similar offence occurring.
When Sophie returned to the main cabin, Antonio slid upright with the grace of a panther ready to spring at an unwary prey. Having looked her fill at his bold bronzed profile before he registered her reappearance, Sophie ostentatiously ignored him, screened a fake yawn and picked up a magazine for good measure.
‘I saw you with Norah Moore’s son at the airport,’ Antonio murmured with icy cool.
‘Did you?’ Sophie was surprised but not concerned. ‘Matt can be so kind and thoughtful. Maybe you assumed that I bought those flowers for myself. I didn’t,’ she declared with emphasis. ‘Matt gave them to me.’
Antonio listened to that irrelevant and aggravating response with an amount of disbelief that did nothing to cool his ire. ‘Do you seriously think that I am interested in where the flowers came from?’ he enquired grittily.
‘Oh, no, I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested,’ Sophie countered with a hint of acidity, still without having deigned to glance in his direction.
‘Put the magazine down and look at me when you speak to me,’ Antonio instructed grimly.
Sophie kept her attention on the magazine and turned a page very slowly and carefully. Antonio brought out a defiant streak in Sophie that had remained dormant and unknown even to her until she had met him. She wondered why it was that he had only to address her in a certain tone or raise an aristocratic eyebrow to excite her even temper to screaming pitch.
Provoked beyond bearing, Antonio swept up the magazine and slung it aside.
‘So now you’re going to add bullying to all your other sins,’ Sophie commented in a tone of immense martyrdom. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised—’
‘What other sins?’ Antonio raked at her incredulously.
‘Oh, let’s not get into that right now,’ Sophie advised, rising to her full, unimposing height and pausing to hurriedly cram her feet back into the high heels she had removed. ‘Unless you’ve got all day to listen. And, of course, even if you did magically have the time or the good manners to listen, I might drop dead from hunger first.’
‘Hunger?’ Antonio growled, black brows pleating.
‘Obviously I shall have to get used to my comfort being ignored in favour of yours. I haven’t eaten since eight this morning and I am starving,’ Sophie tossed back at him accusingly. ‘And you couldn’t care less, could you? Because you’ve made it very clear that if you’re not hungry, I’m not supposed to be hungry either!’
‘The detour back to the hotel for the photographic session meant that there wasn’t time for lunch,’ Antonio informed her drily, striving not to notice how the vivid colour of anger enhanced the brightness of her eyes.
Sophie folded her arms and sent a flashing look of scorn at him. ‘So, in other words, starving me was deliberate—’
‘How the hell do you make that out?’ Antonio launched back at her wrathfully.
‘I argued about the photographs being cancelled and that annoyed you and so lunch went off the menu—’
‘How could you think that I am capable of being that petty?’ Antonio’s disgust at the allegation was convincing. ‘I did not wish to reschedule our flight. For that reason I arranged for a meal to be served to us now.’
Chagrin rather than relief at that news gripped Sophie. ‘Couldn’t you have explained that to me back at the hotel?’
‘You were sulking—’
‘I don’t sulk!’ Sophie hurled.
‘—and if you want to sulk like a little girl you will be treated like one,’ Antonio completed without hesitation, while wondering how she would react if he just lifted her off her absurdly high-heeled shoes and kissed her into merciful silence.
‘Try that on me again and you’ll see what happens!’ Sophie threw feverishly.
Infuriated by the weird thoughts and ideas interfering with his concentration, Antonio resisted the temptation to rise to her bait. Stunning dark eyes cool as a winter lake, he surveyed her with intimidating self-command. ‘I believe you think that you can distract me from your own inexcusable behaviour at the airport. You haven’t a prayer on that score. I saw you kissing Norah Moore’s son.’
Sophie went pink and jerked a thin shoulder and studied the floor for about twenty seconds. That sufficed for the amount of discomfiture she experienced at that assurance. Indeed after the heartbreakingly hurtful day she had endured she was actually quite pleased that he had been forced to register that one man at least had thought her worthy of his attention. She glanced up again, green eyes rebellious. ‘So?’ she queried.
Antonio was incredulous at that unapologetic reaction. ‘Do not dare to treat it as nothing,’ he warned her, his accent thick with anger. ‘Sharing a very public embrace with your lover on the day you became my wife is not acceptable behaviour by any standards.’
Her defiance ebbed a little and she squirmed, no longer able to meet his proud dark golden eyes. ‘For goodness’ sake, Matt’s not my lover or my anything—’
‘I know what I saw,’ Antonio incised icily.
‘Matt’s fancied me for ages but I only ever thought of him as a friend,’ Sophie admitted reluctantly, angry at being forced to make an explanation. ‘He was upset about me marrying you and he came to the airport to say goodbye. I couldn’t face rejecting him again. I like him and I felt sorry for him, so I put up with him kissing me!’
‘I might have found that a convincing story if you hadn’t been weeping all over him when I saw you,’ Antonio derided with a curled lip.
In that instant, temper and hurt reached flashpoint inside Sophie. ‘I was crying because you had made me so miserable!’
‘I had made you miserable?’ Antonio repeated in thunderous disbelief. ‘What had I done?’
‘Matt being upset about me leaving and giving me those flowers was the first nice thing that happened to me today. Think about that, Antonio…this was supposed to be my wedding day. And it’s been totally horrible!’ Sophie condemned tearfully, all the wounded feelings she had suppressed throughout the day suddenly coalescing and finally making sense to her.
‘How has it been horrible?’ Antonio demanded fiercely.
‘I’ll probably never have another wedding day,’ Sophie proclaimed grittily, pride helping her to swallow back the tears that had been threatening. ‘I know it couldn’t have been romantic in the circumstances, but you could at least have made it pleasant and friendly. I spent two whole days trailing round London finding this outfit and you couldn’t even tell me that I looked OK—’
Dark blood had risen to emphasise the sculpted line of his hard cheekbones. ‘I—’
‘It’s OK…don’t worry about it. Do you think I haven’t worked out for myself that I couldn’t ever reach your standards? But I made the effort; I tried. You didn’t even try to be nice. You accused me of tipping off the reporters at the church. You didn’t give me flowers or anything and the entire time you acted like being with me and Lydia was just
