A Sicilian Husband - Kate Walker [29]
‘Be my guest…’ The ironical inflexion he gave the words was so sharp, so bitter that Terrie actually flinched as it stung like the lash of a whip.
Well, what did it matter now? Gio asked himself. What did any of it matter?
He didn’t even know why he’d been so determined that she shouldn’t find out. Why it had mattered so much that she didn’t discover the truth about Lucia. About his wife.
No. Even as he formed the thought, he realised that that wasn’t the point. He didn’t understand why it wasn’t; he simply knew that Teresa learning that he had once been married wasn’t what troubled him. It was the thought of her finding out like this. He didn’t want her to find out in this way.
Which was mad. Totally crazy. He hadn’t planned on telling her anyway. Hadn’t thought of telling her anything, if he was honest. She was just a one-night stand. Someone with whom he had enjoyed a night of passion, a brief, purely sexual interlude, and nothing more. And if she hadn’t woken up before he had left this morning, then she would never have known anything other than that. Never have brought him—and herself—to this uncomfortable moment of revelation.
But that wasn’t true either. She hadn’t woken by accident. He had deliberately waited for her to wake. He had stayed in the room, sitting in that chair by the window, delaying until she stirred. He could have walked out of the room in any one of a dozen minutes before that, but he hadn’t. Something had held him back, kept him there.
And for the life of him he didn’t know what.
‘Take a look, cara,’ he drawled now, knowing she must find out and careless of the possible consequences. ‘You know you’ve been dying to, so go right ahead.’
Perversely, now that she had his concession, Terrie found she had lost her nerve, no longer wanting to know what it was that had disturbed him so much. She looked into the darkness of his eyes and felt an icy chill creep through her veins, slowly sliding towards her heart. She was suddenly desperately, bitterly afraid.
‘Oh, don’t stop now, belleza,’ Gio goaded her when she hesitated, unable to go any further. ‘You fought like a tiger for this—don’t turn coward on me now.’
And that ‘coward’ taunted her into action where nothing else would. Anything less deliberately provocative might have made her hesitate, decide she didn’t really want to know, but not this. This deliberate sneer pushed her into doing exactly as he wanted, without even pausing to wonder why he had now decided not to stop her.
But first one tiny, practical part of her mind urged her into protective action, making her take a vital two seconds to pull the tie belt tight about her waist, fasten the robe firmly around her. Only when that was secure did she dare reach for the photographs.
The first one was of a little boy. A beautiful little boy. Quite the most beautiful child Terrie had ever seen. With jet-black hair and deep, dark brown eyes, he was perhaps two years old. He was wearing an oversized T-shirt, white with multicoloured flags on the front, below which just peeped a pair of neat blue shorts. His mouth was stretched in a wide, mischievous grin, and he was clutching a black and white spotted blanket firmly to him.
And Gio didn’t have to say a word to explain who the child was, or the man’s relationship to him. It was stamped all over the little boy’s face, the way it was a perfect, scaled-down replica of Gio’s own features.
‘Paolo.’ Clearly Gio didn’t think there was any need of explanation either. ‘His name is Paolo.’
‘And he’s your son.’
He didn’t speak to acknowledge her words, which in any case had been a statement, not a question, but his dark head moved in silent agreement anyway.
Which gave her due warning of