‘No... he could not have handled that and stayed,’ Constantine conceded half under his breath.
‘He had already had so much to bear.’ The older woman looked at Rosie and sighed heavily. ‘All my life I’d received everything I wanted without effort. When my son was stillborn, when I finally had to accept that I was unlikely ever to give birth to a living child, I took my bitterness and my anger out on my husband and I rejected him. I told him I needed to be alone and I drove him away. I had less right than most to complain when he turned to another woman...’
Constantine frowned darkly. ‘I had no idea your marriage had ever been in trouble.’
‘It was before you came to us. And I allowed Rosie to remain a secret to conserve my own pride too. I also knew that her mother was married and I felt safe. As the years passed, I always made a point of seeking out those photos. Anton only placed them in a safety-deposit box shortly before he died.’
‘All this time...you knew about me,’ Rosie whispered in a daze.
‘But it never occurred to me that Anton had found you. I was aware that he had attempted to trace you when you were younger and reached a dead end. When he became so buoyantly cheerful six months ago, I even suspected that he was having another affair.’ Thespina surveyed the younger woman with wry but warm eyes. ‘But I’m not sorry that he found you, Rosie. I’m glad that he was able to spend time with you before he died. I do know what that must have meant to him.’
Rosie licked her dry lips. ‘You’re being very understanding.’
‘Secrets make everyone so uncomfortable,’ Thespina pointed out ruefully. ‘I am also now aware of the terms of my husband’s new will. I would be very grateful if one of you would now tell me whether you are genuinely married or only pretending to be married for the sake of that will.’
Rosie swallowed the giant lump impeding her voice. ‘We’re faking it—’
‘Like hell we are!’ Constantine shot at Rosie in raw, angry disagreement.
‘Perhaps I was a little premature with that question.’ Setting down her empty coffee-cup with a faintly amused smile, Thespina stood up. ‘But if you feel you could stay together long enough to supply me with a grandchild I would be very much obliged. I’ve been waiting a long time for that pleasure.’
Rosie studied her feet, burning colour in her cheeks. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Constantine but she also realised what her father’s widow was trying to tell her. Thespina was letting her know that she was ready to accept her as part of the family.
‘Where are you going?’ Constantine demanded of his stepmother.
‘This was only intended as a flying visit to clear the air. I shall come back and see Son Fontanal some other time. By the way, Rosie...’
Rosie glanced up nervously. Thespina smiled again. ‘Your father managed to persuade his mother not to sell the family portraits with the house. I would be happy to see them hung here where they belong.’
‘Thespina could run rings around Machiavelli,’ Rosie mumbled as the limousine disappeared from view. ‘She wiped the floor with us both.’
Still in shock, she started back indoors. And then it hit her: Thespina knew everything. There was no further need for pretence, no necessity to wait before seeking a divorce. All of a sudden, Rosie’s lower limbs felt like toothpicks struggling weakly to wade through a swamp. Thespina had dissolved the artificial boundaries within which their relationship had been formed. They had run out of time.
‘How could you tell her that our marriage was a fake?’ Constantine condemned wrathfully. ‘Did you really think that was necessary?’
With difficulty, Rosie straightened her slumped shoulders and dug deep into her reserves of pride as she forced herself round to face him. ‘I told the truth. After she had been so frank, anything less would have been an insult.’
Glittering black eyes centred on her with near-physical force. ‘How was it the truth? Are we not married? Are we not lovers?’
Rosie’s nerves were jangling like piano wires. ‘You made it very clear how you felt about me last night.’
‘Christos ... I thought I did but now I’m not so sure. You put me through hell for no good reason. I may have wounded your pride by dismissing your claim to be Anton’s daughter but you must have realised that the concept struck me as so incredible, I didn’t even pause to consider it!’ Shimmering dark eyes intercepted her evasive gaze. ‘OK...I was in the wrong, but what I don’t understand is your failure to repeat that claim once we knew each other better.’
‘I didn’t see that it would make any difference—’
‘It would’ve made one hell of a difference if I’d known! And stop acting dumb!’ Constantine bit out in frustration. ‘I was shattered by the contents of that file. You seemed so open yet you had hidden the very essence of yourself from me...’
Her fingers clenched in on themselves as she faced the prospect of never seeing him again. Just walking away as if they had never been together, as if the past weeks had never happened. Acid burned her aching throat. The fear that she could not control her turbulent emotions drove her to say, ‘It doesn’t matter now, does it? We don’t need to pretend for anyone’s benefit now. We can get a divorce.’
Constantine perceptibly froze, his strong face clenching. ‘I don’t want a divorce.’
A great flood of pain and bitterness welled up inside Rosie, threatening her fast splintering control. And then the dam broke as she shot him a look of fierce condemnation. ‘I’m not staying married to you just because you’ve got this stupid macho thing about keeping faith with what my father wanted!’
Constantine glowered at her in apparent incredulity. ‘This is not a macho thing, Rosie,’ he said drily.
A sob rollicked about like a death rattle in her chest. ‘Call it what you like. I’m going upstairs to get packed!’
She raced out of the room and upstairs as if all the hounds of hell were on her trail. In fact they were inside her head. A weak, seductive little voice which she loathed was already pointing out that Constantine was offering himself on a plate. If he was stupid enough to do that and she wanted him, why shouldn’t she hang onto him any way she could? Pride would be a cold, lonely bedfellow and there was nothing cold about Constantine. She dashed an angry hand over her tear-filled eyes.