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There had been no more talk of her being invited into his quarters.
Another week passed, Groundhog Week repeated. Engagements. Supervision of the garden. Saturday and Wednesday night: fantastic sex with her husband. And then the following weekend arrived.
Instead of dining with her on the Friday night like she’d become accustomed to him doing, Amadeo announced he was going for a night out with his friend Sébastien, who was on the island for a flying visit before that weekend’s race in Belgium. There had been no suggestion that Elsbeth join them.
By the time Amadeo finally joined her on Saturday morning, nausea had settled so heavily in her stomach that even him pouncing on her the moment he walked in the door had hardly soothed it.
Later that night, long after he’d fallen asleep, she forced herself to look the facts in the face.
His words about ordinary marriages and emotionshadbeen a warning.
All progress between them had stopped.
They were going backwards.
He was pulling away from her, and there was no point in burying her head in the sand about it any longer.
While they took each other to the heights of pleasure—she had no inhibitions with him at all now—a growing humiliation burned that she was essentially a slave for the touch of a man who only wanted her in the bedroom. She had to face the facts Amadeo had practically spelled out to her that, as far as he was concerned, they would never have a real marriage. Their lives would always be separate, and he wasn’t going to include her in his any more than was necessary.
It was no coincidence that he’d spelled it out to her a week after she’d slipped up and told him she loved him and only days after his last-minute trip to Milan that she’d been deliberately excluded from.
He shifted in his sleep, throwing his leg over hers, the top of his dark head nudging against hers, and she squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of painful affection surged through her. Rolling onto her side, she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, trying to think of the situation in a more positive light. Was their marriage not a million times better than she’d dared hope when she’d first arrived in this country? Were they not perfectly matched in the bedroom? Did she not instigate their lovemaking as much as he did?
But these positive thoughts lasted less time than a climax. Because the painful gape that always used to form around her shrivelling heart after a climax had returned, and now it was a wound that ached unbearably.
It was the agonising ache that came from falling head over heels in love with a man who could never return that love.
She screwed up her eyes even tighter, trying desperately to stop the hot tears from leaking. She mustn’t cry, not when the tears would fall onto him.
When she finally had her emotions under control, she relaxed her hold and opened her eyes. The room was lightening. The sun was rising. Soon, Amadeo would wake and leave her to spend his Sunday without her...
Elsbeth’s heart made a sudden leap.
Sunday?
It was Sunday?
Placing a hand to her pounding chest, she quickly told herself not to get her hopes up. Just because her period was as regular as clockwork and for the first time in a decade hadn’t started on a Saturday didn’t have to mean anything.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WHENAMADEOWASadmitted into Elsbeth’s quarters that Wednesday evening, the anticipation was every bit as strong as always, its strength a relief that he hadn’t thought of a way to get out of seeing her for an extra evening each week.
Dragging himself out of her bed got harder each time but the demons that had plagued him after her declaration of love were now well under control and he felt lighter in himself than he had in a long time. This fever for his wife would break soon. He’d already proved it, imposing himself on Sébastien on Friday night just to assure himself that he wasn’t addicted to his scheduled time with her. It had been a fantastic night, with excellent food, the best wine and talk that was all things motor sport. He didn’t deny that Elsbeth had accompanied him to Sébastien’s in her own way, a spectre in the corner of his eye that floated into his vision whenever he wasn’t actively thinking of her, but that didn’t prove his addiction to her. When the fever broke, she would stop haunting his dreams as well as filling his thoughts. Everything would be as it should.
She was waiting for him in her day room. By now, there were so many changes to the furniture and furnishings that it was hardly the same room that had been created for her. The changes made it as warm and bright as the woman who’d chosen them. They suited her. They would suit him too...
Where the actual hell had that thought come from?
One look at her and the random thought, along with his intention of carrying her off to bed before their dinner was served, was forgotten. She was as pale as he’d ever seen her, her usually bright eyes sunken.
She hesitated before rising from her armchair.
He strode over so he could look more closely at her. ‘Are you not feeling well?’ She’d been looking a bit peaky these last few days but he’d assumed that was her period which, even with the medication, was never easy for her.
‘I’ve not been sleeping well.’
Alarmed, he reached for his phone. ‘I’ll call Dr Jessop...’
