Free The Forced Bride by Sara Craven Page B

was too monstrous to be true. She couldn’t give it credence.
    Simon loves me, she thought, and Raf’s got a grudge against him because of those stupid things I said to the lawyers
    about getting married again. That’s all it is. It has to be.
    And yet she couldn’t escape the memory of Simon’s odd behaviour the other day—the edgy, reluctant way he’d offered
    his assistance. As if he felt guilty—or ashamed…
    When Raf returned ten minutes later she was still sitting in the same place, the phone dangling from her fingers.
    ‘Well’ he enquired curtly.
    She shook her head. ‘I can’t get through. There’s no network available. It must be the mountains.’ She looked around.
    ‘There has to be another phone somewhere.’
    ‘Only in the village.’ He shrugged. ‘Marcello and Fiona prefer to be here alone—without interruptions.’
    The word ‘alone’ seemed to sound in her mind like a knell. It suddenly occurred to her that whenever she and Raf had
    been together in the past there’d been other people around. Quite apart from acquaintances and guests, everywhere
    she’d stayed with him had resident staff of some kind.
    Now, for the first time, it was—just the two of them, occupying a relatively small space. ‘Without interruptions’ he’d said.
    And the realisation sent chills through her.
    Raf was prowling the room, inspecting everything, glancing at the books and ornaments on the shelves that flanked the
    fireplace. He picked up the mug of cold soup and regarded it with disfavour. ‘Is this supposed to be supper’
    ‘Mine, yes,’ she said. ‘I’m not very hungry.’
    ‘But I am. So—what else is there to eat’
    Emily gasped. ‘You really think I’m going to get you a meal’
    He said softly, ‘You’re still my wife,mia cara , and, until now, your duties have not been too onerous. Besides, most
    wives cook for their husbands—or hadn’t you heard’ He paused. ‘But maybe you are devoid of culinary skills.’
    She said indignantly, ‘Everyone at my school learned to cook. The nuns insisted.’
    ‘Ah, the nuns,’ Raf said reflectively. ‘That explains a great deal. But at least some aspects of your education have
    received attention, if not all.’
    Emily lifted her chin. ‘And what is that supposed to mean’
    ‘It is not important. Are there eggs You could prepare a simple omelette, perhaps’
    ‘I could,’ she said. ‘But why should I’
    ‘Because a man needs to conduct negotiations on a full stomach,’ Raf said smoothly. ‘And we are here to negotiate, are
    we not’
    She took the untouched soup from him with a mutinous look, then stalked with it into the kitchen, pouring it away down
    the sink. Under the circumstances, she thought, the word ‘comfort’, even applied to food, was a sick joke.
    She filled the kettle and set it to boil. Tea bags and a small jar of instant coffee had been included in the welcome pack,
    although she couldn’t imagine Raf relishing either. But then, he wasn’t a welcome guest, so why should she care
    She found a shallow frying pan, added a knob of butter and placed it on the stove to heat gently. She was breaking eggs
    into a bowl when Raf came in.
    She didn’t look at him. ‘Do you mind This is a very small kitchen.’
    ‘I came to bring you this.’ He put a package on the worktop beside her.
    With chagrin, Emily recognised an expensive brand of freshly ground coffee. She said coolly, ‘You think of
    everything,signore .’
    ‘I need to,carissima , when I have you to deal with.’ He reached a long arm up to a top shelf and took down a box she
    hadn’t even noticed, extracting a cafetière. ‘There is no espresso machine, unfortunately, but this will do.’
    He rinsed it out and began to spoon in the coffee.
    ‘Do you want two eggs or three’ Emily asked, adding seasoning.
    ‘Four,’ he said. ‘I need to keep my strength up, don’t you agree, my lovely wife’
    Caught unawares, she turned her head sharply, staring at