his life and raise their brood and let him get on with setting the world of corporate law on fire and managing his vast portfolio of investments.
For a year, their marriage had worked pretty much as he’d envisaged it would. The only disappointing aspect was their failure to conceive. Other than that, everything had been great. Marnie had accepted what was required from her without complaint, had never refused his conjugal visits to her bedroom and never bombarded him with demands. And then she’d hit him with those damned divorce papers.
Maybe it would have been easier to accept if he’d seen it coming, but she’d blindsided him. He’d slid the anniversary bracelet across the table to her and gazed at her with avid expectation.
The box had stayed closed. The chameleon eyes which changed colour numerous times a day had filled with sadness, and in that quiet way of hers, she’d said, ‘I want a divorce.’
Certain he’d misheard her, he’d tilted his head and grinned. ‘Sorry?’
She’d produced an envelope from her bag and handed it to him. ‘I saw a solicitor last week and instructed him to start divorce proceedings today. I’m leaving you.’
And that had been that. His docile, compliant wife had walked away from the life of luxury he’d lavished on her and refused to change her mind. Nothing had worked. No cajoling or threats or dirty tricks had been enough to make her see reason, and now he was glad of it. Let her suffer in the bed she’d made for herself. He would find himself another wife to have children with. Not yet, though. Let him blow the cobwebs of celibacy off first and then find wife number three. Third time lucky!
He’d make damned sure that wife number three didn’t come with eyes capable of piercing his conscience with nothing but a look. Why the hell was he even feeling guilty over a jibe that was essentially the truth? Marnie had no personality. It wasn’t his fault if the truth hurt.
‘As scintillating as it is to see you again, I need to get back to my guests. I know the concept of having fun is anathema to you, but for…’ But he’d lost his audience for Marnie suddenly covered her mouth with her hand and, without a word, hurried away from him. In a blink, she’d thrown herself into one of the basement’s bathrooms.
Marnie barely had time to lock the cubicle door behind her before the vomit came. She only just made it to the toilet in time.
It took a long time to convince herself that it was safe to move her face away. Collapsing onto the cool, tiled floor, she pressed her head back against the wall and prayed for the nausea to abate. She felt awful. The sickness was getting worse. She needed water, but right then she didn’t even have the strength to stand up.
God, why hadn’t she turned around and gone home as soon as she’d realised he was having a party? He’d have seen her missed calls eventually and called her back.
She heard the main bathroom door open and closed her eyes. There were plenty of bathrooms in the basement, all with a single cubicle entered out of sight of the dance floor. She had to give Domenico his due; he had an eye for detail.
‘Marnie?’
She squeezed her eyes even tighter. Oh, what a huge mistake she’d made, coming here like this.
