Chapter 15 #3
She nodded stiffly, not stopping to wonder who ‘they’ were, then wishing she had when the door opened and her eyes landed immediately on Luca, and every cell in her body seemed to stop doing whatever it was cells did, and freeze.
Just like her. She stopped where she was, feet unable and unwilling to move.
And then, she was backing out of the office, some kind of survival instinct kicking in, telling her she needed to undo this. To escape. To get the hell away.
But she was barely at the door when he cursed, the sound an invective that ricocheted around the faded wallpapered walls of the compact boardroom, her lawyer’s eyes wide as Luca unfurled to his full height and began to stride in her direction.
The cells went on strike again.
Her body was rigid, like a board. Except for her fingers which trembled so badly she had to find a way to jam them into her pockets.
She felt cold and hot, all at once.
He came to stand two feet in front of her. Close enough that she could see the tiny lines around his eyes, close enough that she could see the smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose, but not close enough to touch, unless one of them reached for the other.
Luca’s throat shifted seconds before his voice emerged, as though he needed to force his mouth to work.
“Stay, Allegra.”
It was a plea. A plea like she’d heard him offer so many times, but usually, when they were in bed. She couldn’t, though. She knew she couldn’t. If she stayed, she’d weaken, and she was so scared of that.
She had to stay strong, for a few minutes longer, to stay free of him. Because if she relented, if she stayed and listened, she would do whatever he asked of her, even giving up on the idea of his loving her back, just to be with him. Just to take whatever he was willing to offer.
“I can’t.”
“You must.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
He shifted his head slightly, so he was angled to the side. “Leave us,” he said to the lawyer. In that moment, Allegra couldn’t even remember the man’s name.
He stood uneasily, skirted the table and made for the door. Allegra went to follow him, but Luca reached for her, his hand brushing hers, his fingers latching to her fingers. “We have to talk.”
“We talked.”
“It’s been two months.”
She closed her eyes, sucking in a deep breath, then wishing she hadn’t when she tasted his fragrance in her mouth, and her stomach clenched with remembered longing. “I’m aware of that. Hence I filed for divorce.”
“Yes, thank you for that.”
Anger fired through her; a welcome relief from grief, hurt and hope. “What were you expecting?” she hissed. “That I would simply fade into the background but remain your wife? What for? To avoid a scandal for you? To avoid the risk of the press finding out it was over so fast?”
“I don’t give a shit about the press,” he contradicted, just as fiercely. “Or anyone. You should have told me you were doing this.”
“I did,” she responded sharply. “My lawyer said he’d notify you.”
He took a step closer, his expression furious. “That is not the same thing, and you know it.”
She shook her head. “What do you want, Luca? A call? For me to have phoned you up and said I was filing the papers? Honestly, I’d have thought you’d be relieved.”
“Relieved?” he repeated, incredulous. In any other setting, anyone else might have sensed his tone as a warning, but Ally had never feared Luca.
“It’s just a practicality you don’t have to worry about. Your hands are full with the company, right?”
A muscle throbbed low in his jaw, and his eyes sparked with hers in a way that made her whole body feel both weak and strong at the same time.
“Have I ever given you the impression that I was too busy for you?”
She looked away, the question like a knife, digging deep into her side. Guilt washed over her for how she’d painted him, because his question was just. He had always carved out time for her. For them.
She blinked quickly. “It’s just a formality.”
“Not to me.”
She looked back at him, a question in her eyes, but what she saw on his face made her whole body go weak. The dark, ruthless possession was haunting and warming, all at once. “You are my wife,” he ground out. “I do not want this divorce.”
The earth seemed to tip beneath her. She reached out for something to steady her, glad when her fingertips connected with a chair. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t want this.”
Her throat had some kind of paralysis; she couldn’t swallow, couldn’t speak.
“You are my wife.”
She closed her eyes, agony pulling at her. “Not for much longer.”
His hands were on her then, curving around her arms, pulling her closer. “Is this really what you want?”
The question was so cruel. She shook her head, features pinched. “Don’t ask me that.”
“I want to know.”
“What I want is…impossible.”
“What is it?”
But she shook her head again. Why should she say what she wanted when he would never give it to her? So she turned it back on him, instead. “What do you want? Why are you here?”
“I want you to come home. You are my wife, and you belong in Italy, with me.”