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Wasn’t it?
Dante closed down his laptop and slid it into his monogrammed leather briefcase, then checked his seat belt as the plane started its descent into Heathrow. He was fitting in a trip to the UK because Connie had finished her stay at the wellness resort she’d taken herself off to, and he really did need to talk to her about what was uppermost in his mind. And hers too, no doubt.
With her caring duties ended sooner than either he or Connie had anticipated, what did she plan to do with her life?
Until it’s possible for us to get on with our divorce.
The divorce that would finally set him free from his grandfather’s control.
Why did he do it to me? I did everything he ever wanted of me and still he betrayed me...
The old painful question rose again in his head, and he pushed it away. There was no point letting it in. He’d found a way to cope with the hurt, and he had to try and move on. His expression changed, became rueful. The conditions of his inheritance might have been malign, but that had never been a term to apply to the woman who had made it possible for him to fulfil them!
A half-smile played around his mouth and he felt his tension ease. He’d lucked out with Connie, that was for sure. Oh, it was not just that she was the perfect wife for his highly imperfect circumstances, needing to live a thousand miles away from him to look after her ailing grandmother, but because...
He paused mentally. Because what, precisely?
Because she’s a sweet, kind person, and in my own way I’ve grown fond of her.
Of course he didn’t actually see her as a wife—not a real one. He didn’t see any female as a wife and settling down with anyone wasn’t on his agenda. He wanted freedom, untrammelled by anyone making claims on him, whether that was his grandfather, or any woman his grandfather wanted to saddle him with.
Or Connie.
His thoughts returned full circle. How were they going to see out the remaining few months of their marriage? His thoughts went back to casual conversations, snippets and bits and pieces they’d chanced to have in the times they’d met up or chatted on the phone, or things said in emails. She’d mentioned, hadn’t she, that after graduating she’d been torn between staying on to get her Master’s, or getting stuck into building a career, maybe in publishing, or something in that sort of world? Then, of course, all that had been derailed by her grandmother’s worsening health, and Connie had put all her plans and ambitions on hold.
But now Connie was free to take them up again. To do something with her life that was her own.
Whatever it is she wants to do I’ll support her—of course I will.
And of course she’d want to stay in England, wouldn’t she? Whether it was to continue with academic life or get a job. That would suit him perfectly.
I can rent an apartment for her, wherever she wants to be based. And I can go on dropping in on her, or we can meet up in London—whatever is necessary to make our marriage still look genuine.
Besides, he mused, if she was working in the UK, or continuing her studies, that would be reason enough why she was not living with him in Italy. His grandfather’s lawyers surely couldn’t kick up about that, could they? Since she’d had to put her own life on hold to nurse her grandmother, it would be natural that she’d want to pick up her career or her studies now she was free to do so.
He settled back into his airline seat as the plane came into land, his mood definitely improved. He’d have tonight in London, then head to the West Country tomorrow. From Connie’s texts and emails, it seemed she’d enjoyed herself at the resort. It was nice to think of her pampering herself for once. Starting a new life after what she’d been through.
Just as I will—finally—once I’m free of a marriage I never wanted.
It was a cheering thought.
Wasn’t it?
He shook his head impatiently. Of course he wanted to be free of his marriage. Free of its fetters and constraints.
A frown formed on his brow as the plane taxied to its stand. Free of marriage—yes, definitely. But free of Connie...? His frown deepened, then cleared. Just because they’d be divorced it didn’t mean he’d cut her out of his life completely—why should it? They could go on seeing each other, meeting up from time to time, just as they did now, and having the same relaxing, easy-going relationship. Well, friendship, really, as that was what it had become. After all, why not?
He was used to her, liked her and respected her. He enjoyed her company, was even fond of her. That was enough—more than enough.
In good humour, he prepared to disembark.
Connie stepped into the taxi carefully, settling herself with care in the capacious seat.
‘Where to?’ the London cabbie enquired over his shoulder.
She gave the name of Dante’s hotel, conscious of butterflies in her stomach. She was not surprised at their presence—not least because Dante had assumed she was going to be at home at the cottage, not here in London.
She fished out her phone, tapping out a message. His flight had landed, and she knew he always stayed at the same hotel on Piccadilly when he was in London.
