I round the table and sit down in my own chair, my anticipation building to ridiculous levels. ‘A little gift,’ I tell her. ‘A wedding gift if you like.’
Her forehead creases. ‘But I didn’t get you anything.’
‘Of course you didn’t.’ I lean forward, my elbows on the table. ‘You didn’t know you’d be marrying me, remember?’
‘True.’ She glances down at the box again then picks it up and opens it. Her eyes widen and my pleasure and satisfaction pull tight.
Sitting in a cushion of black velvet are two rings. One a platinum wedding band studded with emeralds, the other a matching engagement ring with a huge emerald in the centre, surrounded by diamonds.
They’re beautiful rings and they match her perfectly, making up for my error in getting a simple band when it should have been these all along. And naturally, I couldn’t get just a wedding band. She needed an engagement ring too.
Caterina sits there, staring down at them, and I’m waiting for her face to flush with pleasure and her eyes to glitter with happiness. I’m waiting for her to take them out of the box and demand that I put them on her finger. I’m waiting for her to exclaim and hold out her hand, watching the sun catch the light in the jewels and making them sparkle.
But she does none of those things.
Instead she keeps looking at the rings and says nothing at all.
Something in my chest tightens, my muscles tensing. ‘Well?’ I ask, unable to keep the impatience from my voice. ‘Do you like them?’
She doesn’t look at me and disappointment kicks hard inside me. Then, hard on its heels, anger. I force them down, because maybe she’s simply shocked, maybe that’s all it is. Or maybe she doesn’t like emeralds, or even rings. Maybe she doesn’t wear jewellery at all and she’s worried about my response.
‘If you don’t like the emeralds,’ I offer, ‘I can get you a different stone. Or maybe even earrings or a necklace if you don’t wear rings. If you don’t want jewellery at all then I can—’
‘What does this mean, Vincenzo?’ Finally, she lifts her gaze from her plate. There’s no joy in her face, or even pleasure, no, it’s anger that glitters in her eyes now.
My disappointment twists hard and part of me is shocked by its intensity. Shocked by how much I wanted her to like these, by how important her opinion has become to me. How importantshehas become and how quickly.
I don’t like it. No one should bethatimportant to me, no one. There’s only one thing of any importance in my life and that’s my crusade. Nothing comes before that.
So I shove the feelings aside and force a smile, leaning back in my chair as I clasp my hands together. ‘It can mean anything you want it to mean.’ My lazy tone has never felt so forced. ‘I bought them because I thought you might like a prettier wedding band and an engagement ring to match.’
‘Don’t do that,’ she says unexpectedly, her green gaze seeing right through me. ‘Don’t do that cynical amusement thing you do.’
A flash of anger hits me, even though I know she’s right about the mask I wear, but I’m not happy with her pointing it out. ‘I’m not doing anything,gattina.I’m merely disappointed that you don’t like them.’
She stares at me then picks up her mimosa and takes a long swallow, toasting precisely nothing. ‘It’s not that I don’t like them,’ she says at last, putting her glass back down. ‘They’re beautiful.’
I know better than to let that mollify me. ‘Then what’s the issue?’ I demand. ‘If you don’t want them, I can—’
‘No. The issue is that I never agreed to marry you in the first place.’
‘I know you didn’t,’ I say, my hold on my temper starting to fray. ‘We’ve been through this. But the fact remains that we’re husband and wife now.’
‘So?’ She’s sitting rigid in her chair, her whole body looking as tense as mine feels. ‘I never wanted that.’
‘You were going to marry Bianchi,’ I point out, a strange and totally out of proportion anger simmering in my gut. ‘Which means you’d have ended up marrying anyway, so aren’t you glad you ended up with me instead?’
‘You’re not listening. I never wanted to marry Carlo. I never wanted to marryanyone.’
‘It’s done now,’ I say flatly. ‘And it can’t be undone.’
‘Bullshit.’ Her eyes glitter like the emeralds in the box, all sharp edges, anger flickering and leaping like a hot green fire. ‘We can get a divorce and you can let me make my own choices.’
My whole body goes tight with negation. Divorce her? Let her go? The wolf in me growls with fury at the thought, but I try to reel it back in. This anger is pointless and why I’m letting it get to me is anyone’s guess.
‘No,’ I say, putting every ounce of will I possess into the word. ‘It’s too late for that, Caterina.’
‘Why?’ she demands, her will matching mine strength for strength. ‘I want to be free to make my own decisions, Vincenzo. I want a life that isn’t…this.’ She waves a hand at the villa surrounding us. ‘I’ve already told you that.’
