‘What are you doing?’ he questioned slowly.
‘You mean apart from making a cake?’ she enquired, determinedly cheerful as she opened the smoked glass door of the oven to extract it.
Ciro watched the curve of her bottom as she bent forward and it mimicked the very first time he’d seen her baking, when he’d been blown away by the sight of her luscious young body. The memory should have filled him with desire but instead all he felt was a crushing sense of sadness. He stared at the cake as she put it down. ‘What’s all this in aid of?’
Would she sound crazy if she told him that she’d needed to reclaim something familiar? Something which would make her feel like herself again—instead of a woman who was just playing a part. She lifted her eyes to meet his, praying for his understanding.
‘I’ve just realised how long it is since I’ve done any baking. Would you like some? It always tastes best when you eat it straight from the oven.’
He shook his head as her words seem to fly out of the air to mock him. She’d said them once before, a long time ago—and they reminded him of everything he’d hoped for. All those simple pleasures which now seemed a world away from the bittersweet reality of their life together. ‘No, thanks,’ he said, wondering why he should care that her face had crumpled with disappointment and that she was biting on her lip as if she was trying to stop it from trembling. ‘Did you go and see my mother?’
‘I did.’
‘And?’
Lily stared at him. Maybe if he’d been a little more understanding—a little kinder—then she might have trodden carefully. If he’d accepted a slice of warm cake as a gesture of conciliation, then inevitably she would have softened. But in that moment his cold face seemed to confirm all the things his mother had said about him and any thoughts of diplomacy rushed straight out of her mind. ‘She told me a few very interesting things.’
Ciro loosened his tie. He wanted to affect lack of interest, to tell her that he didn’t really care, but the truth of it was that his curiosity had been aroused. ‘Oh?’ he questioned. ‘Such as?’
She sucked in a deep breath. ‘Such as you’ve never forgiven her for having boyfriends when you were young.’
There was brief, disbelieving pause. ‘She said what?’ he questioned dangerously.
‘Did you know that your mother suffered post-natal depression?’ she asked quickly. ‘And that was one of the reasons your father left her?’
‘So it was all his fault?’ he snapped.
‘It’s nobody’s fault!’ she retorted, but she could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage. ‘It’s just the way things were. Nobody was doing very much about post-natal depression back then. Your mother told me… well, she said she wanted you to have a father figure you could look up to.’
‘That was very good of her,’ he ground out. ‘She certainly auditioned enough men for that particular role!’
‘You’re hateful,’ Lily whispered as she saw the unforgiving hardness in his eyes. ‘Can’t you see that your mother’s getting older and she’s terrified she’s going to die and that none of this stuff will be resolved?’
‘That’s enough!’ he snapped.
‘No, it’s not,’ she fired back. ‘It’s not nearly enough! I actually found myself feeling sorry for her, for having to put up with your coldness and your control-freakery ways all these years. Except that now I discover that I’m doing exactly the same. I’m behaving in a way I’m growing to despise.’
His voice was a hiss of deadly silk. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about me accepting the unacceptable! About us maintaining this façade of a marriage for however many months you think we should—just for the sake of your damned image!’
There was a pause. ‘But we agreed, Lily.’
‘Yes, we did,’ she said. But hadn’t there been an ulterior motive behind her easy agreement, even if she hadn’t acknowledged it at the time? Hadn’t part of her hoped that time might dissolve some of his anger towards her? That they could get back some of what they’d once had—something which she had called love and which she’d hoped Ciro might one day come to feel for her, too. Except that they hadn’t, had they? He had shown no sign of softening—not to the woman who had given birth to him, and not to the woman he’d married either. No matter what their supposed ‘sins’ were, there was no forgiveness in Ciro D’Angelo’s heart for the women who had hurt him. And the longer she stayed, the more damaged her own heart would become. Especially as she just couldn’t seem to stop loving him, no matter what he threw at her.
‘But I’ve changed my mind,’ she said slowly. ‘I can’t maintain this false life with you any longer. And I want to go back to England.’
‘You can’t do that,’ he said repressively.
‘Why, won’t you allow me to?’ Fearlessly now, she met his dark eyes. ‘Will you go one step further in your very convincing role as tyrant husband and try to stop me? Chain me to the sofa, perhaps—or keep me on a very long leash?’
She didn’t
wait for him to answer, just ran to the bathroom and locked the slammed door behind her. She stared at her ashen face in the mirror and heard the loud beat of her heart, knowing there was one certain way guaranteed to give her back her freedom. But could she do it? Could she go through with it?
She was in there for ten minutes before she heard him calling her name and knew she had to face him—because wasn’t that the whole point of what she’d done? But the taste in her mouth was bitter as she slowly opened the door to him and she saw the revulsion in his eyes even before she heard the ragged breath of horror he sucked in.
‘Per l’amor del cielo!’ he exclaimed harshly. ‘Lily, what have you done?’