Chapter 17
The only person remotely pleased about their enforced confinement was Juliano.
Having never had his father’s absolute attention for an extended period, he thought all his Christmases had come at once.
He even suffered the daily nasal swabs that were couriered to and from the house with a cheerful disposition.
He was completely ignorant of the suddenly stilted atmosphere between Alessandro and Nat. He didn’t notice the strained politeness or the wary avoidance of any kind of physical contact. Not even the absence of laughter or easy conversation penetrated his happy little bubble.
But Nat was excruciatingly aware of it. It was a double loss.
Not just the loss of what could have been but of what they’d already had.
It had been a surprise to her to realise the feelings for Alessandro that had stealthily invaded her every cell were love, and a particularly cruel blow to discover it at the very second it was ripped out of reach.
It had become crystal clear to her in that moment they’d never be able to return to what they’d had before.
Alessandro had tried to broach the subject again that next morning but she’d cut him off at the pass with a frosty, ‘Don’t’.
She didn’t want to hear any platitudes. She didn’t want to watch him tie himself into a verbal pretzel with pretty euphemisms. She didn’t want to know his justifications.
The truth was he had hurt her way more than Rob’s or her father’s rejections ever had.
At least they’d declared their outside interests from the beginning.
Alessandro had been utterly disingenuous.
After three days in home quarantine – house arrest as Nat had come to think of it – she was at screaming point.
If she hadn’t been young, fit and healthy she might have begun to worry about the constant pain in her chest and the heaviness in her limbs.
Her jaw ached from the continuous fake smile she wore and her eyes felt gritty from three nights of crying herself to sleep.
She despised the nightly ritual more than anything.
But no amount of internal dialogue castigating Alessandro and his deception derailed the tears.
Her mother would say they were healthy, that she was grieving and they were a painful and necessary part of the healing process, but Nat would have done anything to stop them.
She wished she could be more like Peyton, whose opinion of men since her husband’s desertion had always made her wince. Peyton wouldn’t have fallen for Alessandro. Peyton’s heart was guarded by barbed wire and thorny bushes a mile thick. Why hadn’t she done that to hers?
After her father? After Rob? Wrapped it up, protected it?
Why had she been lumbered with this damn eternal optimism? Because even now, despite everything, she wanted him. Every time he looked at her with those black eyes, things deep and low clenched hard. Every time he walked by, her nipples pebbled as if he’d brushed his hand across them.
Every time he opened his mouth, she wanted to kiss it.
Despite his soul-ravaging betrayal. Despite knowing he didn’t feel the same way about her. Despite knowing that every time he looked at her all he saw was his dear, darling Camilla. She was helpless against his pull.
Oh, she hated herself for it but that didn’t seem to matter either. Why? Why did love have no pride?
But mostly she was worried. About her willpower.
If her belly lurched just at his nearness, how was she ever going to steel herself against him?
How was she going to walk out the door? How strong would her resistance be by the end of seven days?
Lord knew, it had been three days now since they’d shared a bed and, despite how angry she was, she wanted him on top of her and inside her with an almost crazy desperation.
What if he asked her to stay again? Would she sacrifice her integrity and stay? Like she’d stayed with Rob, hoping it would be different? Like she’d held out hope that her father would, one day, remember that he also had a daughter?
No, seven days couldn’t come around soon enough. Putting on an act for Juliano was a bigger strain than she’d ever thought it would be. And it felt wrong to lie to him. She knew how it felt to find out you’d been lied to. Only too well.
On the evening of the third day she excused herself after dinner. She had a headache and was feeling weary. The sleepless, teary nights were catching up with her.
‘You haven’t eaten much,’ Alessandro commented as he inspected her almost full plate.
He was in a T-shirt that fitted snug across his chest and left his strong forearms exposed, the dark covering of hair there so fucking sexy.
She stared at him, absently rubbing her bare arms that had suddenly broken into goosebumps.
‘I’m not very hungry these days.’ It was said pleasantly enough for Juliano’s ears but her gaze hardened to leave him in no doubt as to the cause of her poor appetite.
She couldn’t afford to soften her stance or let her guard down. ‘Excuse me.’
Nat left the room without a backward glance. She wanted a shower. She wanted her bed. She wanted to sleep for four days and then this whole quarantine thing would be over and she could get as far away from Alessandro Lombardi as was possible.
Alessandro watched her go, his hands fisting in his lap. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to shake her or kiss her even as he knew he deserved her contempt. Looking at it from her perspective, his actions must have seemed extraordinarily callous.
From the second Nat had turned the picture around and Camilla’s face had stared back at him, her Mona Lisa smile taunting him, he’d known he’d screwed up. The evidence of his treachery was damning and right there but it wasn’t the full story.
How could he make her see that the physical resemblance was where the similarity between her and Camilla ended without going into all the sordid details? Without exposing his guilt and shame? He didn’t talk about that.
Not with anyone.
Beloved. She’d said beloved. And of course Nat thought he was still in love with his wife.
Why wouldn’t she? Marriage did imply love, after all, and it hadn’t even been a year yet.
He’d stepped towards her trying to explain but her recoil had felt like a slap.
She’d been too angry for his explanations.
And how could he say the words aloud, anyway?
I didn’t love her. I didn’t love my wife.
What kind of a man did that make him? She’d told him she loved him but that was because she hadn’t known that he wasn’t worthy of love. Hers or any other woman’s.
Not after Camilla.
But, right now, they were stuck together and he wasn’t sure he could stand four more days of her cold shoulder.
It was like his marriage all over again.
Constantly pretending everything was all right for Juliano’s sake and the stress of projecting the illusion of marital bliss had been a constant drain.
‘What’s wrong with Nat?’
Juliano’s question broke into his reverie. He smiled down at his son. ‘She’s fine.’
‘She’s really quiet,’ Juliano persisted. ‘And she looks sad.’
Alessandro was surprised by his son’s insight. So much for them trying to carry on as normal, to protect Juliano. He was obviously a lot shrewder than they’d given him credit for.
‘She’s a little tired I think,’ he assured. ‘I’ll go check on her soon.’
Ten minutes later Alessandro left Juliano sitting on the sofa with Flo and the latest Bluey episode. He climbed the stairs and headed for Nat’s room. They needed to talk away from little ears – whether she wanted to or not.
The shower was running as he entered her room and his gaze tracked her path to it from her discarded clothes.
Hesitating for a moment, he contemplated waiting for her to come out but, hell, he had seen her naked before.
They’d showered together numerous times.
Had even had hot, wet, soapy sex on more than one occasion.
And he was damned if he was going to tiptoe around in his own house.
Striding to her en suite, Alessandro stopped in the open doorway, leaning his shoulder into the jamb. The bathroom was full of steam, the fogged glass making it impossible to see anything of the occupant.
‘Maybe I should have installed a sauna in here for you,’ he said dryly.
There was a beat of silence before her cranky response. ‘Go away, Alessandro.’
Annoyed at her dismissal, he drawled, ‘Nothing I haven’t seen before.’
‘Nothing you’re ever seeing again.’
His mouth compressed into a line. He really didn’t want to argue. ‘I want to talk.’
‘Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk.’
‘It’s about Juliano. It’s important. Now, we can do it out here or I can come in there but we are having this talk – now.’
‘Fine.’ The taps shut off. ‘Pass me a towel.’
Alessandro threw the towel from the nearby rack over the top of the shower stall and she yanked it down the other side.
A minute later she said, ‘Nightshirt.’
He grabbed that too and tossed it over and in no time she was exiting the shower, eyeing him with irritation. ‘If you’re going to try and justify what you did, you’re wasting your breath,’ she warned as she pushed past him.
Alessandro counted to ten before he turned to follow her out.
No, he wasn’t. It was better this way. Let her think what she wanted.
It couldn’t be worse than the names he’d called himself.
If this was his punishment for entering into a loveless marriage, for the argument with Camilla that day and its subsequent domino effect - so be it.
He didn’t want, neither did he deserve, her feelings. He’d squandered love once already and now he was paying. He didn’t expect happiness.
His gaze roved over her face. Her cheeks were flushed from the hot shower. She looked all pink and fresh. He could smell soap and he wanted to pull her close and bury his nose in the place where her neck met her shoulder. He did not, shoving his hands into his pockets, instead.