“God, you are the most contrary little bitch!” He hissed. “I don’t love Francesca. I don’t think I’ve ever loved her. Maybe when I married you, for about five seconds, I believed that I did. But I was disabused of that notion pretty damned early on in our marriage. I don’t love her... and I have no idea why the hell you’re so fixated on her.” She turned on him furiously, ignoring Rick and Lisa who were watching the exchange in morbid fascination.
“Maybe I’m fixated on her because every time you go to Italy, the papers and Internet are full of pictures of you two attending the same functions, touching, kissing, dancing or hugging! Don’t you dare insult my intelligence by saying that it meant nothing. I believe you when you say that you’ve never slept other women while we were married. But I’m willing to bet you came pretty close with her. I mean, how the hell could she be the other woman? I was the other woman. Your entire family knew it, my father knew it... I know it.”
“We’re in the same social circle, Theresa. She was always at the same functions as I am. She’s an old friend, naturally I hugged her or touched her occasion. Yes I danced with her, dropped a few casual kisses on her cheek or mouth... it meant nothing. I treated her as I would one of my sisters. I don’t desire her, I don’t love her and I don’t want her! Those are feelings reserved for you... only for you,” his voice deepened and his face softened at the admission, his eyes were gentle as he registered the confusion on her face. Was he saying he loved her? And if he was... did she believe him? She wasn’t sure of the answer to either question and a second later she didn’t really care when she suddenly doubled over in pain.
Sandro, Rick and Lisa all surged forward in concern but her husband got to her first, he had an arm around her thickened waist before she could blink.
“What’s wrong?” He demanded hoarsely. Theresa grabbed his free hand in both of hers and squeezed it urgently as her entire body quivered in excruciating pain. After an eternal moment, the pain lessened and faded and she pushed her way upright, meeting Sandro’s frantic gaze with a panicky one of her own.
“It’s the baby...” she whispered in fear. “I think the baby’s coming...”
“No, no, no,” the naked panic and fear in his eyes did nothing to alleviate Theresa’s own terror. “He can’t be coming now. He’s nearly a month early! Are you sure?”
“I’ve been cramping all day but I thought it was due to stress,” Theresa moaned after the pain had subsided. “But now I think I’m having contractions.”
“Okay, it’s okay,” he soothed, automatically gathering her trembling body into a hug. “We’ll be fine. We have to get you to the hospital.”
Theresa had argued, begged, cajoled, attempted to reason but Sandro had refused point blank to defer his position as her coach to Lisa. In the end, Lisa had simply declined to go in to hospital with her, saying that it was best for Theresa to have her original coaching partner with her. Shocked and hurt by what she felt was an unforgivable betrayal, Theresa had refused to look, or even talk, to her cousin while Sandro shepherded her out to his car. Lisa had seemed to be cheerfully and deliberately oblivious to Theresa’s pointed and rather childish, silent treatment, promising that she and Rick would be at the hospital soon.
“She did what she thought was best, cara,” Sandro tried to placate en-route to the hospital. She simply turned her head and stared out at the passing scenery, scared and angry and not really in the mood to be comforted by him. “She knew that I would have insisted and we’d have just wasted time arguing futilely about it.”
“I wanted somebody I trusted in there with me,” she suddenly said, keeping her eyes glued on the road ahead. He didn’t respond to that but from the corner of her eye she saw his hands tighten on the steering wheel and knew that she’d scored a direct hit. The rest of the journey went by quickly and before she knew it she was being admitted into the elite private maternity clinic that Sandro had arranged for months ago. She’d had only one contraction en-route but it had nearly sent Sandro off the road in a panic.
Still it was hours before anything more interesting than that happened. The doctor confirmed that she was indeed in labour but reassured them that it was perfectly normal for women to go into labour a few weeks early. They were taking extra precautions because of her health issues during the pregnancy but for someone whose pregnancy had been fraught with drama, Theresa’s labour was pretty boring aside from the intense periods of pain. Her obstetrician monitored her condition carefully and weathered Sandro’s demanding, panicked questions with admirable calm. Her contractions seemed to leave Sandro more wrung out than they did her and he wasn’t dealing with it very well.
About five hours after her admission Theresa found herself glaring up at her hovering husband in frustration.
“For God’s sake, go and get yourself some coffee or something, you’re driving me up the wall!”
“I won’t leave you. What if you have another contraction? What if your water breaks and they rush you into the delivery room? What if there are complications?” He asked hoarsely, his eyes dilating more with each anxious question. And Theresa rolled her eyes in exasperation.
“I doubt any of those things will happen in the two minutes it would take you to leave the room and get a cup of coffee, Sandro,” she sighed impatiently.
“They could,” he insisted stubbornly.
“Unlikely.” He didn’t respond, merely continued to sit by her bedside. They were both silent for a few minutes.