Glancing out the window yet again, Sam felt discouraged by the snow still falling. “We’re stuck,” she said, returning to the sitting room.
Cristiano made a rough sound. “You’ll survive.”
Sam grimaced, sat down in one of the armchairs near the fire. “I know. Unfortunately so will you.”
Cristiano surprised her by laughing, a rough deep sound that was as masculine as it was seductive. “You’re really not comfortable with me, are you?”
“No!”
“Finally,” he mocked, leaning back in his chair. “We get a little honesty.”
“I haven’t been dishonest.”
He made a soft, rough sound in the back of his throat. “No. I understand. You’re English, and you’ve cultivated through years of practice and self-denial this wonderful British stiff upper lip to keep others from knowing what you want, or need.”
“That’s not true. The only thing I want or need is Gabby, and I’ve been quite open about my feelings with regards to her.”
He studied her in the red and gold firelight, his lashes lowered, his mouth firm. For a moment there was just the crackle and pop of the fire and the acrid smell of smoke. “Someday you’ll marry again,” he said surprisingly gentle. “You’ll have children, and a family, of your own.”
If he’d hoped to soothe her, his words had the opposite effect. Her throat, chest and stomach hurt as if she’d just chewed and swallowed glass. “I won’t,” she answered. “I’ll never marry again. And I don’t want children of my own.”
“But you’re good with children.”
“I’m a nanny. My job is to look after other peoples’ children. I hope I’m good with them.”
“But don’t you want more for yourself?”
“More, how?”
“A lover, a partner. Someone to share your life with.”
She felt herself blush and she shook her head, amazed at how quickly he could fluster her. “No. I’m content.” She ignored the twinge inside of her, the twinge of conscience that said she was not being entirely truthful. Truly there were times she needed more, times when she felt alone, but everyone felt lonely and alone at times. Everyone had needs. She wasn’t unique that way. “My life’s good.”
“You’ve been married. How can you not miss the physical comforts? Sex? Intimacy?”
He didn’t realize she didn’t know anything about sex, or intimacy, and maybe that’s what kept her from ever becoming more intimate with anyone. People didn’t know that while on one hand she had this colorful, crazy life, on the other she was still hopelessly sheltered. Her emotions had been through hell while her body remained untouched.
Sam found it deeply embarrassing that at her age, approaching thirty, she knew as little about men and sex as she did at eighteen. Somehow a decade had come and gone and left her like one of those Dresden shepherdesses on a shelf. But she was all shattered inside.
Her mouth was so dry, her lips felt as if they were cracking. “I’m content,” she repeated huskily.
“You say that, but you’re not. I see it in your eyes, Samantha. I see it in the way you talk and smile. Forgive me, but you’re a martyr looking for a cause.”
Sam didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until her head started spinning. She forced herself to exhale and then inhale, trying to clear her head. “I’m no martyr. Some people have more heartache in their lives, some people have less.”
He rose from his chair and went to the fire where he took a poker and pushed the fire around a bit before adding more fuel. “There are things I need to tell you. And I’m not sure how to tell you.”
“It’s bad?”
He made a rough sound. “It’s not good.”
Sam stiffened, not wanting more bad news. Bad news in her life had been very bad. There was no in-between news, no disappointing news, just bad as in tragic, bad as in shattering, bad as in nothing will ever be the same.
But Cristiano remained standing in front of the fire and Sam felt his gaze travel slowly over her face, his thick black lashes lowered, and yet even without seeing his expression, she felt his inspection in every muscle and every bone. “What do you have to tell me?” she begged, terrified with suspense, just wanting whatever he had to say, said, so this could be over.
“It’s about Johann. I’ve learned things that will hurt, maybe even embarrass you. But you have to know the truth.”
“Embarrass me, more than he already has?” Sam laughed mockingly. “How could he possibly embarrass me more?” She laughed again, slightly breathlessly, thinking she’d made a silly joke, and anticipating his laugh.
But Cristiano didn’t smile and she suddenly felt out of breath.
“He has another wife.”
Sam just stared at him. She didn’t know what to do, how to react. “He has another wife?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation. “He still lives with her, part-time in Vienna. They were married ten years ago. He’s never divorced her.”
“That means…”
“Your marriage isn’t valid. You’re not legally van Bergen’s wife.”
Sam shook her head slowly. “I’ve never been his wife?”
“No.”
“I’m not Baroness van Bergen. The wife in Vienna is.”
“Yes.”
She felt as though he’d taken a sledgehammer to her head and she looked up at him where he stood silhouetted by the fire, dazed. “So what am I?”
Cristiano didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Sam was nothing. Just the nanny, always just the nanny. Forever the hired help.
Sam lifted a hand, touched her forehead. “Does he have children with her?”
“No.”
Thank God. “But he still sees her?”
“Yes.”
“Does she know about me?”
Cristiano shook his head slightly. “I don’t think so. She doesn’t leave Vienna. She doesn’t go out much with him.”
“Neither did I.” Sam laughed unsteadily. “I guess we made it convenient for him. It must be easy having two wives if you don’t take out either.”
“I know it’s a shock, Samantha. But you’re better off without him—”
“Of
