Free The Unwanted Wife by Natasha Anders Page B

finger on the picture of a grinning black Labrador retriever.
    “I had one just like this,” he informed and she frowned.
    “One what?” She asked blankly and his grin widened into a fully-fledged, devastatingly appealing smile.
    “Dog,” he informed patiently, turning the book back towards himself. His expression was gently reminiscent. “I like dogs too… the way I see it, anyone who doesn’t like dogs is not to be trusted. My retriever was called Rocco. He died just before I started university. I’d had him for sixteen years. I suppose you could say that I grew up with him.” She smiled reluctantly at his obvious affection for what must have been a well-loved pet.
    “You must have had a dog too, growing up?” He prompted and she nodded slowly. “What breed?”
    “She was a bit of a mutt,” Theresa whispered, more than a little reluctant to continue.
    “What was her name?” Why was he being so damned persistent?
    “Sheba,” she supplied, her voice going even quieter and his smile faded as he leaned forward intently, his eyes fixed on her downcast face.
    “Tell me more,” he invited quietly.
    “Nothing much to tell,” she shrugged, clearing her throat. “My mother took me to the SPCA for my eleventh birthday and told me to choose any dog I wanted. I’d been going on and on about getting a dog for months before that, promising that I would take good care of it. It was getting to the point where, I guess, she would have done anything to shut me up. So I chose Sheba, with her soulful brown eyes, her scruffy black and white coat and her happy, wagging tail.” He smiled slightly at that and so did she. “She wasn’t much to look at but I adored her.” She sighed heavily before stopping and shrugging, finally lifting her eyes to meet his. “Time to get ready for that dinner now, isn’t it?” He frowned before shaking his head.
    “How long did you have your dog?” He asked softly in a tone of voice that said he wouldn’t rest until he knew everything and Theresa tugged at her full lower lip with her teeth.
    “About three weeks,” he smothered a soft curse at the whispered confession.
    “What happened?”
    “Mom and Daddy didn’t agree on most things and apparently my getting a dog was yet another excuse to fight. Getting Sheba was Mom’s way of scoring points against Daddy and getting rid of Sheba was Daddy’s way of scoring points against Mom,” she strove to sound flippant but the tremor in her voice made a liar out of her. Sandro said nothing but he seemed to be struggling with something, his jaw was so tightly clenched that she could see the little muscles knotting just below his ears and his knuckles showed white where his grip had tightened on the book.
    “What did he do to the dog?” He finally gritted out, sounding like he was chewing nails.
    “I never knew for sure,” she confessed. “Mom said Sheba went to a new family and was happy with them. But I don’t know… I always feared that he took her back to the pound.” Despite her best intentions, tears of long-remembered pain flooded her eyes and she averted her gaze and tilted her chin in an effort to appear casual. “I couldn’t sleep for the longest time afterwards, imagining how confused Sheba must have been and on the really bad nights I pictured them taking her into the vet’s surgery to be put down… because even though I loved her, she really wasn’t cute, or clever or all that special. If she went back to the pound, I don’t think she would have gone to another home.”
    “You mustn’t think like that,” he admonished.
    “I know . Never mind, it’s so far in the past that the wound has healed long ago. Not even a scar,” his intent gaze told her that he didn’t believe a word of it but fortunately he didn’t challenge her on it. He handed her book back to her and she took it with a nod, making sure to avoid all contact with his large hands. He noticed the evasion and, while his eyes narrowed, he chose