Chapter Twelve
“What’s this?” Mimi said a couple of hours later, staring at the official-looking envelope sitting on her pillow with her name scrawled on top.
It had taken them a long time to get Luca settled into his crib. She wondered if her own restlessness had triggered his crankiness.
The connecting door clicked behind Renzo. She turned to find him undoing the buttons on his shirt. Tension arced between them, sexual and otherwise.
He looked tired, with deep grooves settling under his eyes and around his mouth. In a moment, her frustration with him melted away.
She longed to go to him, to cradle his cheeks and brush her mouth against his, to feel his solid strength around her. She longed to offer him solace in whatever way she could.
But she wasn’t sure if her efforts would be welcome, and that hurt immensely. She didn’t know if he would welcome her admission of love either, or scoff at her for being such an easy fool. Nothing in her life had prepared her for facing him with that admission.
When he remained silent, she bristled. “Please don’t tell me it’s another gift.”
“I had a lot of meetings with my lawyers this past week, cara. It was convenient to take care of this too.” His own frustration resonated in his words now. “And I don’t get what is so strange about a husband arranging things for his wife. You’re the one who calls them gifts.”
With that parting shot, he went into the closet.
Mimi followed him, her patience dwindling with this cat and mouse game they were playing.
The colorful designer clothes hanging on her side of the closet, along with multiple boxes of expensive jewelry, brought her problem with him to the forefront. All the things Renzo insisted on buying for her, despite her protests.
She was Renzo DiCarlo’s wife, as much as she didn’t like to wear that as some kind of mantle. As such, there was always a certain amount of interest in her.
So yes, it made sense to upgrade her wardrobe and obtain some jewelry pieces and accessories.
She told herself that it was all part of a costume for a play she sometimes participated in. Especially since, whether she was dressed in designer duds or her usual black leggings and loose sweatshirts, the way he looked at her never changed.
It had begun with the equipment he had delivered to her, even before Luca had come home—expensive, state-of-the-art cameras and other accessories that she was afraid to even touch. Equipment that had made her drool like a child in a pastry shop.
She had refused at first, even though every inch of her had protested. And the rogue had persuaded her to keep it by kissing her, by telling her that if she was serious about her career, then she needed to invest in proper equipment.
Then had come the search for a house. An estate they had finally found near Milan to Renzo’s satisfaction—on the edge of Lake Como, to be precise—because Renzo insisted that at some point, Luca would need more space to play, and a sterile, monochromatic penthouse was the last place for a child.
And yet when his personal lawyer had come to have her sign some papers, Mimi had realized that the mansion had been deeded in her name. And another place in London, because her work might take her back to the city, and they needed a stable place for Luca.
Again, she had hotly protested. Again, he had convinced her that it made sense to have some properties in her name, that it was the wedding gift he had never given her. A place where they would build a bigger family, if they wanted to, at some point in the future.
The only thing that had stopped her from shouting that she wanted that with him was the flash of something in his eyes. And suddenly, she began to see the pattern.
Renzo bought her things—expensive houses and jewelry and video equipment.
Renzo was setting up properties for her, ostensibly, that were far away from where he would be most of the time, away from Venice, which was his main base.
Was he slowly trying to build a long-distance, perfectly polite marriage? Was he already bored with the domesticity Luca, and she, had forced on him?
For all that his family treated him as if he was an eternal fount granting their desires, he was only a man. There was no doubt that he was burnt out after Santo’s death.
Did he resent her and Luca too, as being too needy, too dependent on him after all the responsibilities he had shouldered all his life?
The questions came at her fast, nearly knocking her off her feet.
She turned to demand he tell her the truth. And stilled.
He’d shrugged off his shirt, and the light from the overhead chandelier kissed every plane and ridge of his chest.
Even now, Mimi felt that near-manic urge to throw herself at him—to claw her fingers over that olive skin stretched taut over hard sinew, to lose herself in his rough, biting kiss, to urge him to bury himself inside her until all her doubts melted away.
Because when they were tangled up in each other’s arms, there was no doubt that he wanted her in his life. That he wanted her. It was outside of the intimacy that she lost all her footing.
Now that she could see past her own misery, though, she noted the tension clamping his shoulders. “What’s wrong? Is it Massimo? Is he in trouble again?”
A soft smile split his mouth. “No, apparently you were right about him. He apologized for being so…out of control in the last few months. He said he missed Santo. Neither of us realized that we should talk to each other about how much we miss our older brother.”
“You have a thousand responsibilities to shoulder,” she said, instantly coming to his defense. “What’s his excuse?”
“You’re a witch, bella. Because Massimo did have one.” He unbuckled his trousers, pushed them off his tapered hips along with his boxer shorts. Utterly confident in his body. Utterly magnificent in his nakedness.
Then he pulled on gray sweatpants, and Mimi forced herself to focus. “Which is what?”
“Apparently, he has always been intimidated by me.”
“Oh. That’s not…impossible. You are a man with ruthless, exacting standards in every aspect of life, Renzo. Mere mortals could find it hard to please you.”
“You’ve never failed, bella.”
Mimi flushed, her skin nearly vibrating with the need to go to him. “By those exacting standards, you allow me a lot of leeway. And honestly, it’s hard to read you, Renzo.”
“Not for you,” he retorted again.
“Again, only so much as you allow me,” she said, busying herself with opening the new clothes she had ordered for Luca. “You very much control what I or anyone else perceives about you. You’re a damned master at it.”
She didn’t care look at him, but she knew her words had landed. For a while, he didn’t say anything. The expansive closet with its full-length mirrors and pristine marble floors suddenly felt too small and too cold to hold the tension crackling between them.
“So his not even trying to behave like a mature adult is valid because I have high standards?” Renzo sounded so aggravated by this, by her defense of Massimo, that Mimi stared at him. Something about his tone nagged at her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
“No. I never said that. Massimo’s good at trying to get out of a fix even when he’s admitting that he’s messed up. He’s a charmer through and through. And honestly, with Santo so wrapped up in his own life and you buried in your business, I don’t blame him for feeling lost.”
“We should have had you there, refereeing our discussion.”
This time, his disgruntlement was as clear as the cold draft of air kissing her skin. Mimi grabbed an old sweatshirt of Renzo’s and pulled it on when he set that dark gaze on her.
“He pays attention to you,” Renzo said. “I think he has a little crush on you.”
Heat crept up her cheeks. “That’s…ridiculous. We share some interests. As much as you mock him, I think he’s serious about photography. You wanted him to change, Renzo. Give him a chance now.”
Gaze thoughtful, Renzo nodded.
“What about Chiara?” she said, knowing he needed to talk about his family.
Only then could she address their own relationship.
“Your mother has been visiting regularly, but she doesn’t mention Chiara.
And neither do I,” Mimi admitted, suddenly feeling guilty.
“I mean, I know I should try to make amends with her, but with Luca coming home and everything else, it’s just been a lot, and I… ”
Renzo took her hands in his and squeezed. When Mimi thought he would pull her to him and wrap those strong arms around her—her entire being nearly ready to fling herself at him—he let go.
Hurt crashed through her, and suddenly it felt unbearable. Why did he touch her only in a sexual context? What happened to the Renzo who had teased her, made fun of her and provoked her? Why was he spending so much time away from her and Luca when he was the one who insisted on this marriage?
Had it all been to control the situation and her?
“I haven’t spoken to her either. I did pay off her husband’s debt, in case you thought I acted on my threat. Mama said they might be filing for divorce. Chiara has made her bed, though, and she needs to make a decision—whether she wants to lie in it or not.”
He paused and then raised a hand as if to stop her next question.
Something like resignation settled into his stark features.
“I’ve given up trying to manage their lives.
If they get in trouble, I will help. But no more expectations that they will behave, that they will fix their mistakes, or that they will understand me. ”
Mimi’s heart ached for him as she followed him to their bedroom. And then her gaze fell on the damned envelope again.
“Open it,” he said with that arrogant tilt of his head that she had come to recognize as a tell of his uncertainty.
She almost protested, but the last thing she wanted to spend her energy on was a silly fight.
Mimi opened the envelope and quickly skimmed the documents. It was a lot of legalese, but she understood enough to feel as if she had been burned. She dropped them onto the bed, anger sparking and lighting up her flashpoint.
“What the hell? Why are you settling this much money on me?” She scoffed at her incapability to do mental math. “I can’t even convert that number into pounds. I didn’t ask you for any of this.”
“You’re overreacting.”
Mimi was so angry at this statement that she simply sputtered at him.
“You know I set up trust funds for Chiara’s children, for Massimo. I did one for Luca, and this is for you.”
“Why? Are you planning to divorce me soon? Are you worried that I might ask for too much?”
“Of course not. You are the one who made up the one-year plan, not me.”
Mimi folded her hands and glared at him. “Did no one tell you that the last thing you should say to your wife is that she’s overreacting?”
“You do overreact when it comes to me buying you anything. We’ve been through this, Mimi. I am a rich man. I like to buy my wife certain things. One would think you’d learn to accept them with grace.”
“Not when it feels like you’re buying me out for some reason, Renzo. I told you when you proposed this whole arrangement—” she still couldn’t bring herself to say this marriage “—that I don’t want anything from you. Except your support in raising Luca when we separate.”
He remained stubbornly mute.
“So, are we separating? Is that what you want? All these new residences you have been buying me in different cities, these overnight trips you take, the way you’re never here to—”
“I never what? You’re telling me I’m failing in my duty as a husband and a father?”
Duty…there was that word again.
She had never hated a word in the language so much as she did then. And it also gave her the answer for the questions that plagued her day and night like vultures pecking at her tender flesh.
She would always be another responsibility to him, nothing more. Another burden he had taken on. And maybe because she was a novelty to him right now, or because she provided easy, convenient, hassle-free relief in the form of sex, he gave her and demanded physical intimacy.
But how long would that last if he saw her as another item on his to-do list? How long would it last if they had nothing else outside it?
As hard as she fought, a tear slipped down her cheek.
Because she didn’t understand how to get back what they had once had.
She didn’t even know if it had been anything more than a mirage of a connection brought on by their shared grief for their lost siblings and love for the innocent life they were bringing into the world.
“I want to go to London for Christmas and take Luca with me,” she blurted out, having reached the end of her tether.
His head jerked up as if someone had punched him. And he continued to stare at her for several long moments without a question or a statement.
Mimi wrapped her arms around herself and looked out the large window.
The world outside seemed to be going on at its usual rhythms while hers…
was tilting upside down. “One of the documentaries I made when I was pregnant—about prenatal healthcare for women from lower economic backgrounds—got nominated for an award. The banquet is a few days before Christmas, in London. I want to—I have to attend. And I want to bring Luca with me. There’s a bunch of friends who want to see him, and I… need a break.”
“A break from what?” Renzo finally said.
“From being cooped up here,” she said, meeting his eyes.
Please, ask me not to leave, her foolish heart murmured. Ask me to stay. Tell me you’ll fix whatever’s gone wrong between us.
The lines of strain around his mouth deepened as he regarded her. “How long are you talking about?”
“I don’t know. I think you have a lot to deal with right now, with that new resort being built.
And I need to go back to my life for a little while.
” She bit her lip, arresting the bitterness that wanted to spew forth.
“Luca’s the most important thing in my life now, and…
there are things I need to sort out with my mother too.
I’ve been running away from my own home for too long. ”
“And you’re not now?” he demanded, his question sharp as a knife. But he didn’t give her a chance to respond. “Whatever you want, bella. Just do me the favor of staying at the London flat I bought you recently.” His mouth twisted wryly. “Seems like I have foresight.”
And then he walked out.
No arguments. No threats. No discussion.
Leaving Mimi alone with their son.