‘Then what is?’ I asked with equanimity.
‘That you don’t want anything else. You want a wife when it suits you, and you definitely don’t want one when it doesn’t.’
‘That is not true.’
‘You don’t even know me. This is the first time we’ve spent any time together. Why on earth would you decide to be married to me—really married? Have you decided you want a baby after all?’
‘Actually, yes. As I told you, I need an heir.’
‘An heir? What is this? The fourteenth century?’
‘No, it’s the twenty-first—in a country that honours the concept of family.’
‘And yet until I mentioned wanting a family myself you didn’t seem too bothered by the notion. You certainly hadn’t thought of babies.’
‘I changed my mind.’
I stared at her flushed face, and her eyes glittering with anger, and wondered how our pleasant afternoon had morphed into this. She was angry, and I hadn’t expected her to be. I don’t think she had either.
‘Just like that,’ she said after a moment, deflating a little.
‘I gave it some thought, I assure you.’
‘Not very much.’
‘You underestimate me.’ Now I was getting angry as well. ‘So many assumptions, Daisy.’
‘Then maybe it’s time you tell me what you want from a wife, because you seem remarkably reluctant to do so.’
Which was true—simply because I didn’t want to broach the dreaded and unfortunate subject of love. I had no intention of falling in love with Daisy, and I knew I needed to be upfront about that from the start if a marriage of any kind between us was going to work. Yet I suspected saying so would back Daisy into a corner from which it would be very difficult to prise her.
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you what I would like from a wife. I would like a woman who will be a loving mother to my child and a willing partner in and out of bed.’
Her eyes widened, as if she hadn’t expected that much.
‘And I want someone I can have by my side at the various events and functions I must attend for work.’
As I said it I realised I meant it. It had become tedious, trying to find a suitable woman to accompany me to this or that. Imagine the ease of always having the same woman. Daisy.
‘And you think I’m that woman?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Matteo, I grew up dirt-poor in the backwoods of Kentucky. You’ve seen for yourself how little dress style I have. If I went to those types of events I’d only embarrass you.’
For some reason that angered me. ‘You would not embarrass me, Daisy.’
I almost told her that her background was not as insalubrious as my own, but I held my tongue. There was no need for me to part with such details now. She would undoubtedly—and unfortunately—learn them in time.
‘I can hire a personal stylist for you,’ I said instead. ‘Such things are easily learned.’
‘So is that it?’ she asked after a moment. ‘A wife in your bed and on your arm?’
‘You make it sound so little.’
‘It’s more than I expected, I suppose.’ She rested her chin in her hand, her expression turning distant. ‘But it’s not enough.’
Ah, here we were at the nub of the matter. Love—that nebulous, unnecessary emotion, so hard to pin down, so pointless to pursue. I should know.
‘I presume you’re talking about love?’ I said, in a tone a touch away from a bored drawl.
‘Yes, and I can tell you’re not impressed.’