Page 101 of Ruthless Secrets
I find him standing in the middle of the foyer with his suit jacket draped over his arm and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. His hair is a little disheveled, and his skin is a lot paler than usual.
It’s so unnerving to see him look so far from his immaculate self that a heavy weight settles in my stomach.
Something must be very wrong.
I go for as upbeat of a tone as I can manage. “I made you dinner. It’s Cacio e Pepe.”
I wait for his expression to soften and for his perfect lips to pull up into a smile that will have me melting into a Clara-shaped puddle on the tiled floor, but it doesn’t happen. If anything, he looks more annoyed at my gesture than grateful.
I huff, pulling on the strings of my apron to take it off. “I can bring it up to your office.”
If he wants to ice me out the second things get tough, then so be it. But he’s going to learn the hard way that I won’t put up with being treated like this.
“No.” He wipes a hand over his face. “I’ll eat with you.”
“Don’t force yourself.” I turn on my heels and stalk back into the kitchen.
Marco follows behind me and takes a seat at the table, all without saying a word.
Already my eyes are starting to sting, but I manage tokeep the tears from falling as I dish up the food and carry the plates over to the table and set the food in front of him.
“Thanks.”
Even when I sit down across from him and start tucking in, he doesn’t bother to pick up his fork. He’s just staring at the food with a deep frown on his face.
“Did I make it wrong? I followed Rosa’s instructions…”
Marco doesn’t reply. Instead, he just picks up his fork and stabs a piece of pasta, though he makes no move to eat it.
I want to scream at him that I haven’t laced the sauce with rat poison, but I don’t want to make his already bad mood even worse. “Zoe got to spend most of the day with Rosa. She’s going to be spoiled rotten by your family.”
I force a laugh, but Marco says nothing.
He’s turning his fork over in his hand as he stares intently at the noodle.
Is he seriously inspecting the food?
I set down my own fork and reach for the bottle of red wine I set out on the table for him. I wasn’t planning on pumping tonight but right now I need a drink to take the edge off, so Zoe will just have to make do with formula.
I don’t bother pouring a glass for Marco, not that he seems to notice. He’s so lost in his own head that my anger at his silence is slowly morphing into something else. Something like…fear.
Suddenly, I’m not all that hungry.
“How was work?” I need a way of breaking the silence.
Marco is still yet to take a bite of the food or say anything for that matter.
“Is something wrong?” I settle down my glass on the table and fold my arms across my chest. “Did I do something?—”
“I’m sorry, I really need to work.” He still doesn’t look at me.
I’m frozen as Marco gets to his feet, his plate of fooduntouched, and leaves the room without so much as a thank you.
How is this the same man from the other night? The one who covered the entire patio in candles and fairy lights so we could have a romantic dinner and filled an entire room with sewing supplies just to make me happy?
“I was hoping we could talk,” I call out as a last-ditch effort to reach out to him.
I’m afraid if I don’t ask him about us, I never will.
