Destitute Until the Italian's Diamond - Page 54

A new life that she would always have had. It had come sooner than she’d thought it would, but it would have come to the same thing anyway. That was what she kept having to remind herself. However painful it was to do so. Salvatore had had no objection to her leaving him as she had. Any hope that he might have not wanted her to leave had withered and died.

He’s accepted that I simply ended the marriage earlier than we’d originally agreed, and thereby forfeited the prenup settlement. He hasn’t objected. Hasn’t tried to get in touch.

Because he didn’t want her back. Was happy that she’d gone. Had ended it all sooner than planned. Their divorce was proceeding with no objections from Salvatore.

He doesn’t miss me at all!

The cry was in her heart, but she crushed it back. She rinsed her hair, feeling her eyes stinging. It was the shampoo, that was all. Nothing more than that. Not tears—no, not tears.

There was no point in tears. No point in waking in the long reaches of the night, longing to feel arms around her, her own arms wrapped around Salvatore’s strong body.

It was all over.

She turned off the water, reaching for her towel, wringing out her hair and stepping carefully out of the cubicle, wrapping herself in another voluminous towel.

Time to get on with things.

Time to get on with the rest of her life.

The life that would always have been waiting for me.

That was the only comfort she could take. And just one more thing other than that. One she had never looked to have but which had been given to her for all that by Salvatore himself. His beloved child, growing within her.

Salvatore jabbed at the channel changing button on the remote, indifferent to what programme he might watch. It would pass the time. Maybe make the long, empty evening which stretched ahead of him pass less agonisingly slowly than they always did now.

He should go and get some work done. That would blot up more time. Time that stretched endlessly now, whatever he did.

He no longer went out. The sympathy of his friends was unbearable. Even the Duchessa had written to him, expressing her regret at hearing that he and Lana were divorcing.

She was good for you, Salvatore, and I know how much your mother would have approved of your marriage, rejoicing that you had found such happiness. My heart goes out to you that you have lost it now—lost Lana...

He had thrown the letter aside, not wanting to read it. Not wanting to hear what his mother’s godmother had thought of his marriage...that she believed his mother would have approved of it.

He wanted to laugh—savagely. In a bitter mocking of himself.

He reached for the bottle of grappa sitting by his elbow, refilled the glass he had already emptied. It did not help him—did not ease the hyenas tearing at his guts as they so ceaselessly did.

His eyes were bloodshot—and as bleak as polar ice.

He jabbed again at the remote, staring sightlessly at the huge screen over the fireplace. Some pointless documentaries, some pointless advertisements, some pointless programme about new film releases...

He let that last one settle, running out of programmes to surf. It finished by waxing lyrical about some new pointless blockbuster, then went on to something about a pointless Hollywood wedding...

And suddenly Salvatore straightened from his slump on the sofa, his eyes no longer bloodshot or bleak, but focussed, like a laser beam on what he was seeing.

As the item ended on a saccharine gush, in slow motion he set down his undrunk grappa. Got to his feet. Swayed slightly and then, with the force of will, straightened.

He had to sober up. And fast.

He had a flight to book.

Lana unpacked the groceries she’d just bought, neatly placing them in the kitchen cupboards. Memory stabbed at her of how she and Salvatore had unpacked their provisions in the lakeside cabin. She put the memory aside. Put them all aside. One day she would let them out. Tell her son or daughter as they grew up about the father they would never know.

Never could know.

She must not long for anything else.

I must not long for him with all my heart, with all that I feel for him. That is so, so hopeless! So pointless!

Tags: Julia James Billionaire Romance
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