Once a Moretti Wife

She allowed him to help her to her feet and held onto his arm as he led her to the bedroom he’d slept alone in for the past month.

The last twenty-four hours had brought such a change to his fortunes that Stefano was tempted to wonder whether it was he who had suffered a bump to his head.

His wife was back under his roof and shortly to be back in his bed.

He caught her unconcealed surprise when he opened the door to reveal a room cast in soft muted colours and dominated by an enormous emperor bed.

‘We chose the decor together,’ he told her. ‘You chose the bed.’ It had been the first

thing they’d bought as a married couple. He’d known she would hate sleeping in a bed he’d shared with other women.

And now they would share it again. Anna needed to know that this was theirs, a bedroom they’d created together, a room they’d made love in hundreds of times. He needed to consolidate in her mind that they were a properly married couple and that it was natural for them to sleep together.

He couldn’t begin to dissect his own feelings about sleeping by the side of the woman who had played him for a fool so spectacularly.

‘Seriously?’ she asked in a voice that had gone husky.

‘Sì. And when you’re better I can promise you’ll enjoy it as we always used to. But all that can wait. Consultant’s orders are for you to do nothing but rest for the next few days. I promised I would take care of you and you know I am a man of my word.’

He always kept his word. To his way of thinking it was what separated humans from animals. He’d married Anna giving his word that he would be faithful. He’d given his word that if he ever felt the impulse to cheat he would tell her before acting on it and they would go their separate ways.

She’d given him her word too. She’d promised she would trust him. Her word had been a lie. Her intentions had been a lie. It had all been a lie. Their entire marriage had been built on lies and deception. No sooner had she left him than she’d hit him with her demands for a massive slice of the fortune he’d built from nothing.

Anna was a greedy liar who had made a fool of him, and for that she would pay the price.

But however greedy and conniving his wife was, right then she was too wiped out for any games.

She slumped onto the bed and sat there blinking to try and keep her eyes open. He sank to his knees and unlaced her boots before carefully removing them, then got her settled and comfortable under the bed sheets. She was asleep before the automatic curtains had finished shutting.

His guts twisted as he took in the sallowness of her complexion and the dark hollows under her eyes. He fought his primal reaction to lean over and smooth the hair from her face and place a kiss on her cheek.

He closed the door on the darkened room. There was no place in their relationship for sympathy. Anna’s amnesia and her current vulnerability did not change what she’d done to him. Nothing could change that.

Soon her concussion would pass and she would be physically fit again.

Then the games could commence in earnest.

* * *

When Anna next opened her eyes, her first conscious thought was that someone lay beside her.

Not someone. Stefano.

When had he come to bed?

She hardly remembered getting into bed herself her exhaustion had been so sudden and so complete.

Stefano had brought her to the apartment early afternoon. Judging by the absolute darkness shrouding her it now had to be the early hours of morning. She must have slept for a good twelve hours straight and she felt better for it. The nausea had gone and her head felt thick and fuzzy rather than pounding. Her throat was parched but even if she knew where the kitchen was she didn’t dare move from the bed. She hardly dared to breathe.

That was Stefano lying beside her, sharing this bed. If she moved her foot it would brush against his leg.

Did he have clothes on? Or was he lying there naked...?

The only sounds were his rhythmic breathing and the thundering of her heart.

It was the strangest feeling in the world to be in such an intimate environment with him, especially after eighteen months of doggedly keeping their relationship on a professional footing. She’d spent more time with him than anyone else when their working lives had bound them together. They’d travelled all over the world together, eaten together, had the occasional drink together, sniped at each other, laughed at each other, laughed with each other, sworn at each other, thrown things at each other...yet she had never allowed him to cross the threshold into her private life and had steadfastly refused to cross the threshold into his. They’d never been alone as they were now.

And here she was. Married to him and wholly aware that during their marriage they had done far more than merely sleep in this bed.