She put both her hands on his chest, needing the feel of his warmth under her fingers. “Don’t talk about dying.”
“Do not talk about leaving me.”
“It isn’t the same thing.”
“No. It is worse, for a man does not choose when he may die but you are talking about willfully killing our marriage and removing yourself from my life.”
“For your own good. Don’t you understand that?” she appealed in a choked voice.
“I understand you believe it is for my good, but you are wrong.”
“But—”
“Stop arguing with me. You made a lifetime commitment to me, Princess Therese Scorsolini. I will not let you break it. I will not let you leave me.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“I can. Even if you walk away, I will not remarry. There will be no other chance at heirs for me.”
“Once the divorce is final, you’ll change your mind,” she said, hurting because she was sure it was true.
“There will be no divorce. Perhaps I am not so archaic that I will physically keep you against your will, but there will be no other marriage for either of us.”
“You can’t stop it.”
“I may be powerless to stop some things, my intransigent little wife, but we are talking the divorce laws of Isole dei Re here, not American law. You cannot divorce a member of the royal family without their consent. I will not give it. Ever.”
“That is archaic.”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged, obviously not in the least offended by that judgment. “But it is our law. And we were married here, Therese…not in the States. Remember that.”
“But—”
“There are no buts.” He seemed supremely pleased by that statement, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
She didn’t understand it. Surely marriage to her was the weight. “You want to be a father.”
He smiled and one hand settled gently over her lower abdomen. “Yes, and I would like nothing more than for you to carry my child, but we can adopt if you cannot conceive. You will be such a good mother once you get this notion of divorce out of your head.”
“We can’t adopt,” she gasped. “What about progenitor?”
“Of course we can. As for the ascension to the throne, I will have to name my nephew my successor, but it can be done. We are modern royalty, not one of my ancestors.”
“This from the man who just told me he was sticking with an archaic law to keep me married to him?”
“I have had enough of this talk of divorce.” He carefully lifted her from his lap and set her on the bench. Then he stood up and looked down at her, his eyes filled with censure. “You are one of the most compassionate people I know, but you do not seem to care when you stomp with hobnailed boots all over my feelings and my ideals. If all you wanted was a sperm donor when you married, why did you not go to a sperm bank instead?”
“What?” Had he lost his mind? “I don’t think of you as a sperm donor!”
“But the moment you discover I cannot get you pregnant you are ready to divorce me.”
“Not for my sake, for yours,” she stressed, but she was beginning to doubt the validity of her own arguments.
He patently did not want a divorce. Whether it was guilt, a sense of responsibility, pride or just plain physical desire not spent that was prompting him, he wanted to stay married…to her. She’d never anticipated this reaction.
He was still glaring down at her. “It is not for my sake if it will make me unhappy.”
“Would divorcing me make you unhappy?”
“What the blasted hell do you think I have been saying here?”
She stared at him, totally unsure what to say.
“Say something.”
“I’m in shock.”
“And that makes me angry. What have I done to make you believe our marriage meant nothing to me?”
“We married for convenience. It wasn’t about love. I knew that when you asked me to be your wife. I fit your requirements. All of them.”
“You are right…I married you because you were the ideal woman for me. That being the case, what made you determine I have no feelings for you? Of course I do.” But he looked like the words shocked him, as if he was having some kind of major inner revelation.
She refused to speculate about what that could be. She’d hurt herself too much already believing in moonshine and manmade miracles.
“You are everything I wanted in a woman and more, cara,” he said more quietly.
“But you don’t love me.”
“What is love, if it is not what we have?”
That at least, she had a definitive answer for. “It’s what your brothers have with their wives. I’ve seen a Scorsolini male in love…first Tomasso, then Marcello and even lately your father with Flavia. It is not the way you are with me.”