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His gaze narrowed, as if he wanted to argue but couldn’t.
‘When will Ms Quell be here?’ she forced herself to ask.
‘About an hour,’ he said without looking at his watch.
She nodded and folded a pretty linen wrap skirt that she couldn’t bear to part with into the suitcase. It would come in handy in England, she told herself. On one of the rare hot days they might be lucky enough to get.
Already she had an extra bag to take home with her, and then she laughed as Antonio had arranged for her to return on his private jet, so it wasn’t as if she had to worry about baggage allowance.
‘What has you so amused?’ he asked.
‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing,’ she replied and went to the bathroom to get her toiletries, inappropriate tears pressing at the corner of her eyes.
Antonio paced the room, his hands fisting his hair. Why did this all feel so wrong? Ms Quell would come, they’d have the final assessment, he’d get the divorce he needed—for Maria. It was for Maria. He owed her that. For staying by his side when no one else had.
What about Ivy? She stayed by your side. Even from the UK. Even when you didn’t do the same for her.
He couldn’t keep his thoughts straight and an anger that had begun to build yesterday in the glade was near constant now, making his heart pound, making him flinch at any small thing, making him clumsy and drop things, break things.
He was spinning out of control. He just needed the divorce. Just needed to marry Maria.Thenhe could figure out what to do about Ivy, could figure out a way to help her. Not the library, not some other family member, buther. He wanted her to have the security that she so richly deserved. He wanted her to have the lifestyle where she could wear that dress. He wanted her to travel the world, taking photographs of the people and things that caught her eye. He wanted to see that world, the way she saw it…
Dio mio.
What was wrong with him?
Ivy came out of the bathroom and he couldn’t stop himself.
‘Do you have to do that now?’ he demanded, very much sounding like the frustrated husband he had never been.
She looked at him warily. ‘Yes,’ she said, putting her toiletries into the small carry-on she had brought with her.
‘Why?’ he asked, sounding petulant even to his own ears.
She turned to him, arms across her chest, and he wondered whether it was ironic that perhaps for the first time in their six-year marriage they finally looked like a husband and wife.
‘Because I think it’s better that I leave with Ms Quell,’ she said, levelling him with a gaze.
‘No.’
Ivy opened her mouth.
‘No, absolutely not,’ he repeated, slashing the air with his hand.
She huffed out a frustrated breath of air. ‘Antonio—’
He turned his back to her, more to stop himself sounding even more like an irrational ass than to silence her.
He heard the bed dip as Ivy sat.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked quietly.
He turned to stare at her. ‘Dio mio, Ivy,sto bene. I just don’t see why you’re being difficult and why you have to leave,’ he said, unable to stop the words pouring out of him. He punctuated the whole thing with a dismissive shrug.
Ivy raised her brows the moment he accused her of being difficult and he knew he was messing this up.
‘You’re fine? Behaving like a child is fine for you? Because it’s not fine for me,’ she replied hotly. ‘I’m trying to keep things civil. I’m trying to do what we agreed to do, in order for you to get the divorce you want.’
‘Well, stop it. Stop trying to do all these things.’