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Nico regarded her. ‘It means that much to you?’
‘Si.’
She laid down the spoon. Crème brûlée was her favourite dessert, but she didn’t really have the stomach for its rich creaminess right now. The only reason she’d ordered it was to delay the end of their meal and their return to the house. If their post-dinner entertainment followed the trend of the last two evenings they would very quickly end up naked—and she didn’t want that to happen. Not yet. She wanted to nurse her anger awhile longer and she knew that as soon as he touched her, the second he was deep inside her, she’d forget she was supposed to be angry with him.
‘They’re my family,’ she added, sitting back in her wheelchair. ‘The only family I’ll ever have.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’
She shrugged, but inwardly she cringed. That statement had been too honest. Too revealing. ‘Exactly that,’ she said, tossing his words from that afternoon back at him.
He looked at her for a long moment. ‘Can you not have children, Marietta?’ he asked quietly, and the intimacy of the question—from a man who routinely avoided conversations of a personal nature—threw her.
She hesitated. ‘There’s no medical reason I can’t have children,’ she admitted, pushing her dessert plate away. ‘It’s possible...physically.’
His gaze narrowed further. ‘So there’s nothing stopping you from having a family of your own?’
Her chest tightened. He made it sound so natural. So easy. As if having a broken back didn’t make her different. ‘It’s not that simple,’ she said, her voice stilted.
‘Why?’
She frowned at him. Around them the restaurant was busy, with the clink of tableware, the buzz of conversation and frequent bouts of laughter lending the place a lively air. Josephine had seated them at a private table, however, set in a quiet corner by a large window overlooking the harbour.
Marietta glanced around, assuring herself that their conversation wasn’t being overheard. ‘Generally speaking, a woman needs a husband before she has children,’ she said.
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘And you object to marriage?’
Her frown deepened. Why was he asking her these questions? Why was he interested?
Why should he care?
Her breath caught in her throat.
Did he care?
Hastily she crushed the thought. He was making conversation, showing a polite interest in the woman he was temporarily sleeping with.
She cleared her throat. ‘Marriage is fine,’ she said. ‘It’s just not for me.’
‘Because of Davide?’
‘Partly.’ She lifted her shoulder. ‘When push comes to shove, few men want to tie themselves to a cripple for life.’
Nico’s brows slammed down, his face darkening. ‘Don’t call yourself that,’ he said tersely.
‘What? A cripple?’ She affected an air of indifference. ‘Why not? That’s how most people see me.’
Which wasn’t strictly true. She was fortunate; she had people in her life who saw the woman first and foremost and not the disability. But equally there were those who never saw beyond the wheelchair. Never saw her.
Blue eyes blazed at her from across the table. ‘That’s not how I see you.’
Her heart lurched. She believed him, but how did he see her? As a woman who needed protecting? A perk of the job? She’d already guessed she was one of a long string of short-term lovers he’d taken in the years since his wife’s death. She’d told herself it didn’t matter to her, ignored the taunting voice that had cried liar.
‘I know,’ she said quietly.
Nico’s gaze stayed pinned on her. ‘Davide was an idiot,’ he said. ‘But he’s one man. Why write off your dreams because of one bad experience?’
Her shoulders stiffened. ‘Because I’m a realist—and some things simply aren’t destined to be.’ She sniffed. ‘Anyway, you have no idea what my dreams are. Not every woman longs for the white picket fence, you know.’
