charitable donation to the hospice. I suspected it ever since they assigned us to Cristina around the clock. That’s not normal operating procedure for us.”
“What if I did?” Vanni asked. How could he look so hot and sun-gilded reclining there, while his tone and eyes were frigid? “It’s a good cause. And I wanted special care for Cristina.”
“And you don’t think all the money you sent Mrs. Ring’s way had any effect whatsoever on her decision to give me a vacation on the spur of the moment when you requested it personally?” Emma asked sarcastically, trying to put on her cover-up and twisting it hopelessly because of her angry, jerky motions.
“I have no idea if it did or not,” he said.
“Give me a break,” Emma said disgustedly, jamming her foot into a flip-flop.
“Where are you going?” he asked sharply when she started to walk toward the house and the dressing room. Her clothing was still in there.
“Home. You know, that apartment
you
own?” she asked scathingly over her shoulder.
“Emma, stop.”
She halted instinctively at his tone, but her immobility seemed to make the fury in her chest froth even higher. He touched her upper arm and she turned to see him standing there, his blue-green eyes seeming to glow in his tanned, shadowed face.
“I’m sorry if you think it was intrusive of me,” he said stiffly. “I did it because I wanted to make things easier for you. Don’t make more of this than it is.”
Her eyes burned. “But it
is
more, Vanni.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you’ve offered me a limited affair, and I’ve accepted. You’ve agreed to give little of yourself, besides what you offer in bed,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. “You can’t do that and then try to control the private parts of my life as well . . . my home, my clothing, my job. It’s not
fair
.”
“Emma, listen to—”
“No,” she cut him off. Everything seemed to fall down on her all at once, crushing her, making breathing difficult. The whole situation with Mrs. Ring had flipped the lid off her anxiety . . . her fear that she was going to be hurt by him . . . her growing certainty. “Please send back all the clothing you bought for me yesterday.”
His expression went flat. “What about our trip?”
“I’m not going,” she said before she broke his hold on her arm and walked toward the house.
* * *
Wednesday evening, Emma heard a knock on her bedroom door. She quickly grabbed a tissue from her bedside table and wiped her cheeks and eyes.
“Come in,” she called.
Amanda poked her head into the crack of the partially open door.
“I made grilled salmon and a big casserole of Mom’s macaroni and cheese,” she said, her gaze running over Emma’s face concernedly. Emma gave her a tired, knowing smile. It’d been their favorite meal when they were kids. Amanda was trying to cheer her up, her worry mounting ever since Emma returned home on Monday afternoon, pale and upset. Emma had provided her sister with the skeleton of an explanation for her emotional state, saying she and Vanni had fought, and that she had canceled a trip to attend the Montand French-American Grand Prix with him. Amanda had been amazed by the news, but tried to be supportive and not ask too many questions.
After their confrontation, Vanni had finally agreed to take her home, but he’d been tight-lipped and fuming for the whole drive.
“You
do
realize that I have to leave tomorrow, whether you come or not?” he’d demanded when he parked the Montand sedan in her apartment parking lot.
“I know it,” Emma had said, staring out the window because it was too difficult to look at him.
“And you’re still going to continue with this . . . this
tantrum
?” he’d asked.
That’d poured fuel on her simmering anger. She flared like a flash fire. “Just the fact that you’re calling this a
tantrum
proves my whole point. I’m not a child! What you did wasn’t a small
“What if I did?” Vanni asked. How could he look so hot and sun-gilded reclining there, while his tone and eyes were frigid? “It’s a good cause. And I wanted special care for Cristina.”
“And you don’t think all the money you sent Mrs. Ring’s way had any effect whatsoever on her decision to give me a vacation on the spur of the moment when you requested it personally?” Emma asked sarcastically, trying to put on her cover-up and twisting it hopelessly because of her angry, jerky motions.
“I have no idea if it did or not,” he said.
“Give me a break,” Emma said disgustedly, jamming her foot into a flip-flop.
“Where are you going?” he asked sharply when she started to walk toward the house and the dressing room. Her clothing was still in there.
“Home. You know, that apartment
you
own?” she asked scathingly over her shoulder.
“Emma, stop.”
She halted instinctively at his tone, but her immobility seemed to make the fury in her chest froth even higher. He touched her upper arm and she turned to see him standing there, his blue-green eyes seeming to glow in his tanned, shadowed face.
“I’m sorry if you think it was intrusive of me,” he said stiffly. “I did it because I wanted to make things easier for you. Don’t make more of this than it is.”
Her eyes burned. “But it
is
more, Vanni.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you’ve offered me a limited affair, and I’ve accepted. You’ve agreed to give little of yourself, besides what you offer in bed,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. “You can’t do that and then try to control the private parts of my life as well . . . my home, my clothing, my job. It’s not
fair
.”
“Emma, listen to—”
“No,” she cut him off. Everything seemed to fall down on her all at once, crushing her, making breathing difficult. The whole situation with Mrs. Ring had flipped the lid off her anxiety . . . her fear that she was going to be hurt by him . . . her growing certainty. “Please send back all the clothing you bought for me yesterday.”
His expression went flat. “What about our trip?”
“I’m not going,” she said before she broke his hold on her arm and walked toward the house.
* * *
Wednesday evening, Emma heard a knock on her bedroom door. She quickly grabbed a tissue from her bedside table and wiped her cheeks and eyes.
“Come in,” she called.
Amanda poked her head into the crack of the partially open door.
“I made grilled salmon and a big casserole of Mom’s macaroni and cheese,” she said, her gaze running over Emma’s face concernedly. Emma gave her a tired, knowing smile. It’d been their favorite meal when they were kids. Amanda was trying to cheer her up, her worry mounting ever since Emma returned home on Monday afternoon, pale and upset. Emma had provided her sister with the skeleton of an explanation for her emotional state, saying she and Vanni had fought, and that she had canceled a trip to attend the Montand French-American Grand Prix with him. Amanda had been amazed by the news, but tried to be supportive and not ask too many questions.
After their confrontation, Vanni had finally agreed to take her home, but he’d been tight-lipped and fuming for the whole drive.
“You
do
realize that I have to leave tomorrow, whether you come or not?” he’d demanded when he parked the Montand sedan in her apartment parking lot.
“I know it,” Emma had said, staring out the window because it was too difficult to look at him.
“And you’re still going to continue with this . . . this
tantrum
?” he’d asked.
That’d poured fuel on her simmering anger. She flared like a flash fire. “Just the fact that you’re calling this a
tantrum
proves my whole point. I’m not a child! What you did wasn’t a small
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