The Rings that Bind. Michelle Smart
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Before her finger could even touch the keypad to form a response Nico took the phone out of her hand and threw it over the railing and into the ocean. It made a lovely splashing sound before disappearing into the dark water.
The anger that surged through her blood at this high-handed, outrageous act was as unexpected as the deed itself.
She stared at him in disbelief.
There was no contrition. He simply sat there with one brow raised, his features arranged into a perfect display of nonchalance.
She could never have known then that less than twelve hours later she would marry him.
But she had married him. And now she had to deal with the consequences.
Walking over to the long breakfast bar, grabbing her mug of coffee on the way, she hooked a stool out with her foot and took a seat. Her stomach was doing funny flipping motions and she could not take her eyes off the beautiful giftwrapping. It must have taken him ages to get it so perfect.
It was not until she turned the gift upside down to unwrap it that she saw the sticker holding the ribbon to the box. She recognised the insignia on it and knew in an instant that it had been professionally gift-wrapped. She tried not to let dejection set in. So what if he hadn’t wrapped it himself? He had thought of her.
Tearing it open, she found a bottle of expensive perfume.
Nico took the stool opposite and gazed at her expectantly. Black stubble had broken out on his chiselled jawline which, combined with his neatly trimmed goatee, gave him a slightly sinister yet wholly masculine air. His usually tousled black hair was even messier than usual. Rosa found herself fighting her own hands to stop herself from smoothing it down—an urge that had been increasing over recent months, and an urge that only served to prove that the course of action she was about to take was for the best.
She looked back at the gift. ‘It’s lovely. Thank you.’ Then she made the mistake of turning it over in her hand and catching sight of the duty-free label on the bottom.
It brought to mind the old T-shirt she recalled one of her foster sisters continuously wearing: ‘My dad went to Blackpool and all he brought me was this lousy T-shirt’. Most likely it was the only gift the child’s father had brought her.
In Nico’s case he had been to Morocco. And all he had brought her was some duty-free perfume. As a birthday present.
If she hadn’t known how offended he would be she would have laughed. Although generous to a fault, Nico was simply not wired to lavish gifts on people. He hadn’t even bought her a Christmas card—had been astonished to receive the gift of a silk tie and cufflinks from her.
She would bet none of his lovers had ever been kissed off with an expensive piece of jewellery. His brain did not work that way. The very fact that he had bought something for her touched her deeply, lodging a crumb of doubt into her certainty.
‘So, what did you do for your birthday?’ he asked as if he hadn’t stood her up at the very last minute, as if she hadn’t been all dressed up and waiting for him.
Since she had stopped working for him he had stood her up at the last minute a couple of times. She tried very hard to be philosophical about it—with his line of work, and the different time-zones he travelled between, it couldn’t always be helped.
When she had worked for him they had spent around half their time abroad. Since she had left Baranski Mining three months ago they had shared a roof twenty-nine times. She had counted.
She had never been able to shake the feeling she was being punished for having the temerity to refuse his offer of a permanent role.
His failure to return home for her birthday had felt like having a twisting knife plunged into her heart.
‘Stephen took me to La Torina.’
‘Stephen?’
For the ghost of a second she could have sworn his sensuous lips tightened, that the pupils of his eyes pulsed. She blinked, certain she was imagining it, and found his features arranged in their usual indifference.
She nodded, challenging him, willing him to make something of it.
‘Do I take it Stephen is the sender of the flowers on the reception table?’
‘Yes. Aren’t they beautiful?’ She took a sip of her coffee and waited for some form of reaction from him.
‘They certainly brighten the room up.’ His tone was casual. They could be discussing a dull day at the office. ‘Did you sleep with him?’
She didn’t flinch or hesitate, simply held her chin aloft in silent defiance. ‘Yes.’
Her stomach clenched as she gazed into the piercing green eyes of the man she had married. She searched intently, looking for a sign of something—some form of emotion, something to show he cared. But there was nothing to be found. There never had been. It shouldn’t matter. After all, emotions had never been part of the deal between them.
Their marriage hadn’t been all bad. For the most part it had been good—at least until she had left Baranski Mining. They had worked fantastically well together, both professionally and socially.
She remembered one evening when they had attended a charity auction and the auctioneer had had a large dollop of cream stuck to his ear. She and Nico had sat there like robots, not daring to look at each other, the corners of their mouths twitching with mirth. It hadn’t meant anything, but it had been one of those rare moments when she had felt perfect alignment with him.
It was a moment of togetherness, and they had become few and far between.
And it did matter.
His indifference hurt more every time she looked at it.
‘I would say good for you,’ he said, studying her closely. ‘It is time you took a lover. But there is something ironic about you falling into bed with the man you married me to escape from.’
The irony had not been lost on her either.
If Stephen had called ten minutes earlier the outcome would have been very different.
She had just come off the phone to Nico, and he had given her a brusque explanation of why he wouldn’t make it back in time to take her out for her birthday.
She’d been all dressed up with nowhere to go.
And she’d made the mistake of reading her brother’s text message for possibly the hundredth time.
It had been one of the lowest points of her life.
Then Stephen had called to wish her a happy birthday. If she hadn’t felt so heartsick she would have hung the receiver up. Instead she had found herself agreeing to a meal.
Company. That was what she’d craved. Freddy Krueger could have offered her a date and she would have accepted.
‘Nico, I—’
‘Let us pause this conversation for a minute,’ he interrupted, getting to his feet. ‘It has been a long day. I could use a proper drink and something comfortable to sit on.’
A drink sounded good to her. Lord knew she needed something to numb the curdling of her belly. Because, for all the seeming indifference of his words, Nico’s powerful body was taut with tension, like a coil waiting to spring free.
She followed him through to the spacious living room and curled up on the sofa while he poured them both a hefty measure of vodka.
It was certainly a day for irony. Vodka had played its part in the start of their marriage and now it would play its part in its demise. She took a long sip, welcoming the numbing burn of the clear liquid, before placing it on the coffee table.
She waited until he had settled in the sofa opposite before speaking. Her words came out in a rush. ‘Nico, this isn’t working.’
‘What