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“Don’t you think it’s time we stopped playing games with each other?” he suggested.
“What games?” she snapped. “I gave those up years ago.”
Charles frowned as though he wasn’t sure he should believe her.
Hurt and angry, Steffie raised her hand and pointed at him. “That’s the reason I refuse to marry you,” she cried. Restraining the emotion was next to impossible and her voice quavered with the force of it. “I suppose I should be flattered that you’re willing to take me off Dad’s hands,” she said sarcastically. “Every woman dreams of hearing such romantic words. But I want far more in a husband, Charles Tomaselli, than you’d ever be capable of giving me!”
“What do you mean by that?” Before she had a chance to reply he muttered, “Oh, I get it. You’re afraid I’m going to be financially strapped with the newspaper, aren’t you? You think I won’t be able to afford you.”
Steffie was stunned by his remark. Stunned and insulted. “You know me so well, don’t you?” she asked him, her voice heavy with scorn. “There’s just no pulling the wool over your eyes, is there?” She drew in a deep breath. “I think it would be best if you left.” She walked across the kitchen and held open the back door. “Right now.”
Charles shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t want to leave.” He pulled out a chair and threw himself down. “We’re going to talk this out, once and for all,” he told her.
“You’re too stubborn.”
“So are you.”
“We’d make a terrible couple.”
“We make a good team.”
Steffie didn’t know why she was fighting him so hard—especially when he was saying all the things she’d always dreamed of hearing.
“I realize I’ve made some mistakes with this,” he said slowly. “It might have sounded callous, offering to marry you the way I did.”
“I’ll admit that taking me off Dad’s hands does lack a certain romantic flair,” she agreed wryly. She crossed over to the counter for a coffee mug, filling it from the pot next to the stove. If they were going to talk seriously, without hurling accusations at each other, she was going to need it.
“I was angry.”
“Then why’d you come here?” she asked, claiming the chair across from him.
“Because,” he answered in a tight, angry voice, “I was afraid I’d lose you again.”
“Lose me?” That made no sense to Steffie.
“You heard me,” he growled. “I was afraid you’d return to Italy or take off on a safari, or go someplace equally inaccessible.”
“Portland. I’m moving to Portland, but it isn’t because of what happened with you. I intended to do that from the moment I got home.” She folded her hands around the hot mug. “Why should you care where I go?”
“Because I didn’t want you leaving again.”
“Why do you want me to stay, especially if you believe the things I told you yesterday?”
His eyes held hers. “I don’t believe them.”
“You gave a good impression of it earlier,” she reminded him. A fresh wave of pain assaulted her and she looked away.
“That’s because I was furious.”
“That hasn’t changed.”
“No, it hasn’t,” he agreed, “but the simple fact is I don’t want you to leave again.”
“Unfortunately you don’t have any say in what I do.”
Charles frowned. “Now you’re angry.”
“You’re right about that! Did you really think I was so desperate for a husband I’d accept your insulting offer? Is that what you think of me, Charles?”
