The Proud Wife by Kate Walker Page B

honeymoon.
    â€˜What are we doing here?’
    The tangled feelings that had knotted in her throat made the words come out in a strangled gasp, one that had her wishing she could control herself better and not give so much away.
    Pietro barely spared her a glance as he steered the car into the small courtyard and brought it to a smooth halt.
    How could he be so heartless as to bring her here, to the tiny isolated cottage where they had spent the seven magical days of their honeymoon?
    For one short week she had lived an idyll of joy and innocence. It had all been so totally perfect. She had been crazily in love with her brand-new husband and hadbelieved that he felt the same about her. It was only when they had moved to the spectacular surroundings of the palazzo , and the sophisticated way of life that Pietro knew there, that she had realised how naive she was to think that the week in Casalina had been anything like the reality she could look forward to.
    â€˜I said I wanted somewhere quiet.’
    Well, it was that—too quiet, as far as Marina was concerned. Quiet might have made for perfection when she had been alone with him before. When all she had wanted was to be with Pietro, revel in his company, enjoy his conversation and indulge in the untamed sensuality of his love-making. Then, being alone with him had been a glorious thing, each day pure joy from start to finish. Now it was something to dread, to anticipate with a terrible sense of foreboding, like a dark thundercloud looming on the horizon bringing with it the threat of dangerous weather.
    â€˜Are you coming in?’ he asked her now, striding into the small house as if all the memories that were swirling round her, tugging at her nerves and twisting her heart in pain, meant nothing at all to him.
    But then, of course, that was probably exactly how he felt. There would be no distress in his thoughts of their honeymoon, the time spent at Casalina together, because he had never suffered from the foolish, romantic delusions that had held her in their grip. He had never thought that all his dreams had come true—in fact she doubted if he had ever dreamed of anything in his life.
    Except perhaps the heir he had thought that she was going to provide him with. The baby that had still been alive, still growing inside her, when she had first arrived at Casalina.
    Her heart lurched, her throat closing on a sound thatwas almost a sob no matter how hard she tried to hold it back.
    She couldn’t go into the cottage, not with him, not now, not with all the hurts of the past coming between them. Yet what choice did she have? As she hesitated on the threshold, her eyes went to where the car stood, still with the key in the ignition. For a moment she was tempted to dash back to the vehicle, pull open the door and slide into the driving seat. She could put her foot down, get out of here and then…
    Her thoughts slid to a halt. And then what?
    Where could she go? What would she do? The thought of facing the busy traffic of Palermo’s streets made her stomach quiver sharply on something close to panic. And, if she did manage to find her way back to the hotel, she would only be walking straight into the ambush set by the paparazzi who had been hanging about outside. Straight from the frying pan into the fire. And right now she didn’t know if she’d rather face Pietro and his ‘quiet and private talk’ or the fearsome pressures of the press, the flash of their camera bulbs, the fierce thrust of their microphones in her face.
    Drawing in a deep breath, she forced herself to follow him inside the cottage, fighting the ache of memories that every step awakened.
    The cottage really was tiny, just a single open-plan room with a kitchen at one side, the doors to the bedroom and bathroom leading off it. It hadn’t been changed or even redecorated since she had last been there. The polished wooden floor, painted furniture and red-cushioned