An Italian Dream

She didn’t look at anyone else and she didn’t wait for a reply. She paced to the villa and into the living room. With everyone outside, it was quiet and far enough away for their conversation to not be overheard.

Her heart thumped, but she felt calm and more sure of herself than she had in a very long time, as if an emotional clarity had cleared her mind of any uncertainty.

Paul was frowning as he entered the room. ‘I don’t think this is the—’

‘I want a divorce.’ She held his gaze and stood her ground.

‘Fern, hey, hey,’ he said soothingly as if trying to placate her like she was an overexcited dog. He closed the gap between them and caught hold of her hand. ‘You don’t really mean that.’ His pale-blue eyes bored into her. He was achingly familiar and had been part of her world for more than half of her life now, yet the way he was looking at her made her skin crawl. To have so little respect for her, yet still have the audacity to question why she would want to leave him, only made her more determined.

‘Actually, Paul, I do.’ She yanked her hand from his. ‘I’ve never been more certain about anything. Deep down, I’ve known all along that you’re a complete and utter cheating bastard; I know for certain now.’

‘I’ve made mistakes.’ He held up his hands. ‘But I can change.’

She scoffed and shook her head. ‘Oh my God, Paul. You can’t. You know you can’t. I know you can’t. And I don’t want you to, because I don’t want to be with you any longer. What I don’t get is why you would even want to stay with me?’

‘We have a good thing—’

‘No.’ She physically backed away from him. ‘You had a good thing. You stayed with me because I turned a blind eye and you had a cushy life. I looked after you, I looked after the girls, looked after our home, while you worked and then enjoyed yourself. For arse’s sake, I cooked and froze bloody meals for you because I felt guilty that you’d have to look after yourself while I was here.’

‘Don’t forget, you have a damn good life too.’ His tone had changed, a hardness creeping into it. ‘You really think you’re going to cope on your own? What are you going to do for a job? For money?’

‘You’re a piece of work.’ Fern shook her head. ‘I’ve been coping on my own pretty much the whole time we’ve been together. And if you don’t think we’re a partnership when it comes to the business, then you’re stupid as well as a liar and a cheat. Yes, you’ve always worked hard, but don’t forget, I single-handedly raised the girls and supported you building that business in the early days. Who did the bookkeeping, huh? Who answered the calls and booked jobs while dealing with toddler tantrums or tried to squeeze everything in between school hours while also keeping the house clean and tidy, cooking and bloody looking after you? You’ve had it so good. And I’ve been an idiot for putting up with it for so long.’ Her heart raced and sweat dribbled down the side of her face. Gone was the cool calmness she’d entered the room with. She took a deep breath and held his gaze. ‘When we get back home, I’m filing for divorce.’

‘I’ll believe that when it happens,’ he said. ‘You’ll be lost without me.’

He walked away. Fern didn’t attempt to go after him. His callousness and disregard for how much he’d hurt her made her all the more determined to go through with everything she’d said. She’d prove him wrong; she was certain of it.