Page 13 of Once a Moretti Wife


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Stefano awoke with an almost painfully obvious erection. In their marriage’s previous life he would have pulled Anna into his arms and made love to her before either of them had opened their eyes. Today he jumped out of bed and took a shower before he could act on that urge.

While he’d told himself that it was no big deal sharing a bed with his wife again, he’d had to psych himself up to join her in it. That had been unexpected. He’d gazed at her sleeping form in the dim light and experienced the strangest combination of loathing and compassion sweep over him.

He’d never known Anna to be ill before. He’d never seen her vulnerable. He’d lain beside her unable to get out of his mind that she was there, in his bed, the place he had once believed she belonged. It had taken him an age to fall asleep.

As he lathered himself with his expensive shower gel, it occurred to him that this was the first time in a month he’d woken up feeling this kind of desire.

Celibacy was not a healthy state to live by and he could only assume it was his loathing for Anna consuming all his waking moments that had stopped him seeking another woman in the month since she’d gone. He hadn’t even thought of another woman to warm his bed; no wonder he reacted so viscerally just to have her back beside him.

But he wouldn’t act on it yet. Seduction of his wife would have to wait for now.

Anna was awake and sitting up when he returned to the bedroom with only a towel around his waist. He noted the way her eyes widened at his bare torso and smirked.

‘Feeling better?’ he asked. She looked better. Her face had regained its colour, although that could be due to embarrassment at his semi-naked form. This was the first time in her memories that she had seen him anything but fully clothed. He worked hard to keep himself in shape and she had made no secret of her appreciation of his body.

She jerked a nod and pulled the covers tighter. That she was still wearing the jersey dress she’d collapsed in two days ago only made her embarrassment more amusing.

He strode over the thick carpet to his dressing room. ‘Can I get you anything? A cup of tea?’

Anna was addicted to tea. He’d once counted her drink nine cups in one day.

‘Tea would be good, thanks,’ she muttered.

‘Painkillers? Food?’

‘Just painkillers, please.’

Deciding not to torment her further by dressing in front of her, he threw on a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt in his dressing room, then went to the kitchen where her teapot and teabags still lived.

He automatically reached for her favourite morning mug, a vessel so large it could reasonably be classed as a bucket, and a fresh burst of fury lashed through him.

He should have got rid of all her possessions instead of keeping them here as a constant reminder. He’d given in to his anger only the once since she’d left him, in their San Francisco apartment, and had despised himself for his momentary weakness. Since then, his fury had been internal, simmering under his skin, crawling through him, festering.

Anna’s amnesia had given him the perfect means to channel his rage into something far more satisfying than making a bonfire from her belongings.

His rage was back under his full control when he took her tea to her and placed it on her bedside table.

‘I’ve ordered a light breakfast for you,’ he said, handing her the painkillers.

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘You need to eat something.’

Anna took the pills from him and pulled a face, but her retort about not wanting to eat died on her lips when she noticed his bare wedding finger. She looked at her own bare hand and asked, ‘Why don’t we wear wedding rings?’

‘You didn’t want to. You said it would make you feel like a possession.’

‘You didn’t mind?’

‘It was a compromise. You agreed to take my name on condition of no rings.’

‘I would have thought it would be the other way round and that I’d refuse to take your name,’ she mused.

His smile was fleeting. ‘You wanted to be a Moretti so when we have children we can all have the same name.’

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