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“Haven’t we already established that?”
He swore under his breath. She didn’t flinch, but her stomach was in knots.
“How is that possible?”
Her nerves were firing but she was determined to seem unfazed by his response. She shrugged her shoulders, but her range of motion was hampered by his position above her.
“I just never had sex.”
“You – were – the photos –,”
For once, the great Massimo Montebello was speechless. Good. Power throbbed inside her but it was a hollow victory. The remnants of all her hopes lay tattered around her.
“I told you, they were just stupid pictures. And it was just one kiss.”
A muscle jerked low in his jaw. He pushed away from her, his removal a pain she didn’t want to acknowledge.
“Damn it, Alessia, you should have –,”
“I tried to tell you,” she insisted, pulling up to a seated position, watching as he strode across the room and pulled his boxer briefs from the floor, putting them on in rough movements.
“Not hard enough.”
“You were determined.”
He was very still. Only his back moved as he drew each breath in. The hollow feeling of her victory continued to grow. She’d been so sure this was a good idea but now she just felt…exhausted.
“You were engaged –,” his disbelief was palpable.
“So?”
“So? This is the twenty first century. How is it possible your fiancé and you were not in a physical relationship.”
She stood on legs that weren’t steady, an unfamiliar ache throbbing between her legs, reminding her of the newness of what they’d just shared. She winced, moving towards him purely so she could retrieve her own clothes. As she approached, he crouched down, holding them out to her.
“Mind if I use your bathroom?”
He looked as though he wanted to say something but then he simply shook his head. “Of course not.”
Alessia kept her head high as she moved through his luxurious apartment, trying not to remember what it had felt like to be here as his wife. That was ancient history.
She was sorely tempted by the enormous shower but she ignored it, dressing quickly, allowing herself only the indulgence of running water into her palms and splashing it on her face. She closed her eyes, the reality of what she’d done just started to expand through her. A few moments later, she patted her face dry and straightened. It was time to face the music, then get the hell out of here.
Glancing in the mirror, she barely recognised the woman who stared back at her. Hair was in disarray, eyes were shining, cheeks were flushed with passion, stubble rash had left her décolletage with a rawness.
Massimo was waiting for her in the kitchen when she emerged. He’d made her a cup of tea. For himself, she noticed, he’d poured a scotch.
She ignored the tea.
“Don’t walk me to the door.”
He didn’t say anything. She stood there for a few seconds and then took a step away from him. His voice halted her before she’d got close to the door.
“You’re not leaving yet.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You don’t think I deserve some answers?”
