CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER NINE
W HILE F AYE WAS waking up, Primo was already high above the Atlantic Ocean—he had a meeting in Manhattan that evening, and Faye had arranged to meet a client in London before she left. He was still marvelling at the previous evening. It was the hottest thing any woman had ever done to him. Surprising him like that. In that dress. The image of her sitting on that high stool would be burned onto his brain for ever.
He felt a burst of pure satisfaction that went deeper than the lingering sensual pleasure—because he had chosen his wife well. He foresaw a long and happy union, in which inevitably this intensity of desire would wane—it had to—but would be replaced with something far more manageable. Not this...fevered need to have her, driving him—and her —to bouts of spontaneity that he was enjoying—there was no denying it—but which ultimately weren’t sustainable.
Being distracted away from his business dinner meeting the previous evening had been an anomaly. It unsettled him a little now to acknowledge how easy it had been to walk away. And how unlike him. It was the kind of behaviour his father would have exhibited. Getting distracted by a beautiful woman.
But Faye was his wife. Not just a lover. Perhaps even she would have to concede that all the signs pointed to a sustainable union. But something niggled. Even though he knew every inch of her intimately, and knew how to push her over the edge with just a flick of his finger, she was keeping something in reserve.
After all, she was still maintaining her independence in the relationship. There was no talk of moving in together yet, and while Primo appreciated that on one level—because of course he didn’t intend for this to be an emotional union—spending time with Faye had made him rethink the need for such boundaries. It wouldn’t be a hardship to live with her. The thought of having her in his bed every night was...ridiculously seductive.
To his surprise, for the first time in his life he was actually envisaging having a family with someone. Not just as a duty to create the next generation of Holts, but really creating a family, even though he wasn’t sure what that looked like. But Faye did. She’d grown up with loving parents. She would be a good mother—he knew that instinctively.
She was inspiring Primo to think that maybe—just maybe—there was a chance that their marriage would prove to be fulfilling in ways that he hadn’t fully appreciated.
Boston, a few days later
Is it too much to hope we can arrive at events together one day soon?
Faye didn’t answer Primo’s text and shut down her phone. She sighed as the taxi crawled forward in the bumper-to-bumper traffic near the venue in Boston. She wasn’t surprised that Primo had been irritated when she’d said she’d make her own way to this function, but her meeting had genuinely run over.
She shook her head again to try and dislodge the woolly feeling. She’d felt an ominous prickling pain at the back of her throat all day today, and she’d been sniffling. She really hoped she wasn’t coming down with a cold. She had a massive job the following week in Manhattan—helping a corporate client take delivery of their new art collection, curated by her—and she’d promised to be on hand to help them get it hung properly.
Her limbs felt a little achy. She told herself it was just the effects of the jetlag after her return from Europe.
That magical coastal castle in the West of Ireland felt like a long time ago. She wondered if she’d imagined it?
She hadn’t seen Primo since London. She would have, if they’d lived together. The thought that they could have been sharing a bed for the last few days sent simultaneous thrills and trepidation through Faye.
Living together was just a step too far into making this whole arrangement more permanent.
You are married to the man—can’t get more permanent than that , pointed out a voice.
Faye scowled at herself.
If anything, the more she got to know Primo, and the more she hungered for him, the more imperative it was to maintain these boundaries she’d put in place. Boundaries she’d never known would become so important.
Because she hadn’t expected to want him.
To like him so much.
‘We’re here.’
‘Thank you,’ Faye said, jolted out of her spiralling thoughts.
She saw the flow of the immaculately clothed crowd going into one of Boston’s oldest buildings for the charity benefit and curbed the urge to tell the driver to keep going.
Just then, her head started to pound. But she couldn’t leave. Primo was waiting for her, and every cell in her body was urging her up and out of the car, to go and be with him.
She cursed her weak body, but congratulated herself that he might have got to her physically, but she was still intact emotionally. He might have chipped away at those walls a little bit, but they were still strong enough to withstand all his considerable charm and powers of persuasion.
As she approached the main hall where the event was taking place, she spotted Primo immediately. Clad in a white tuxedo. Hair swept back from his forehead.
Her insides turned to jelly. And suddenly her confidence that she had somehow remained emotionally untouched by this man drained away, to be replaced with something far less certain. She knew him now in ways she never would have imagined she would. And he was so much more than she had thought a man like him could be.
He had got to her .
Faye clutched her evening bag. Maybe if she turned back now the taxi would still be there. She could jump in and—
But at that moment Primo turned to look at her. As if he’d known she was there all along. And she was caught. He was coming for her, the crowd parting to let him through like a sea.
And then he was in front of her and she couldn’t breathe.
She’d missed him .
‘Hi...’
‘Hi.’ He looked stern, as if he was about to say something else, but then his expression relaxed. ‘I was wondering where you were.’
‘Stuck in traffic.’
He took her hand and Faye instinctively wanted to burrow closer. He brought out something very feminine in her that she’d repressed for a long time. A need to feel looked after. Safe. She instantly felt more at ease with her hand in his. And it should annoy her, but it didn’t.
‘Come on,’ he said, tugging her into the room thronged with the beautiful and the famous and the rich. ‘I’m having an argument with the governor about the merits of funding art programmes and he needs to hear from a passionate expert, not an idiot like me.’
Faye shoved down all the niggles, psychological and actual—the prickling at the back of her throat, her increasingly fuzzy head and the way she felt hot and cold at the same time—and let Primo lead her into the fray.
‘Why insist on separate rooms when we know we’ll end up in bed together?’ Primo was asking Faye in the back of the car as they left the event a few hours later.
For the first time since Faye had met Primo she could actually say that making love to him wasn’t foremost in her mind. But the car was pulling to a halt outside the hotel now and Primo had somehow magically appeared at her door in what seemed like a nanosecond to help her out.
She stumbled a little.
‘Are you okay?’ His hand tightened on her elbow.
‘I’m fine. Just tired, I think...maybe coming down with something.’
They were in the elevator now and Primo looked at her. ‘You look flushed.’
He put a hand to her forehead and Faye wanted to swat it away, but it felt like too much of an effort.
‘I think I might have caught something. I’m sure it’ll be gone in the morning.’
When they got to their rooms, and Faye stopped outside her door, Primo asked, ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
Faye nodded, but winced slightly. It was starting to hurt when she moved her head. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘I’m coming in with you.’
Faye protested. ‘Primo, I’m not sure I’m really feeling—’
‘Not for that.’
He took the key out of her hand and swiped it, opening her door. Inside, he turned on some lights and then went to the connecting door that linked their rooms. He opened the lock on Faye’s side and looked at her.
‘I’m going to open the door on my side too. Let me know if you need anything, okay?’
He handed back her room key. Faye took it and watched him walk out again. A minute later he was unlocking the door on his side, so all Faye would have to do was open her door.
He called through the doors. ‘Night, Faye.’
‘Night, Primo.’
Somehow Faye managed to undress and wash herself, even though it felt like a monumental task. She fell into bed, hoping that by morning she’d be feeling better.
But she wasn’t.
She was worse.
Much worse.
She woke to a persistent banging noise, and when she tried to speak nothing came out. Her throat was agony, as if filled with hot needles.
She managed to get up and go in the direction of the banging and pulled the door open. She was looking at a broad, bare chest that was vaguely familiar. Primo.
He put a hand on her forehead. ‘Faye...you’re burning up.’
Faye wanted to say, Give it a rest, Primo, you’re not that amazing. But she felt herself become weightless, and then she was being deposited on a bed.
She realised that it wasn’t her bed, and struggled to sit up, croaking out, ‘Primo, I told you—’
‘Yes, a doctor, please, ASAP.’
Faye sank back down. Oh. He wasn’t trying to make love to her. He was calling a doctor. For some reason Faye found that momentarily hilarious—until she laughed and it hurt her ribs.
Everything seemed to happen in a bit of a blur after that. A doctor came—a nice lady, who poked and prodded Faye and looked at her throat. Faye’s head was clearing marginally, and she heard the doctor say, ‘It looks like you’ve picked up this virulent strain of flu going around.’
Primo’s voice came. ‘I’ll take her home. I can take better care of her there.’
Home . The word floated around Faye’s head but she couldn’t pin it down. It felt comforting, and also slightly scary.
She was given some medication, and water to drink, and that helped to cushion the various symptoms.
At some point—she wasn’t sure how—she found she was dressed and on a plane with Primo, shivering.
And then they were in a car, and there was a blast of cool air before she felt weightless again and realised Primo was carrying her.
She lifted her head. ‘Hey, I can walk.’
‘You’re going straight to bed.’
Faye frowned. ‘You have a one-track mind, mister. I told you I don’t want...’
But the words disappeared out of her mouth and her head and Faye fell into a fractured sleep, punctuated by moments when someone held her up and made her swallow tablets and drink water. Other moments when she would feel boiling hot and cold all at the same time.
There were voices...but the main one she listened out for and found absurdly comforting was the deep one. It was never far away.
At some point Faye woke up. Suddenly her mind was relatively clear and she wasn’t drenched in sweat. But she was weak.
She came up on one elbow.
‘You’re awake.’
A large shape detached itself from a chair in a room that Faye dimly recognised. Primo. He was wearing a shirt and jeans. Bare feet. Hair mussed. Stubble on his jaw.
‘Where am I?’
He sat on the bed. ‘My apartment. Manhattan.’
She struggled to focus. ‘But we were in Boston.’
‘Two days ago. We came back here. You have the flu pretty bad.’
‘I need to go to the bathroom.’
Primo stood up and pulled back the covers.
Faye realised she was in a set of her own sleep clothes, shorts and a matching button-down top. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
Primo put out a hand, but Faye said, ‘It’s fine. I’m sure I can—’ But when she tried to stand, she promptly collapsed again.
Primo put his arm around her and supported her on cotton wool legs into the bathroom. Faye held on to the sink. She felt weak and shaky. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Pale, but with two bright red spots in her cheeks. Hair long and lank. She groaned inwardly. If this wasn’t one way to potentially end this marriage, she didn’t know what was.
Primo was hovering.
Faye said, ‘I think I’ll be okay.’
Primo backed away reluctantly. ‘I’ll be right outside the door.’
Faye managed to go to the toilet without incident, and washed her face and brushed her teeth. Those small activities were enough to make her feel as if she’d run a marathon.
Primo knocked. ‘I’m coming in.’
Faye didn’t have the energy to tell him not to, and it was a relief when he scooped her up and took her back to the freshly made bed. Daylight was streaming into the room now, and the French doors to the terrace outside were open, curtains fluttering a little in the breeze.
The housekeeper was just leaving with the bundled-up sheets and Primo said, ‘Maybe we’ll try some chicken soup?’
‘Very well, Mr Holt. I’ll be right back.’
A name popped into Faye’s head. ‘Marjorie.’
Primo was pulling clean sheets up over her waist. ‘That’s right. She’s my housekeeper here. You’ve met her before.’
The woman came back with a tray that Primo took from her, saying, ‘Thanks.’
Faye’s voice still felt scratchy and a little sore. ‘I’ve been really out of it...’
‘You were. At one point I almost took you to the ER, but you told me not to.’
‘I did?’ Faye had no recollection.
‘Here, try some of this.’
Primo was bringing a spoon to her mouth and Faye obediently opened up. The warm, tasty soup was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.
‘Well, you haven’t eaten in days.’
She hadn’t realised she’d spoken out loud. Suspiciously, she asked, ‘Was I saying things?’
Primo brought another spoonful to her mouth and she dutifully drank it down.
He said, ‘There was a lot of muttering about fences and walls. And bricks crumbling.’
Faye cringed when she realised the significance of her ramblings. Primo knocking down her precious defences.
She asked, ‘What day is it?’
‘Tuesday.’
Faye calculated. The Boston event had been on a Friday. She’d lost a whole weekend. And then she realised something else and sat up straight.
‘I’m meant to be curating the hanging of new art in the Goldman Law Practice downtown.’
Primo put a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back against the pillow gently. ‘Your assistant has let them know you’re unwell and they’ve put the installation on hold until you’re better. All your other appointments are being rescheduled.’
She realised something else as Primo fed her another spoonful of soup. After she’d swallowed, she said, ‘You’ve been taking care of me... What about your work?’
‘It’s fine. I rescheduled some meetings...worked from home.’
The enormity of how ill she’d been hit her—and the way Primo had taken care of her. ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea I was coming down with something so bad. I shouldn’t have gone to Boston.’
He looked at her. ‘How on earth could you have known?’
‘I’m feeling better now. I can go back to my own apartment today.’
Primo emitted a sound of exasperation. ‘You aren’t strong enough yet. You need at least another day...maybe two days...to rest and recuperate.’
‘But I—’
Primo put down the tray and stood up, hands on his hips, ‘Faye, dammit. I’m your husband. I’m supposed to take care of you. We made vows, remember? In sickness and in health?’
Faye’s insides quivered. She’d never seen Primo like this. ‘Yes, I know, but...it’s not as if we were saying them...’ She trailed off.
‘For real?’ he finished. ‘They were real enough to me.’
That landed like a soft blow to her gut. ‘But this is just a...a marriage of convenience...a business arrangement.’
Primo sat back down. A muscle was pulsing in his jaw. ‘Is it, Faye? Really? When we can’t keep our hands off each other?’ He waved a hand. ‘Current circumstances notwithstanding.’
‘That’s just chemistry.’
He looked at her for a long moment, as if he was going to say something, but then he took the tray back onto his lap and filled another spoon with soup. As he brought it to her mouth he said, ‘It’s non-negotiable, Faye. You’re here under my care until you’re strong enough to leave, so get used to it.’
Faye, unused to being spoken to like a recalcitrant child, obediently opened her mouth and let Primo feed her. Something had just shifted between them and she wasn’t sure what it was. But by the time she’d finished the soup she was exhausted again, and only too happy to escape Primo’s stern mood by slipping back into sleep.
Two days later, as Faye was recovering, she was also realising the true severity of her condition. She’d fallen in love with Primo. And how could she not have? It was as if the man had been specifically put on this Earth to get under every single one of Faye’s walls until she was left utterly defenceless. No wonder she’d been raving about that in her delirium. She could only hope Primo had no idea what she’d been on about.
Her assistant had just left Primo’s apartment, after going through Faye’s rescheduled appointments and meetings, and he’d also brought over what had appeared to be half of Faye’s possessions, which were now being installed in Primo’s guest room. Faye had agreed that it would be practical to have some things here, because Primo wasn’t letting her go anywhere until he was satisfied she was completely fine.
She was feeling inordinately vulnerable after this revelation on top of all the signs of Primo exerting his very skilful brand of taking over her life as well as her heart.
When he appeared in the informal living area where she’d had her meeting with her assistant, dressed in those jeans that should come with a health warning and a shirt, Faye—whose reviving libido only made her feel even more exposed—said waspishly, ‘I’m not sure you didn’t make me ill on purpose to engineer this campaign to all but move me into your apartment.’
Primo folded his arms. He looked far too smug for his own good. He said, ‘I’ll be the first to admit that I’m pretty much capable of anything, but I haven’t quite perfected my skills in sorcery.’
Faye scowled at him, hoping that he wouldn’t see the truth of her emotions. How had she let this happen?
As if to help her, a kaleidoscope of images raced through her mind—from that first meeting with Primo, to Venice, then Paris, Dublin, the castle in the West of Ireland, London... It was like a string of jewels laid out, twinkling at her and mocking her for believing she could remain immune to this man’s undeniable charm.
Then he said, ‘I have something for you—a little get-well gift.’
Faye sat up. She wished she was wearing something other than yoga pants and sweatshirt. But it was an improvement on nightclothes.
Primo bent down and retrieved something from behind a sofa. It was a square-shaped item, wrapped in brown paper, measuring about one foot square.
He handed it to her and she held it. Not too heavy. She started to undo the paper, pulling it open, and realised it was a small canvas that looked familiar. Striking deep red and pink tones. She held it up and away from her face—and then noticed the signature on the bottom.
‘Lara Lopez...’ Faye gasped when she realised what it was. A miniature of the original much larger painting she’d admired so much in Paris. ‘Life.’ She looked at Primo. ‘How...?’
‘I got in touch with her to see if she’d sell the one in Paris, but she has an agreement with the gallery so she can’t. But she told me she had this, which was the genesis of the bigger painting. Her trial run...’
Faye was struck dumb. Beyond moved that he’d not only remembered her loving that painting but that he’d gone to the trouble of trying to track it down. This one was smaller, yes, but it was perfect.
Faye looked at Primo again. ‘I can’t believe you did this...it’s very special. Thank you.’
For a second she was terrified she might cry, when she’d thought she’d cried her last tears over her first husband and the devastation that she’d never give birth to her own children.
Primo took the painting from her and put it on the mantelpiece. ‘You can decide where you want it. We can get it framed.’
Faye stood up, her limbs still feeling slightly wobbly. ‘I love it. I’m glad the other one stays in the gallery, though, because people should get to see it. This is...perfect. Thank you, Primo. You didn’t have to get me anything, but I do love it.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘I have a meeting in the office. Do you mind if I leave the apartment for a couple of hours?’
Suddenly overwhelmed by everything—her revelation and this gesture—Faye said hurriedly, ‘No, not at all. You really don’t have to babysit me.’
Primo was about to leave when he turned back. ‘You’ll still be here when I get back?’
Faye tried to think of some pithy remark but in the end she just nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll be here.’
Primo walked out and Faye sank back onto the couch and gazed at the painting. There, laid bare, was every pulsing, beating bit of emotion she felt for Primo. But Faye knew that, as much as he would prefer her to be absorbed into his world, like an amenable wife, he wouldn’t thank her for falling in love with him.
Primo came back to his apartment that evening and all was quiet. Marjorie would be gone for the day. For a second he imagined that Faye might be gone too, even though she’d said she wouldn’t.
The surge of conflicting emotions that thought brought up propelled him into the main living area. Empty. As was the kitchen. He checked her bedroom. The bed hadn’t been slept in all day. A good sign. But where was she?
Eventually he thought to check the media room and found her on the couch, asleep under a large shawl. Hair flowing around her head. Feet bare. One arm above her head. She was wearing the least enticing outfit imaginable, and yet Primo’s blood leapt.
She stirred, as if sensing him, and opened her eyes. She looked deliciously drowsy and flushed. For a second, he saw a slow smile start to lift that tempting mouth—before her brain obviously kicked into gear and her eyes widened and she scrambled to sit up. Back behind those walls.
He put out a hand. ‘Sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.’
She pushed hair out of her face. ‘What time is it?’
‘After eight. I got held up.’
She sent him a look. ‘Because you’ve been playing nursemaid to me, no doubt.’
‘I brought home some takeout.’
At that moment Faye’s belly rumbled. Her appetite was obviously back with a vengeance. She blushed. Primo marvelled that she could still blush so easily.
‘That sounds nice,’ she said. ‘What is it?’
He held out a hand and helped her up from the couch. He said, ‘Thai. Is that okay?’
‘I love Thai.’
They went into the kitchen and Faye sat on a stool on the other side of the counter to Primo, where he busied himself putting containers into the microwave to heat them up.
Faye said, ‘I wonder who’s in the Irish castle now? Are they having Irish stew too? Did they go on the beach with the horses?’
Primo ladled some rice and sauce into a bowl and handed it to Faye with cutlery. ‘You really loved that place, didn’t you?’ he observed.
Faye nodded. ‘Maybe my ancestry is Irish, not Scottish,’ she joked. And then, ‘I never go horse riding any more...it reminded me how much I loved it.’
‘Nothing stopping you from taking it up again.’
Faye sighed. ‘I guess not... But it’s just easy to forget to carve out time for those things, you know? And then, before you know it, years have gone by...’
‘Are you always so chipper after a bout of sickness?’
Faye sent Primo a sheepish look. ‘Sorry. I guess I haven’t had so much time off in a long time. I like to keep busy.’
Primo could empathise with that. Since marrying Faye, though, he’d taken more time off than he’d ever done before. He’d also—as he’d found out today—taken his eye off the ball to some extent. Deals had been languishing, waiting for his signature or decision.
His chief legal advisor had said, before leaving Primo’s office, ‘Maybe it’s time to start delegating? After all, you’re a married man now. Presumably you’ll be starting a family...’
Primo had realised that he’d arrogantly assumed that even while investing some time in his new wife he wouldn’t be letting anything slide, but he’d had to acknowledge that hadn’t been realistic. Faye was a priority now—in a way he hadn’t fully envisaged when he’d decided to marry her.
These last few days, while she’d been ill, he’d felt helpless. For a man who was rarely helpless, it had been an unwelcome and humbling experience. He’d had to watch as the virus worked its way through her system, not being able to negotiate with anyone for a speedier exit. And the relief he felt now, to see her return to health, was also humbling.
He liked having her here. And not just because she was his wife and he felt she should be here. There was an added dimension to coming home and knowing she would be around that he hadn’t really anticipated, and it transcended even the notion of being able to sleep with her every night. Although that obviously appealed too.
He told himself this wasn’t about emotions—it was purely practical.
Maybe now that she’d seen how they could be together even when it wasn’t all about urgency and chemistry she would reconsider some things. Notably her reluctance to have a family. But Primo knew he would have to tread carefully. He’d gained some ground, and he had no intention of squandering it, but he also had every intention of getting her to agree to consider taking this marriage to the next level.
A far more permanent and enduring one.