Postcards From… Collection. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
heavily between them. Creating a gap that she knew now would never be filled no matter how hard she tried.
Rigo ran a hand through his hair, his blue eyes darkening with frustration. ‘It’s not that I don’t—it’s that I can’t. You’re asking for something from me that doesn’t exist.’
Nicole shook her head. ‘Of course it exists. You’re not a robot just because you’ve been burned badly. You’re afraid to give yourself fully to anyone, and I understand that.’
‘Nicole, let’s just take a breather here...’ He took a few steps away from her, his body tense and unyielding.
‘This conversation was always going to happen,’ she went on. ‘And I’m glad it’s happening now. I won’t settle for half a relationship—not when I know now that I deserve more.’
‘So I don’t deserve you? Is that what this is? You’re trying to force me to say things when you don’t even understand what you’re asking of me.’
‘You don’t have to say anything. I won’t push you, or walk away in a storm of tears.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I’m giving you the option to go back to our previous arrangement.’
‘Nicole...’
‘That is all I’m prepared to give, Rigo. If we continue down this road someone will end up getting hurt. And we both know that someone will be me.’
Rigo remained silent, watching her with the coldest look she had ever seen him give. It was as though she could almost literally see shutters coming down in his eyes. Blocking him away from her words.
‘I will still be your wife. But in name only.’ Her voice was stiff and scratchy with the effort of holding off the flood of emotion she knew was imminent.
‘If that’s what will make you happy, then by all means move your things into one of the guest bedrooms.’ He sat down, pouring himself another glass of wine.
Nicole stood there for longer than she should have, staring down at the man she loved, willing him to come to his senses.
As she walked back indoors and moved silently up the stairs she willed him to follow her. Just as she had willed him to follow her on that day she had told him she was pregnant a lifetime ago. But this feeling was so much worse. Before, she hadn’t loved him. She hadn’t even known what love was. Now she felt as though her heart was breaking with every step away from him, even though she knew it was for the best.
She couldn’t give everything to him knowing that he would never feel the same. That he would always be holding back some part of himself from her.
By the time she stood in their bedroom, packing her things into her case before moving them to another room, the tears had begun flowing in earnest. She continued to pack, wiping each tear away, furiously trying to hold it together.
Then she heard a loud engine roar to life outside the window and she looked down to see Rigo’s car speeding down the driveway, its headlights disappearing into the night.
She sat down on the bed and finally admitted to herself what she had refused to believe completely. There was no hope to hold on to anymore.
Loud, whimpering sobs racked her chest as she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around herself.
It was over.
* * *
Rigo stood in the makeshift office at the villa, waiting for the call to tell him that his jet was ready to go. He still had five days left of his honeymoon, but he couldn’t stay here a moment longer. Not now that Nicole was refusing to speak to him.
Her anger he could take easily. But her silence was more than he could bear.
He should have known it would end this way. Things had been going far too well. At least before they had been able to be civil at times. Now here they were, married a mere week and absolutely miserable, just as she had predicted. Divorce wasn’t only a possibility now. It was inevitable.
He thought of his parents’ marriage: thirty-five years strong without a single separation. How on earth did they do it?
He hadn’t been able to find her all morning, but it was likely she had been collected by his parents’ chauffeur and had forgotten to tell him. She had been regularly going to his parents’ estate so that they could spend time with Anna.
They had probably spent more time with his daughter than he had at this point. He didn’t know why he couldn’t just be natural, like his father. Not that it mattered now. Once Nicole had left him completely he would probably only get limited visitation anyway.
The thought of them living apart from him filled him with emptiness, but he knew it was for the best. He couldn’t give Nicole what she wanted. He would never be able to.
* * *
Nicole was fast regretting her decision to take Anna for a picnic without the stroller. The little girl’s weight in her arms was like lead after a mere ten minutes of carrying her up the hill outside the villa. But the oppressive atmosphere in the villa was more than she could take. Rigo would be leaving today, and she didn’t want to be there when he did.
She’d done enough crying over the past twenty-four hours to last her a lifetime. And it was time she got used to living here alone now that she had chosen to stay.
She loved this place. The views and the smells. It was the perfect place to raise Anna. The people here were used to the Marchesis, and they didn’t bother them. It would be a quiet life.
She stopped at the top of the hill, finding a nice leafy tree for them to seek shade under. It was still early morning but it was already a balmy twenty-five degrees. She set about propping Anna on a blanket and kicking off her shoes. She had brought some fruit and bread as a midmorning snack, and laughed as Anna grabbed a piece of melon from her hand and sucked on it greedily.
She would be all right here, she told herself as she munched on her own fruit. She had her daughter and her privacy and that was all that mattered right now.
Once they had finished eating it was nearing eleven, and much hotter. She stood up, stretching her leg muscles from being cramped underneath her for so long. She looked further ahead of her, to the hill that led to the church. For some reason she felt suddenly unnerved by the quiet that usually calmed her.
A man was standing there, beside a black car, his face partially obscured by a wide straw hat. He looked like a local, she thought, her mind working overtime to process her sudden feeling of unease.
Without warning the man pulled a dark bag out of the car, unclipped a large telescopic camera and began walking down the hill towards her.
Paparazzi. Nicole didn’t waste a moment. Abandoning her picnic and the blanket, she covered Anna’s face and walked as fast as she could manage in the opposite direction. She looked over her shoulder, and sure enough the man was pulling out the high-scope lens and breaking into a run. Her heart beat hard in her chest as she fought to hold Anna close, still shielding her face.
She broke into a run down the hill but, having abandoned her sandals with their picnic, found her bare feet soon ravaged by the rough terrain. Every step proved to be pure agony as she tried frantically to stay ahead of her pursuer.
Her steps faltered as she heard a scuffling behind her. Turning to check he wasn’t gaining on her, she lost her footing and caught her heel on a sharp rock. Anna began to cry—a sharp, piercing sound that sent waves of pain straight to Nicole’s heart. The man was gaining on them—fast.
He didn’t care if her daughter was terrified, she thought angrily. All he wanted was a million-euro picture of her child. There was no way in hell he was getting it.
Hissing with the pain, she stood straight and forced herself to put pressure on her foot, feeling tears prick her eyes. They were almost at the gates, she told herself. They were almost safe. She shouted for the security guards who stood sentry there, her voice shaking with adrenaline. Anna was crying in earnest now, her little