Chapter Thirteen
‘Divorce?’ The word fell from Sanzio’s lips as blankly as his expression.
‘Well, yes,’ Eleanora was saying. ‘Once the restoration is complete. Whenever that is.’
His eyes did not leave hers. For a moment that seemed endless, he did not speak. Then, as if picking each word, he said, ‘That’s what you still expect? Still want? To get divorced?’
She looked confused. ‘It’s…it’s what we agreed,’ she answered. ‘When you suggested we marry. For the reasons we did.’ Her voice sounded staccato. Regret was flooding through her that she’d started this conversation. She’d obviously mistimed it. He didn’t want to discuss it now.
But she had started on it, forced herself to do so, and she forced herself on now too.
‘It was always the plan, Sanzio. Right from the start. We marry—for the reasons we did—and then…then un-marry. Nothing’s changed about that,’ she got out, though each word was a stumbling block.
She made herself keep looking at him, made herself appear as if this was a totally ordinary subject to be discussing, that there was nothing awkward, or difficult, or—
Or agonising.
Pain knifed through her. To be sitting here, with Sanzio, talking about divorce, when all she longed to do was throw herself into his arms and hold him so tight, so fast, so absolutely close to her.
But that isn’t why we married.
She swallowed. He was looking at her, and his face had turned to stone.
‘Nothing’s changed.’ He echoed her words expressionlessly, and each one dropped between them like a block of concrete.
She shook her head. She had to do this, she had to.
‘Well, no. I mean—’
‘Yes, what do you mean?’ There was still nothing in his voice, his face, his eyes.
‘Well, what I said,’ she floundered. ‘The reason for divorcing is still there. That…that the Palazzo will very soon be finished so then, well, then we can get divorced. Like we planned.’
Emotion was throttling her. This conversation had turned into a nightmare. But what else could she do but force it on? Get to an end, somehow. She grabbed her coffee cup, took a hectic mouthful, lowered the cup again. His eyes were still on her, and his whole body had tensed.
Why? Why is he being like this? What am I doing wrong?
She didn’t know, knew only that she had to extricate herself somehow…anyhow.
‘Anyway—’ she tried to lighten her voice ‘—we don’t need to discuss this now.
I only mentioned it because of my idea about you having your own kitchen installed.
If it’s adjacent to mine, then the plumbing would be simpler I should think.
Maybe the project manager could have a think, discuss possibilities with you when he next visits.
’ She was rabbiting on, stumbling over her words.
Hastily, she took another gulp of coffee, setting the cup down with a rattle.
His expressionless eyes were still resting on her, his face frozen. She fell silent, awkwardness filling her. And so, so much more…
Then, dimly, intruding into her anguished consciousness, she became aware of something else. A noise. A totally unexpected one. The sound of a vehicle making its way down the drive towards the Palazzo.
* * *
Who the hell?
Sanzio jerked his head around. Was he glad of the interruption, or wishing it to perdition? After what Eleanora had just said—
But there was no time to pursue that, whatever his reaction to it.
He hauled himself to his feet. No one was expected, so he’d better go and see who it was.
He strode around the pool, round to the front of the Palazzo.
He heard Eleanora hurrying after him. As he gained the front of the Palazzo he stopped short.
A sleek saloon car had pulled up on the carriage sweep, and out of it were emerging two people.
Tonia and her Marquis.
He heard a gasp of shock from Eleanora behind him.
* * *
Seeing Tonia emerge from the car pulled up in front of the Palazzo turned Eleanora to stone. In that instant everything she had just braved herself to say to Sanzio vanished. Wiped out by the dismay filling her. What on earth was Tonia here for?
For no good reason.
Instantly, into her head came all the vile things Tonia had said to her in Rome, and revulsion filled her. If it had just been her and Tonia here, she’d have slung her out on the spot. But Edouard was here—and Sanzio. She had to remain civil.
‘Tonia? What brings you here?’ She sought to keep her voice neutral, though it was the last thing she was feeling.
‘I wanted to show Edouard our dear old ancestral palazzo!’ Tonia replied airily. ‘See what Sanzio’s done to it.’ She made a moue. ‘Don’t tell me you aren’t pleased to see us?’ she cooed, directing her question only at Sanzio.
He stepped forward, holding out his hand to Edouard.
‘Welcome to the Palazzo Verano.’ His voice was more formal than warm, but it was a civil gesture all the same.
As they shook hands, Tonia sashayed up to Sanzio. She was wearing a vermilion dress, low-cut and clinging to her voluptuous body, her face in full make-up and her designer sunglasses pushing back her lush raven locks. Dressed to kill.
To taunt.
To tempt…
Eleanora felt her stomach knot. Coming on top of that awful, agonising exchange with Sanzio just now that she had waded into, she was going to have to deal with Tonia’s descent on them.
Her question echoed again—What is she here for?
One thing was for sure; it wasn’t to show Edouard ‘our dear old ancestral palazzo’ in which she had never shown the slightest interest.
So why? What was she after? Her insides churned.
Tonia was speaking again, but, again, not to her—to Sanzio.
‘Aren’t you going to welcome me too?’ Tonia purred now, smiling roguishly at Sanzio. She didn’t wait for an answer, only bestowed a too-affectionate kiss on his cheek.
‘For old times’ sake,’ she murmured coquettishly.
Then she turned to sweep her husband and her sister into her gaze.
‘Now, absolutely no need for either of you to be jealous! Sanzio and I go way back!’ She focused her attention on Eleanora, and Eleanora could see the venomous glint in her sister’s lustrous eyes. A taunt—a very obvious taunt.
Then her expression changed. ‘Oh, do your hostess thing, baby sister! Invite us to stay for lunch—then afterwards darling Sanzio can show off the Palazzo to Edouard and me.’
Eleanora’s voice was stiff as she answered. ‘It will only be quiche and salad,’ she replied.
‘Well, that will have to do!’ Tonia returned impatiently. ‘But let’s improve it with a drink at least.’ She turned her attention back to Sanzio. ‘How about my favourite cocktail, Sanzio darling? You haven’t forgotten, I’m sure!’
For a split second Sanzio didn’t reply. Eleanora’s eyes went to him.
Couldn’t he find some way of packing off her wretched sister, keeping this totally unwelcome visit as brief as civility to the hapless Edouard allowed?
But as she looked at him his closed expression suddenly changed.
Like a switch being thrown. A decision made—
‘How could I possibly forget anything about you, Tonia?’ he murmured.
His voice was bland, yet something about it was off.
Eleanora’s throat tightened.
* * *
Sanzio brought out the drinks to the terrace—beer for himself, a glass of white wine for the Marquis and Eleanora, and for Tonia her familiar vodka-based cocktail. His mind was racing.
What Eleanora had announced by the pool was ringing in his ears still, how could it not, but now something else was forming. Something Tonia had just said to him…
That there was no need for her husband or her sister to be jealous…
It hung there in his head as Tonia seized her cocktail, took a generous mouthful.
‘Mm, Sanzio, darling, just the way I like it. Strong and potent—the way I like my men!’ She batted her heavily mascaraed eyelashes at him lingeringly as she lifted her glass. ‘To old times,’ she toasted reminiscently, keeping her gaze still lingering on him.
Sanzio took a mouthful of his beer. Tonia’s intentions were transparently obvious, whatever her disclaimer of any need for jealousy. Jealous was exactly what she wanted Eleanora to feel.
And me—what does she want me to feel?
That was transparently obvious too. And, he knew cynically, entirely predictable. It had been entirely predictable ever since he’d forced her to see her scorned sister looking beautiful. The only question was how to play his response.
And why—
His eyes flickered to Eleanora. She was sitting ramrod straight across from Tonia, Sanzio at the head of the table, Edouard the other end.
His thoughts still raced, what Eleanora had said to him by the pool still audible in his head.
Melding with his question to himself—how to respond to Tonia’s all too obvious intentions.
Making his decision, he turned his attention to the Marquis. ‘When do you go back to France?’ he asked conversationally.
‘In a day or two,’ Tonia’s husband replied in his careful Italian. ‘We have been away quite some time now. I am keen, I admit, to get home.’
‘I might stay on a while,’ Tonia remarked carelessly, taking another mouthful of her cocktail. ‘There could be more to keep me here.’ She cast another lingeringly suggestive smile at Sanzio, her words and her languished look making it clear she wanted her husband to leave her to what she was after.
Did the poor guy realise? Sanzio wondered. Well, he soon would.
A sudden scrape of a chair against stone sounded.
‘I’ll just start on lunch,’ Eleanora said, getting to her feet. She walked away. Leaving him, Sanzio was all too aware, to face Tonia’s obvious attentions.
Attentions he might take advantage of.
For purposes that might suit him very well.
His eyes followed Eleanora as she strode away, shoulders visibly rigid with tension.
* * *