For the first time in days, her temper flared. She put her brushes down. ‘One week, Nico. I agreed to come here for one week.’
He crossed his arms over his chest. The gesture reminded her of the way he and Leo had confronted her six days ago. How they had bulldozed her into coming here. She’d been angry, hating the loss of her independence, the sense of having control of her life stripped away. Which was why she’d laid down her own rules—rules Nico was now completely ignoring.
‘Until your stalker is caught, this is the safest place for you to be.’
She folded her arms, mirroring his pose with an equally resolute one of her own. ‘And when will you catch him?’ she demanded to know. ‘Next week? Next month?’
Something glittered in his eyes. ‘Is that an appalling idea, chérie? Spending an entire month with me?’
She pressed her lips together before she could blurt out the word no. The idea didn’t appal her. Not in the slightest. In fact it made her feel light-headed. Euphoric. And that was wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
She wasn’t meant to want more of him.
‘This is hardly a joking matter,’ she said. ‘I have a job to get back to. A life. And it’s my nephew’s first birthday party on Saturday—I told Leo and Helena I wouldn’t miss it.’
‘I’ve spoken with Leo and he agrees you should stay.’
Her anger bloomed, swift and bright and vivid like a bloodstain on cotton. How dared they? ‘That’s not Leo’s decision to make—nor, might I add, is it yours!’
She seized the wheels of her chair and propelled herself towards the doorway.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To call my sister-in-law,’ she snapped.
‘Why?’
‘Because she’s got more sense than you and my brother put together!’
And maybe Helena could change her husband’s mind. If Marietta had Leo on her side Nico would have to let her go—a thought that only sharpened the ache in her chest.
And that made her angrier still.
* * *
Sisterhood, it turned out, was overrated.
Helena had sided with the men. Marietta had wanted to express her anger over the phone but found she couldn’t. Her sister-in-law’s stance came from a place of caring and concern, and Marietta wasn’t angry with Helena. She was angry at the situation—and with Nico for his high-handedness. He hadn’t even consulted her first. He’d simply made the decision.
She managed a smile for the young waitress who had arrived at the table with her dessert and then realised the courtesy was a wasted effort. The girl was more interested in casting pretty smiles at Nico, even though she looked as if she was barely out of her teens and he was surely too old for her.
He had that powerful effect on women. She imagined he always would. He’d carry those rugged good looks and that dark sex appeal into his later years and become one of those sexy, distinguished-looking older men to whom women of all ages flocked.
The thought didn’t improve Marietta’s mood.
And if Nico had hoped a nice meal and the buoyant atmosphere of the Bouchards’ seaside restaurant would, he was in for disappointment. She picked up her spoon and cracked the hard caramelised top of her crème brûlée with a sharp jab.
‘You’re still angry.’
She glanced across the table at him. He was clean-shaven for the first time in two days and the skin over his hard jaw looked bronzed and taut in the golden candlelight which flickered from the glass holder on the table.
‘Of course,’ she said, opting for honesty, because no matter how hard she strove for the kind of composure she’d often admired in her sister-in-law she’d never been very good at hiding her emotions. ‘I’m missing an important family event by staying here, Nico.’
His long fingers toyed with his espresso cup. ‘You would put a child’s birthday party above your own safety?’
‘It’s not just any child’s party,’ she retorted. ‘It’s my nephew’s very first birthday and a milestone I won’t get to share with him now.’