The Italian's New-Year Marriage Wish by Sarah Morgan Page A

‘Go and sit in the car. I’ll be with you in a minute.’
    The woman walked across the car park and Amy gave a faint smile. ‘Trusting someone else with your precious Maserati, Marco?’
    â€˜Only because I need to talk to you without an audience,’ he growled, reaching out and removing a smudge of blood fromher cheek. ‘You’re freezing and you need a shower. Go back to the surgery and ask Kate to sort you out with a change of clothes. Wait for me there. We’ll talk later.’
    â€˜I think our conversation is doomed. We’re running out of time.’
    â€˜Then stay overnight.’
    She stared at him. ‘That’s out of the question.’
    â€˜I thought you wanted to talk? Stay the night, Amy, and then at least we’re guaranteed peace and quiet. I’m not on call. You can come out to the house and we can eat, talk and then you can get the first train back tomorrow. I’ll drop you at the station myself.’
    â€˜That’s not—no.’ She had to say no. ‘I can’t.’
    â€˜Amy.’ His voice was impatient and he glanced towards his car where Mary was now waiting in a state of anxiety. ‘We can’t tie this up in a matter of minutes. We need time and we need privacy. You’re the one who wants to do this. It makes sense. In fact, I can give you the house keys and you can go now and have a shower at home. That’s a much better idea. Wait for me there. I’ll be home by six and we can talk.’
    She hadn’t wanted to go to the house. It would just be too painful.
    â€˜I don’t—’
    â€˜Stop arguing and looking for problems.’ He dug in his pocket and pulled out his house keys. ‘In that car is a woman worrying herself to death about her children and in the hospital are two young children who need their mother. They need my help and you’re holding me up.’
    Amy swallowed and took the keys from his hand. ‘I’ll see you later.’
    Â 
    Marco let himself into the house and walked through to the enormous sitting room that faced out to sea.
    Amy was standing by the glass, staring out across the crashing waves. She was wearing the same soft wool trousers thatshe’d been wearing all day but she’d removed the rest of her soaked clothes and helped herself to one of his jumpers. The fact that it swamped her just increased the air of vulnerability that surrounded her.
    She didn’t turn when he entered the room but he could tell from the sudden increase in tension in her narrow shoulders that she was aware of his presence. ‘The view is incredible.’ Her voice was almost wistful. ‘It was this room that sold me the house.’
    Vulnerable, maybe, but still capable of wreaking havoc.
    Engulfed by a fresh spurt of anger, Marco dropped his coat over the back of the sofa. ‘It’s a shame you didn’t stay around long enough to live in it.’
    She turned, pain in her eyes. ‘Don’t do this, Marco. This doesn’t have to be an argument. Just let it go.’
    â€˜Like you did?’ He watched her face, searching for some glimpse of the woman he’d married. ‘You just let our relationship slip through your fingers. You never once tried to solve whatever problem it was that you suddenly found. You just walked away.’
    Anguish flickered across her face and for a moment she looked as though she was going to defend herself. Then her shoulders sagged and she turned back to look out of the window as if she’d lost the will to fight. ‘We wanted different things. You married me because you wanted to start a family and at first I thought I wanted that, too.’ She broke off and sucked in a breath. ‘But I discovered that I didn’t. That sort of difference is too big to bridge, Marco.’
    He stared at her with mounting incredulity.
    She made herself sound both flighty and indecisive and neither adjective fitted