Public Wife, Private Mistress

She was tried and convicted and yet she was totally innocent.

'You don't trust me. Do you? After all these months, everything we shared, you don't trust me.'

'I trust my eyes.'

'Use your brain. Rico.' She. who never pleaded with anyone, was pleading with him now. She understood that it looked bad and she knew that she was in an impossible situation. To tell the truth would have im­plicated his sister and would destroy their relationship for ever, but to leave the truth untold might destroy her marriage and she wasn't prepared to let that happen. 'You know how much I love you. I'm always telling you that.'

His eyes clashed with hers. 'You're also always tell­ing me that you're lonely and bored while I'm away working. It would appear that you've found yourself a distraction, my beautiful wife.'

'That is not what's happened here.'

He made a sound that was something between a growl and a roar, the sound of a possessive, jeal­ous male.

'Get out,' he said thickly, 'while I decide what to do.'

His complete refusal to listen to her sent her own temper soaring. 'While you decide what to do? Well, let me save you the effort, Rico. I'm deciding for both of us. I'm leaving you and this sham of a relationship that we laughingly call a marriage. I'm fed up with spending my days

just waiting for you to come home. You don't want a partner. You don't want equality in a relationship. You just want a live-in mistress and I'm not prepared to be that any more. I deserve more.'

Without waiting for his response, she turned sharply, wincing as she heard the sound of glass smashing against the door as she slammed it behind her.

Stasia's thoughts returned to the present and she real­ized that the time had come to be practical. Nothing could be changed now. Too much time had passed.

She'd leave quietly, without saying any awkward goodbyes. Without subjecting Chiara to any further trauma.

And it occurred to her suddenly that she didn't need the suitcase. Everything here belonged to a life that was no longer hers. She would leave the way she'd ar­rived—with nothing.

Not allowing herself to look at the rumpled bed, the scene of their earlier loving, she found her bag. checked that she had her passport, and rang Gio to ask for the use of the car.

Hoping that there would be too much activity in the house with doctors coming and going for anyone to notice her departure, Stasia made her way to the front of the villa.

Although the sun had barely started to rise it was unbelievably warm and she glanced at the sky, thinking numbly that it was going to be another beautiful day.

A day that she would not be here to enjoy.

Gio gave her a searching look. 'You are leaving?'

'It's time.' She managed a brief smile. 'This wasn't for ever, Gio. We both know that.'

He frowned, clearly far from happy with the idea that she was leaving. 'Does the boss know? I think I ought to—'

No. That was the last thing she wanted. Painful good­byes were not on her list of favourite experiences. And for once she understood the reason for Gio's loyalty. Their families were bound by something far stronger than mere friendship. Each had contributed to the other's very survival.

'I need to get going. Gio' she said quickly, 'and you needn't worry. Rico knows.'

She comforted herself with the fact that she wasn't telling a lie. Rico did know. He'd made it perfectly clear that this scenario would last as long as it took for Chiara to regain her memory.

Stasia slipped into the car, trying not to wish that Chiara had taken a little longer to achieve that state. The teenager was obviously now on the road to recov­ery and that was a very good thing.

She sat in silence as the car sped through the spec­tacular sunrise towards the airport, drinking in her last view of Sicily.

She knew that she would never be back.

'It's fantastic' Mark stared at the painting in awe. 'A bit late, but worth the wait.'

'I had to go abroad unexpectedly,' Stasia said stiffly, packing the painting carefully and helping him lift it and carry it out of her studio to the front door.

She'd been back for two weeks and she was operating on automatic. She woke up every day and went through the motions of living, but it wasn't living as she knew it. Since leaving Sicily life had lost its sparkle and so had she. She felt like a glass of champagne left to go flat at a wedding.