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She braced, saying nothing, breath clamped in her throat.
“When I heard you were getting married, I was…concerned.”
A brow shot up. “Why?”
His eyes were mocking – but of her, or himself? “You know that I never considered my duty towards you to be at an end?”
“Duty?” She spat the word with derision, shaking her head. Then, “Go on.” The encouragement was terse, clearly showing what an effort it was costing her to have this conversation with the appearance of anything like calm. Rome sped past them – mountainside scenery giving way to more built up villages, the city twinkling in the distance.
He didn’t speak. She turned back to face him, her eyes laced with anger. “The truth. Now.”
His head shifted in the smallest of nods and his mouth was a grim line in his face.
“You were my wife. Even after we divorced, I knew I had a responsibility to you.”
She waited, with effort, digging her nails into her palms to stop her from rejecting his statement.
/> His features darkened. “I knew I would always have to make sure you were okay.”
She ground her teeth together, her hackles rising unbearably. “Because you promised my father?” She demanded, hating that, hating everyone in that moment.
“Yes.” He shook his head with visible frustration. “And no. Because I promised you, and myself, that I would. You were no longer my wife, legally, but that did nothing to alter the commitment I’d made to you.”
She bit back her first retort – to fire something angry at him and let this escalate into an all-out war. That might feel satisfying in the short term but it wouldn’t get her the answers she craved.
“And so you heard I was going to marry Sam,” she prompted, her voice carefully muted of any feeling, regardless of how they were rampaging through her body.
He dipped his head silently.
“And?” She prompted.
“And I decided I should meet him.” He echoed her calm delivery. Anyone observing them from the outside might have concluded that they were discussing nothing more incendiary than the route to take back to his place.
“So you did.”
“Si.”
“Why aren’t you telling me everything?” She murmured, then sucked in an uneven breath. “You met him and?”
“I didn’t like him. I didn’t trust him.”
“You had no right,” she said darkly, as the car pulled up at traffic lights. Traffic beeped and zipped past them. She barely noticed.
“I had every right,” he retorted emphatically. “Our marriage gave me that right.”
She made a snorting sound. “I really wish you’d stop talking like that. ‘Our’ marriage was a sham. A ruse, designed to placate a stubborn old man you wanted to help. It had nothing to do with me, nothing to do with any duty you claim to have felt for me.”
“Not at first,” he agreed, then shook his head. “Or maybe it did. I don’t know. I can’t say. At some point, it became that. The idea of you being hurt, ever, was and always will be anathema to me.”
She ground her teeth together. Didn’t he realise that the biggest hurt in her life had been because of him? “Our divorce came through five years ago. We barely spoke or saw each other between times.”
“But you saw my family,” he spat with more contempt than was wise to show her. Her brows shot towards her hairline.
“I didn’t seek them out!”
“I know that.” The words growled from his chest. “But you saw them, and they saw me, and they told me about you.”
“So you kept tabs on me,” she swallowed, looking away from him, focussing her gaze on the city beyond. It was becoming more familiar. They were nearing his prestigious neighbourhood.
