A tremor rippled through her. ‘Just a little tired.’
Guilt twisted into a rock-hard knot beneath his ribs. ‘I shouldn’t have kept you waiting, I—’
‘I’m fine.’
She didn’t look fine. She looked scarily ethereal. Was this a reaction to the wedding? Was she overwhelmed? Had she not slept at all last night? She couldn’t have, even though he’d deliberately left her alone to rest. Now he ushered her into the car and drove it himself up the track to the villa.
‘What about the photos?’ she asked.
‘We have enough already.’ He glanced and saw her confused expression. ‘Taken during the ceremony.’
‘Oh.’
She hadn’t noticed one of his assistants taking photos? Always efficient Phoebe was shaky. He’d have carried her inside but knew she’d resist if he tried. And maybe she needed to feel some modicum of control in this moment—control was important to her. And fair enough.
He led her to the lounge inside and fetched refreshments. He’d banished the staff from the villa, needing to be alone with her. But he couldn’t touch her now.
He’d been edgy all morning—hell, he’d cut himself shaving, been dressed hours ahead of time. In the end he’d been reduced to strewing flowers everywhere in that chapel just for something to do to pass the time. And then she’d finally arrived. She’d looked beautiful as she’d walked towards him—he’d not been able to take his eyes off her, not been able to breathe. He’d got what he wanted, but now he questioned the cost. Because the radiant flush in her cheeks had evaporated. He’d sapped her vitality. So he would stay away.
Heshouldstay away—it was what he wanted, right?
He barely ate. Nor did she. He gritted his teeth to stop himself from nagging her about it. He needed to do better. The vibrant woman who’d walked into that meeting in London less than a fortnight ago was now a pale shadow of herself.
‘I might go rest for a bit,’ she murmured barely ten minutes later, pushing away the plate she’d barely touched.
‘Of course.’
He stood as she walked out but didn’t follow. He couldn’t trust himself to enter a bedroom with her and not succumb to temptation. He’d already made too many selfish demands on her and she obviously needed rest.
But she didn’t reappear in the evening. It took everything in him not to go to her. He paced in his room. Paced around the villa. Saw light beneath her door at some awful hour of the morning—but he still didn’t go in.
The next morning he paced around the patio—waiting for her to surface. Finally she appeared. His stomach curdled as he saw her pallor. Not to mention her reluctance to look him in the eyes.
‘Did you not sleep well?’ He poured himself a coffee to stop himself going to her.
She sat at the table and chose a piece of fruit. ‘I slept fine, thank you.’
A complete lie.His discomfort deepened.
‘What would you have me do today?’ She sliced a single piece from the apple and didn’t nibble.
‘I’m not your boss any more, Phoebe.’
She set the small paring knife on the edge of her plate. ‘You’re my husband. I’m your wife. So, anything you need me to do today?’
The words ‘husband’ and ‘wife’ provoked his unease and she knew it.
‘Rest,’ he muttered dryly. ‘It seems you need it.’
‘So I’m reduced to being an incubator…’
He dragged in a breath, refusing to fight with her when she was clearly still exhausted. ‘What would youliketo do today? Tell me and I’ll arrange what I can.’
She was beautiful even with those shadowed eyes and drawn features. He just wanted to pick her up and take her to bed and pleasure her. Slake his lust. Ease his guilt. They would both sleep for hours then. But that method of relaxation was inhisbest interests, not hers, and he’d already been selfish enough.
‘I’ll have a think about it and let you know,’ she muttered tightly.
Edoardo nodded and left the table before he did something rash.
