She bit her lip. 'We didn't spend long enough talking—'
'Evidently.' He nodded. 'As you rightly said, we shared our bodies but very little else. I learned more about you during these last few weeks in Sicily than for the whole of our marriage.'
'What did you learn?'
'That you are a warm, loving person and extremely forgiving.' He closed his eyes briefly. 'Extremely forgiving. In spite of the wrong she did you, you came to the aid of my sister. That must have been very hard.'
'Not that hard. She was young-—'
His eyes hardened. 'Don't make excuses for something which we both know cannot be excused. I will talk to Chiara at some point but that is not for you to worry about.'
'So that is why you came here?' She hardly dared ask the question. 'To apologize?'
He frowned. 'And to tell you that the divorce is off. I thought I'd made that clear.'
Her heart leaped but she held herself back. 'Nothing's really changed, Rico.'
'Everything has changed,' he announced with his usual self-confidence, grabbing her hand and sweeping her off the table. 'This time I really understand what you need and I'm about to prove it to you.'
Stasia swallowed. What she really needed was love. His love. But, as usual, love was the one thing he hadn't mentioned. 'Where are we going?'
'To show you the other reason that it took me two weeks to come and claim you. I was busy.' He looked smugly satisfied with himself and she followed him to the sports car. mystified.
They drove for a short distance and then he turned up a tree-lined road and drove half a mile up a drive to a private house.
He parked the car and they both walked a little way up the drive.
'You said that I didn't understand you and this is the proof that I do.' He sounded amazingly pleased with himself. I know that you love the English countryside but I can't live in a house that is smaller than the average bathroom so this is my compromise.' He looked at her but she returned his gaze blankly.
'Sorry?' Her gaze slid from his to the beautiful Georgian mansion at the end of the drive. 'What has this house got to do with us?'
'We own it.' He made the announcement in the matter-of-fact tone of someone with a bottomless bank account and she gaped at the house and then back at him.
'We own it?'
'That's right.' He dealt her a brilliant smile, totally confident in himself and his decision. 'You like the country. I bought you this. Now tell me I don't understand you.'
As his words sank in she closed her fingers into her palms and closed her eyes. She could feel him looking at her. Feel the weight of his expectation.
'You are pleased.'
'No.' She spoke through gritted teeth, wondering if there ever was a man as infuriating as Rico Crisanti. Finally she opened her eyes and looked at him. 'If you must know, I'm trying to resist the temptation to throttle you.'
Dark, incredulous eyes swept over her. ‘Cosa? It is not to your taste?'
'Of course it's to my taste. It's beautiful. It would be to anyone's taste.'
He gave her a look of pure masculine frustration. 'Then why would you want to throttle me?'
'Because you've totally missed the point and, despite what you think, you clearly don't understand me at all—' Her voice was choked with emotion. 'It isn't about the house, Rico. It isn't about living in the country. It's about sharing. About making decisions together. About being equal. That's what I want. I don't want to be given a house, however stunning. I want to choose something together.'
He stiffened, growled something under his breath in Italian and strode off down the path towards the gardens, clearly a man at the limits of his patience.
Stasia sank on to the nearest piece of lawn and just sobbed. They were so different; it was no wonder that their relationship had never stood a chance. He just didn't understand the first thing about her.
She cried until there were no tears left and when she finally gave a gulp and opened her eyes he was standing there.
'I just can't get it right with you. can I? I create a studio for you in Sicily, expecting you to love it and you look so hurt that I have no idea what I have done wrong. And I chose the house because I thought you would like it,' he said flatly, spreading his hands in a supremely Italian gesture. 'You love England. You love the country. I thought this was perfect. I'm trying so hard to understand you that it's become an obsession. I am delegating so much at work that my own staff barely recognize me any more.'