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“I know you do, cara. But your body doesn’t quite feel the same way.” He kissed her with the passion of a man needing to mark his territory. It was a kiss of hunger, yes, but also one of anger.
Jane wept, for the way her body was still controlled so effortlessly by his. She wrapped her arms around his neck, but the taste of tears hung deep in her throat. He stepped backwards, disentangling her hands from his body. He stared at her with an emotion she had no comprehension of.
“You should have told me about the baby.” His voice was flat. Any hint of the questions he’d been asking, and the passion he’d stirred, was gone completely.
Jane’s breathing was coming in loud gasps. She closed her mouth and put her hands on her hips.
But there was nothing she coul
d say. She should have told him. She saw now that she’d deprived him of his right to mourn and grieve the child they’d made and lost. She nodded slowly, then walked away from him, her back straight and her head held high. Only she was ashamed. For losing the baby, and for loving someone who didn’t love her back.
Carlo watched her go, his expression inscrutable.
As soon as she’d left the room, he pulled his phone out of his pocket.
“Elisabetta? I need you in Rome. Subito.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“Delicious as always, Anna,” Jane complimented, her smile genuine as she savoured the flavours of Anna’s Bolognese sauce. “I don’t know how you do it.”
Anna cackled and pinched Jane’s chin. “You too kind, still.”
“Not at all,” Jane demurred with sincerity. “You missed your calling as a chef.”
“Signor Santini keeps me busy enough,” she said with a wink. “Always wanting the sandwiches like you make.” Anna winked. “You are not the only thing he’s missed since you went away.”
Anna’s cheeks flushed, and she felt a vulnerable affection for her ex-husband. A reminiscence for their early days, when she’d assembled her favourite chip butties for them to eat from a tray in bed. In the early days, they hadn’t had much time for anything outside of the bedroom, least of all meals at a table.
“Chip butties are a terrible habit,” she pointed out with a coldness that made Anna pause.
“But a good reminder of you, no?”
Jane didn’t think he’d missed her at all. His ego might have taken a blow, when she’d walked away. But that was it. After all, if he’d enjoyed spending time with her so much, why had he made such a habit of going out without her? Of spending time with other women?
“Maybe,” she conceded eventually, because she could see how desperately Anna was hoping for a reconciliation between her boss and the woman he’d married.
“You have helped me all afternoon, Miss Jane. You should go now. Do the getting ready.”
Jane looked down at her outfit. The same clothes she’d been wearing when she’d left the hospital. The clothes Carlo had torn from her body, before making love to her. She ran a hand down them now, amazed at what they’d seen in a day.
“Yes. Only, Anna?” She paused just inside the kitchen, and reminded herself that she was strong and independent now. “I don’t plan to eat with Carlo. Please don’t bother setting a place for me. I’ll slip into the kitchen when I’m hungry.”
Anna’s frown told her all she needed to know, but she ignored the pang of guilt. The thought of sitting across from Carlo for an entire evening made her insides roll.
“Okay,” Anna shrugged, but the frown lingered long after Jane had left the kitchen. She formed the Ciabatta and pounded the olives together with garlic and rosemary, then rolled the fettucine until it was so paper thin she could see through it.
When all was assembled and ready to cook, she picked up the kitchen phone and pressed the button for Carlo’s office. It was not her place to interfere in their marriage. But Jane was a shadow of the woman Anna had come to love. She was skin, and bone. So pale and English looking. None of that vibrant youth and vitality she’d exhibited years earlier.
“Si?” Carlo was impatient. Anna had worked for him long enough to know that he would never take that emotion out on her.
“I’m sorry for interrupting,” she said in their native Italian. “Miss Jane says she will not join you for dinner.”
Silence met her statement. A silence that seemed to crackle and crisp.
“I see. Did she give a reason for this?” He enquired with deceptive silkiness.
“No. She simply said she’d come to the kitchen when she’s hungry.”
