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‘I admit that my past experience has made me cautious and I can’t do anything about that but I didn’t see anything when we were together to make me think that I was that important to you. Gradually you spent more and more time at work.’ She curled her legs up, feeling vulnerable just talking about it. ‘And then I reached out to you. And you didn’t have time for me. I wasn’t a priority and that convinced me you didn’t love me. And that is why I left, Cristiano. That is why I never had the confidence that our relationship could survive. You never gave me any indication that it could.’
And part of her—that horrid part of her that she hated so much—still wouldn’t let her just take his declaration of love and believe in it without question. She wished it could have been that easy and for a million other women it probably would have been. To hear Cristiano Ferrara say ‘I love you’ had been the pinnacle of ambition for many women.
For her, they were just words.
Frustrated with herself, Laurel slid off the bed, wrapped herself in a robe and walked onto the terrace. The fact that he let her go so easily told her a great deal about the way he was feeling now that the depth of her insecurities had been exposed.
Fear was a cold, creeping sensation over her heated skin because she understood finally that the future of their marriage relied not on her ability to bear children, but her ability to trust him not to hurt her.
What did she mean, he’d never given her any indication?
Cristiano lay back on the bed, hands hooked behind his head, thinking back over the two years of their marriage and forcing himself to confront some uncomfortable facts.
He’d bought her jewellery. Flowers. Extravagant gifts that he’d believed had demonstrated the depth of his feelings. All arranged via the efficient channels that she’d so astutely identified.
The thought made him squirm.
She’d always thanked him, but what time and effort had he put into those gifts? He’d given her what he thought she wanted instead of what she really wanted and the harsh truth of that shamed him.
Guilt, an almost familiar companion since she’d arrived back in Sicily, was sharp and painful.
What thought had he given to any of it? He’d treated her the way he’d treated previous women in his life who had measured every gift by its monetary value. But expensive gifts from a wealthy man meant nothing to a woman like Laurel, who had been building her own business and was justifiably proud of her success. She hadn’t wanted financial security. She’d never been interested in him for his money. What she’d needed was emotional security and he, in all his arrogance, had never given her that. She’d thirsted for some demonstration of his love and he, with the same arrogance, had assumed that by marrying her he’d said all that needed to be said. And when her confidence in their relationship had faltered, it hadn’t even occurred to him that he might bear some of the blame.
Swearing under his breath, he sprang from the bed and located her purse. Finding what he wanted, he curled it safely into his palm and prowled out onto the moonlit terrace but she wasn’t there.
On the run again, he thought grimly.
Except this time he would track her down to the far corners of the earth if necessary.
In the end he didn’t need to go as far as that. He found her in his study, curled up on one of the deep sofas with a book in her hands and Rambo and Terminator lying at her feet, her own personal guard. He remembered her poignant tale about the room she’d loved, with all the books. About pretending it was a library.
Thinking of the cold, loveless wasteland of her childhood years sickened him.
He understood now that reading had been her way of escaping from her world. And a way of making up for everything that was lacking in her life.
The dogs growled at his approach.
‘It seems I have to fight my way through my own dogs to talk to my wife.’ He clicked his fingers and Rambo immediately rose to his feet and moved but Terminator stayed firmly by Laurel’s side, his head on his paws, refusing to leave her.
Cristiano had some sympathy for the dog because he was feeling pretty much the same way.
He looked at the book in her hand, floored by the enormity of what she’d achieved with her life. ‘If you never had books as a child, how did you develop such an interest in reading?’
‘I had a wonderful teacher at school. Miss Hayes. She was very kind to me.’ Laurel dropped her hand onto the dog’s head, her fingers caressing his smooth fur. ‘Don’t send them away. I can’t bear to be parted from them after two years.’
Deciding that it was better to tolerate canine company than upset her further, Cristiano exchanged a brief man to man warning glance with Terminator just so that the dog knew who was in charge.
