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She gave a disbelieving laugh. 'It's a little late for that, Rico.'
She'd never been part of his family.
They'd made it clear from the first that they considered her to be a gold-digger, an accusation that should have been utterly laughable given her complete lack of interest in material things. But it hadn't been laughable. It had been tragic. Wrapped up in their own prejudices, they hadn't bothered to get to know her well enough to understand the things that mattered to her. Instead they'd gone out of their way to exclude her. To make her feel like a complete outsider. He'd married her without consulting them—without even inviting them to the wedding—and they'd blamed her for that. To them it had been further proof that she'd married him in a hurry, just to get her hands on his money. She wasn't what they had wanted for Rico and they hadn't been afraid to show it.
He gave a growl like a goaded tiger and his eyes flashed dangerously. 'Madre de Dio. My sister's life is hanging in the balance and still you malign my family?'
She stilled, shocked by the news that Chiara was so seriously injured. 'She might die’ Her voice was a croak and she swallowed hard, suddenly understanding the reason for all the signs of extreme stress that he was displaying. He adored his little sister. 'She is that seriously injured?'
His eyes closed briefly and he let out a breath. 'They told us yesterday that they think she will live, but with what measure of brain damage—' he gave a fatalistic shrug '—they will not know until she wakes up properly. So far she has only uttered a few words.' His expression hardened. 'So you see that your criticism of my family is badly timed.'
'I said nothing bad about your family,' she said tonelessly, quelling her natural desire to defend herself against his accusation. He truly had no idea of the true situation. When it came to his family he was utterly blinkered. 'Only about my relationship with them. And I had no idea that Chiara's life was hanging in the balance.'
'She has been in a coma for more than two weeks. She has had brain surgery—'
Genuinely disturbed by that news, Stasia extended a hand in an instinctive gesture of sympathy only to let it fall again as she met those hard
, cold eyes.
His look spoke volumes.
Don't touch.
Hands off.
She no longer had the right to deliver comfort of any sort.
Not that Rico Crisanti was a man who expected another's sympathy. He didn't let anyone that close.
Not even his wife.
She withdrew, both physically and mentally, her will to fight shrivelled by his total indifference to her presence.
Once he hadn't been indifferent. Once he hadn't been able to keep his hands off her. He'd thirsted for her, starved for her and his obsession with her had been the biggest aphrodisiac going.
But she wasn't going to think about that now. Thinking about her relationship with Rico would be a fast route to self-destruction. And she really shouldn't care any more. She really didn't care.
She lifted her chin and exercised some of the self-control she'd been forced to learn while she had been living with his family. 'I'm truly sorry to hear about Chiara.' she said quietly, 'and of course I'll help in any way I can, but I really can't see why you would want me there.'
Chiara had made it perfectly clear that Stasia wasn't a welcome member of the family.
Rico ran a hand over the back of his neck and drew in a deep breath, as if he were forcing himself to deliver his next statement.
'She has been asking for you—'
Stasia stared at him, her green eyes wide with shock. Of all the things she'd expected him to say, the fact that Chiara had been asking for her had not been among them. 'Chiara asked for me? You have to be joking!'
It was the wrong thing to say.
‘Dio. You, who always accused me of taking life too seriously. Do I look as though I'm joking?' His eyes blazed in his handsome face and she took an involuntary step backwards, startled by the violence of his response.
Clearly he wasn't joking. And if she needed confirmation of the degree of stress that he was under, then she had it now. It was so unlike Rico to reveal anything of his feelings, to display the slightest loss of control, that for a moment she couldn't respond.
'It's just that I find it hard to believe she asked for me—'
His outraged reaction to her mumbled statement was instantaneous. 'I thought we agreed that we are not raking over old wounds here,' he bit out harshly, pacing across the room and narrowly avoiding knocking his head on a beam. He lifted a hand to the offending beam and for a moment she thought he was going to try and rip it out of the ceiling with his bare hands. Instead he glanced upwards with a look of incredulity, as if he couldn't quite believe that anyone could have designed a house like this one. 'This cottage is a death trap.'
'It probably wasn't designed for someone of your build,' she muttered, wishing that he'd just leave. He dominated her small sitting room with the width of his shoulders and the force of his powerful personality and everything she'd spent months trying to forget came flying back into her mind.
