she had to turn to Pietro; she couldn’t stop herself. She knew that her eyes were wide with anger and disbelief—and, yes, a savage degree of pain—when she turned them on the man who sat silent and immobile as a rock.
‘You want me to sign …?’ she managed, but then the hurt got the better of her.
How could he think that she would ever want the world to know the truth about their life together? That would mean letting everyone know about the way she had been so bitterly disillusioned. The baby …
From nowhere came the thought that, if their baby had been born, it might have had the same pale, devastating eyes as its father and suddenly it felt as if the sides of the room were closing in on her, taking all the daylight with them, making it difficult to breathe.
‘How dare you?’
If she had thrown the words at the wall opposite, it could hardly have responded less. Pietro’s reaction was to narrow his eyes until they barely gleamed from behind the darkness of his lashes as he sat back in his chair, watching and waiting.
‘I have my name to protect.’
‘But you can’t really think that I would do anything to damage it?’
When Pietro blinked slowly and eased his position in the chair, he looked like nothing so much as an indolent lion, lazily considering the question of whether it was worth the trouble of pouncing. There was enough controlled menace in his stare to make her reach for her water glass and snatch at a quick gulp of the drink so as to ease the uncomfortable dryness of her throat.
‘And can you say the same for your boyfriend?’
‘What boyfriend?’
She didn’t give Pietro the chance to answer that, rushing on instead in her determination to refute his implied accusations.
‘Just who do you think I am? I have had nearly two years apart from you. Two years! And in all that time did I so much as give an interview or get my picture in a magazine?’
‘You didn’t have your freedom then,’ he drawled coolly. ‘And you had a comfortable allowance that meant you needed to keep me sweet.’
‘No, I didn’t. Do you ever check your bank statements?’ Marina challenged when one black eyebrow lifted in a cynical questioning of her assertion. ‘Or do you find it hard to notice when a paltry million is missing—or not—from the many hundreds of millions you have coming in and out each month?’
That had him finally sitting up straight. The flash of anger in the glare he turned on his lawyer was so sizzling that for a second Marina almost expected to see the elegant Matteo shrivel into a pile of smoking ash right where he sat.
‘I said …’ Pietro began, but a strong sense of fair play had Marina rushing to the other man’s defence.
‘Oh, I know—I can imagine what you said, or rather ordered, would be done. And I’m sure that poor Matteo did just as you commanded. But you can’t order me around. I’m not married to you now.’
Pietro’s beautifully sensual lips twitched into a wry smile that mocked her passionate outburst.
‘Are you implying that I was ever able to order you around?’ he enquired sardonically. ‘Because believe me, bella mia, that was never the case. In truth, I doubt that anyone has ever been able to order you to do anything. So are you claiming that you never used the allowance?’
‘No—I’m not claiming!’ Marina pushed back the annoying strand of hair that had worked loose from her ponytail with an impatient movement. ‘I’m telling you: I never used the allowance you sent. Not a penny.’
‘Why not? That money was for your keep.’
‘Why not? I would have thought that was obvious. I don’t need to be kept. I have a job—I went back to the library. I earn my own living. I don’t want anything from you. I never did and, now that we’re not married, I never will.’
‘Might I remind you that we are at present only separated?’ There was an odd edge to Pietro’s voice, one that roughened it shockingly at the edges. ‘We are not yet divorced.’
‘Not yet,’ Marina admitted. ‘But it can’t come soon enough for me. I just want it over and done with—signed and sealed so that I can get out of here with my freedom and never look back.’
‘In that case,’ Pietro returned imperturbably, ‘perhaps you will let “poor Matteo”—’ he echoed her words mockingly ‘—get on with things.’
But Marina had had enough.
‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t think we will “get on with things”.’
She pushed back her chair, thought about getting to her feet and then hesitated. A few moments more and it would have had much more effect. She was actually quite enjoying seeing Pietro off-balance for once. He didn’t quite know how to take her—and for now that was exactly how Marina wanted it.
‘What things, Pietro?’
She directed the question straight into his watchful face, seeing the faint scowl that drew his dark brows together, frowning over narrowed eyes.
‘What things—more terms? More conditions? More dictates from the great lord and master, Il Principe D’Inzeo?’
‘Marina …’ Pietro’s use of her name was low-toned, deep, a strong note of reproof on the single word.
‘More “thou shalt do this” and “thou shalt not do that”? “Thou shalt not speak to the press”? Do you really think I’d want to let the scandal mags know the truth about our marriage?’
She was letting her tongue run away with her but somehow she couldn’t even bring herself to care. This was why she had come here, why she’d felt she had to put herself through the ordeal of seeing Pietro one last time. She had wanted to try to voice—partly, at least—the things she had never been able to say when they had been married. To try to provoke him into reacting, into something other than the carefully measured, icy distance that was all that he had showed her in the end. All that the once heady, burning passion had burned down into, cold and ashy.
‘Do you think I’d want the whole nasty, miserable mess spread out in the tabloids—our dirty washing hung out to dry in full view of the public?’
‘Marina …’
It was definitely dangerous now, definitely a warning. His eyes were blazing cold fury, and the hand that had held the water glass now drummed a warning tattoo on the polished table-top. But it was a warning Marina was well past heeding. She had the bit between her teeth, and she wasn’t going to be called to order by anyone.
‘You think you can toss me some instructions and if I want your money I’ll do as I’m told, will follow your conditions to the letter?’
‘I think you’d better listen to what those conditions are.’
‘No.’
Marina shook her head firmly, sending her auburn ponytail flying with the deliberate emphasis she put on the movement.
