Page 11 of Marriage Made In Hate

S OMEONE WAS KNOCKING on her bedroom door.

Blearily, Bianca woke from a sleep that had not come until the dawn, and had then brought no rest with it.

Only dreams—hot and humid and worse than any nightmare.

Worse by far than the nightmares that always ended with Luca pulling himself away from her, his harsh, callous, ‘It’s over, Bianca. Over! ’ echoing cruelly down the years.

But when she woke to consciousness now it was to a reality that was worse than any dream, any nightmare.

Her face contorted as the memory of what had happened out there on the terrace rushed back into her head.

Oh, dear God—had she really let it happen?

Let Luca just help himself to her? Let him kiss her, crush her to him, as he had?

Oh, dear God, she had let him! Hadn’t protested.

Hadn’t prevented him at all! She had kissed him back, opening her mouth to his hungrily, aroused, pressing herself against him, feeling what it did to her body—to his…

She had felt herself respond to him, want more…

Want everything…

No! She sheared her mind away. She couldn’t bear to think of it—couldn’t bear to remember it.

Shame and humiliation flushed through her.

How could I let him do it? How could I?

Her mortification was absolute.

Memory leapt from the past, scalding in her head. That last morning with Luca, when he’d told her he was going back to Rome and she’d flung herself at him, clinging to him, desperate not to lose him, desperate to get him to take him with her…keep her in his life.

And he’d put her from him. Said what he had said to her. And she had stood there and taken it. Let him say it.

Just like last night, she had let him do what he had done…

Her face contorted again.

She hated herself—hated him. Herself more…

The knocking on the door became louder, finally piercing her burning, scalding consciousness. Confused, she called out for the person to come in, pushing herself up on the pillows.

It was Maria, looking, sounding agitated.

‘ Mi dispiace, signorina. I am sorry for disturbing you. But the doctor has been summoned for the signor. ’

Bianca’s bleariness vanished. So did the tormenting memories of last night.

‘What’s happened?’ she demanded, fear sharpening her voice.

‘The signor has not spent a good night,’ Maria said. ‘His nurse is concerned, and the doctor is attending.’

‘I’ll get up at once,’ Bianca said, alarm spearing in her. ‘Thank you for telling me. I shall be there as soon as possible—please let them know.’

Dismissed, Maria hurried off, and Bianca plunged into the en suite bathroom. Emerging after the sketchiest of showers, she dressed hurriedly and left her bedroom.

Oh, dear God, hadn’t last night been enough—and now this?

She saw Giuseppe hovering anxiously outside her uncle’s room.

‘What is happening?’ she asked fearfully, her heart beating faster with alarm.

‘The doctor is with your uncle now, signorina . Please, do not be too alarmed. His nurse would have summoned an ambulance, had it been a crisis, but as it is he wants the doctor to give his opinion and administer whatever help might be required.’

Another voice, deep and sharp, sounded from the far end of the spacious landing.

‘What’s going on?’

Bianca turned. Luca was striding towards them.

Freshly shaven, hair still damp from showering, casually dressed in chinos and an open-necked shirt, he still looked just as devastating as he’d looked last night in his tuxedo.

She gulped silently. For one hideous second she could not tear her eyes away as he approached.

And suddenly it was not alarm that was making her heart beat faster—not alarm at all.

She made herself speak. Focus on what was important. Her uncle—only her uncle.

Not Luca! Not him—he’s not important at all! He’s not, not, not! So ignore him! Ignore the way he makes you feel…react. Just ignore it!

‘The doctor is with my uncle…’ Fear stabbed in her voice.

Giuseppe started to talk to Luca, deferential as always, and in Italian, but Bianca could hear the reassuring note in his voice.

Luca nodded, moved to enter Matteo’s bedroom.

It opened before he could do so and the doctor emerged—familiar to Bianca from his weekly check-ups on her uncle.

His expression was grave, but he had his bag with him, as though he were ready to depart, which surely, Bianca thought, must be a good sign?

His eyes went straight to her. ‘If I might have a word?’

‘Certo,’ she said immediately.

The doctor closed the bedroom door behind him, looking uncertainly at the presence of both Giuseppe and Luca. But Bianca didn’t want to exclude Giuseppe—despite his reassuring words, she knew he would be anxious. And Luca might as well hear too.

‘How is my uncle?’ she asked, knowing her heart rate was up.

Carefully, the doctor explained. The previous evening—including, he said disapprovingly, Matteo indulging in too much wine—had exerted a strain upon his patient that was been inadvisable.

It had taken a toll that was cause for concern, but not for acute alarm.

Hospitalisation would not be necessary, providing his patient was afforded complete bedrest and absolute peace and quiet.

‘His mind is very agitated, and that is not good—not good at all.’

The doctor was stern as he spoke.

‘You must remember that the drugs your uncle is on have powerful side effects, not all benign. In the circumstances, I have administered a mild sedative and increased the level of his medication to keep him stable. But he must suffer no more anxiety. That is essential. Absolutely essential! You must understand that.’

He paused, his lips pursing.

‘However, despite my urging to him the importance of complete rest, he has insisted that yourself, signorina , and the Visconte…’ he gave a slight nod towards Luca ‘…must attend him now. With great reluctance I have agreed. But…’ he held up a warning hand ‘…I have done so only because he became increasingly anxious until I conceded.’

His stern glance encompassed them both.

‘I cannot emphasise enough that he must not be agitated. He must be agreed with…he must be deferred to. He must be kept calm! I know I do not need to speak of co-morbidities and the burden his cancer places upon his heart and vital functions, but I do not wish a crisis to develop—’

He broke off, then opened the bedroom door again.

‘I shall stay until he has seen you, and then give one final check before taking my leave.’ He looked at Bianca. ‘If you please…?’ he said, clearly indicating that she should go in.

She did, but heaviness was dragging her every step.

And it was a weight caused not only by fear for uncle. For a cause far, far worse. For what he wanted of her.

Behind her, she heard Luca’s tread at her heels as he followed her in.

* * *

‘You realise that we have no choice.’

Luca’s voice was coming from a long way away.

Bianca didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

There was a stone in her throat. Her lungs. Concrete, hard set, in her stomach. She didn’t look at Luca. She couldn’t do that either. She couldn’t do anything. She was completely numb.

They were in Matteo’s library. Bianca stared blankly at the serried rows of shelving lining the walls.

Matteo’s ornate desk was at one end of the room, the cluster of sofas and armchairs where he liked to sit nearby.

Her hand was closed over the back of one of the chairs as if for support. Support she needed.

‘I won’t do it.’

Her words were terse, her mouth set.

She heard Luca give a rasp from where he stood by the fireplace, one arm pressed on the mantel. Did he need support too? she thought sourly, forcing her gaze to go to him. His expression was grim—but then so was hers.

‘We don’t have a choice,’ he repeated, his voice as grim as his expression.

‘I said no.’ Something flashed in her eyes like black fire. ‘I said no last night and I say no now. I will say no while there is breath in my body—’

‘And when there is no breath in Matteo’s body?’

He cut across her—brutal and ruthless. She flinched, but only inwardly. She hardened again. Luca was good at being brutal and ruthless. She should know.

He told me—brutally and ruthlessly—that I wasn’t good enough for the likes of him.

The irony of it was not lost on her and, sour though it was, she could taste it in her mouth.

But he was prepared to strike that low—stoop that low now. And low it would be as he bit out, ‘Don’t think that I would do it otherwise.’ His voice was harsh. ‘But you heard the doctor—heard Matteo when we went into him. How…obsessed he is. He’s beyond reason.’

She still wouldn’t answer him. Mouth set like steel.

Another rasp broke from him, and he threw up his hands angrily. ‘For God’s sake, all that is required is that we go through the motions! Let him think we’ve played into this…this fairy tale…this fantasy he’s become obsessed by!’

She turned away, unable to bear looking at him. Unable to bear the stone in her throat, her lungs. It was stopping her breathing, the concrete set hard in her stomach. She felt her hands clench.

That morning Matteo had looked like a death’s head.

Whatever kind of collapse he’d had, it had brought him closer to death than she had ever yet seen him.

His voice had barely been a whisper, and his hand had been skin and bone as it had clutched hers.

Fear had stabbed at her—and it stabbed again now.

‘Bianca?’

Luca’s voice was still harsh. Still brutal and ruthless.

But she didn’t have to think of him. He wasn’t worth a single thought unless it was to damn him to hell, where she’d damned him six years ago.

And then again, with black, bleak fury, she had damned him to hell last night.

All she had to think of was Matteo—her uncle—who had found her, brought her here, welcomed her into the home that might have been hers all along.

Who had given her his love, freely and instantly, and who now was dying…