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A compressed hiss escaped his lips. So savage was the fury in his eyes that Catherine braced herself for impact, for that incurable Latin temperament to bubble over into a blind torrent of rage.
All of that she could have dealt with.
Could have fought his fire with her own.
Only it never came. For an age he didn’t answer, just calmly walked over and flicked off the taps she had forgotten were even running, and when he straightened up, when he turned to address her, his voice was incredibly even, his icy demeanor more chilling than any heated confrontation.
‘You make it sound as if you still have a choice, Catherine. You make it sound as if you are still considering the proposal I made back at the hotel.’ He held up his left hand, the heavy gold band she had placed there catching the light as he crossed the room towards her. ‘Might I remind you that we have a legally binding commitment to each other? The register you signed wasn’t a birthday card, or a casual letter you can rip up and forget about.’ His face was so close she could feel every word he uttered skim along her cheek, feel the tension in every muscle as he stood before her, body taut, eyes blazing. ‘You are my wife now, Catherine, with all that that entails.’
‘Surely you can’t expect us to share a bed? Surely after all that’s gone on you don’t expect us to sleep together?’
‘Back at the hotel I remember us sharing a bed together. I don’t remember you needing space then!’
‘That was then,’ Catherine retaliated. ‘I was confused, lonely…’ Pleading eyes begged him to understand, and if he’d just taken her in his arms, told her it was all okay, that it wasn’t just for appearances’ sake he wanted her in his bed, she’d have gone to him without hesitation—would have settled, even, for a convincing lie. But Rico was a closed book. Not one flicker of his face betrayed how he was feeling. Every emotion was guarded fiercely behind the mask he so readily wore.
‘I can’t do it, Rico. Please don’t make me.’
Her plea was genuine, for with one crook of his finger she knew she would dissolve like jelly in hot water—fall into his arms and betray herself with the words he didn’t want to hear. Or maybe he did, Catherine realised.
After all, if she loved him, he won.
‘We don’t have a choice.’ He nodded to the window. ‘Did you notice the press when we came home, Catherine? Are you foolish enough to think that they’ve got their pictures and gone home now?’ He gave a mocking laugh. ‘They don’t believe in fairytales any more than I do, and each and every one of them will want to be the first to prove their point—lights flicking on in the guest room will do just that. And if by some chance we manage to fool them on that score, how long do you think it will be before one of the staff decides Christmas should come a bit early?’
‘I don’t understand…’
‘Trust no one, Catherine,’ Rico said darkly, a mocking smile curving on his lips. ‘Except maybe me.’
‘And that’s supposed to make me feel better?’ Her pulse was pounding in her temples now—not gently, though. A nauseating throbbing would be a more apt description. Her hand moved up, massaging her temples, and she wondered how best to play this.
‘Don’t tell me…’ His voice was dripping with sarcasm. ‘You’re getting a headache?’
‘Isn’t that what wives normally get?’ Catherine bit back, but Rico’s riposte was just as swift.
‘I believe so. Though generally after the marriage is consummated.’
A low laugh escaped her pale lips. ‘Worried the contract is not quite legally binding, Rico? Are you worried that until we’ve slept together I might be able to ask for an annulment?’
‘I never worry about small details. Why would I when I have an army of solicitors to do it for me? And I believe, off the top of my head, that a request for an annulment wouldn’t stand up too well in court when only days before the wedding the bride was not only sleeping with the groom but begging for it.’
‘I never begged.’
‘Oh, no?’
He never moved, his eyes stayed fixed and not a muscle flickered in his body, but she could almost taste the sudden sexual tension. The suggestion in his words was enough to cast her mind back until she could almost see her head on the pillow, thrashing in frenzied passion as she wept for him to enter her, and she knew he was thinking it too. The knowledge caused a ripple of lust to dart through her traitorous body—just the memory of his touch was enough to instigate instant arousal.
‘That’s not how I remember it, Catherine.’
His words should have shamed her, but she was beyond that now. His scorn should have hurt, but Catherine was beyond pain. She had buried her sister today, sworn at Janey’s graveside she would do her best for Lily, and if standing tall and proud, quelling her fears and fighting back was the order of the day, then somehow she’d do it. This was Rico Mancini she was up against—a man who would use her to further his cause. She had to remember that, had to keep her head however much she wanted to lose it, had to stay strong.
For Janey and for Lily.
‘Then I’m not the only fool in this room.’ The derisive note in her voice, the clarity of her speech, surprised even Catherine. And when she saw the dart of confusion in his eyes it was all that was needed to spur her on further.
One tiny victory when all had seemed lost.
‘Contrary to your orders, I haven’t quite burnt all my bridges—I didn’t hand in my notice, Rico, I’m on compassionate leave. So I can walk back into my old life at any given moment.’ She stepped back slightly; the fire was back in her eyes now, a soft pink dusted her pale cheeks and her chin set determinedly as she carried on talking. ‘But then why would I bother when there’s always the divorce card to play? Even the ex Mrs Mancini would have more clout in a courtroom than Miss Catherine Masters.’
‘That’s why you said yes?’ Rico’s voice was a pale whisper.
