Latin Lovers: Hot-Blooded Sicilians: Valentino's Love-Child / The Sicilian Doctor's Proposal / Sicilian Millionaire, Bought Bride. Catherine Spencer

Ashamed, she laid her hand on his wrist as he reached for the tea again. “I’m sorry. Thank you for getting my tea.”

      “Do not worry about it. Moodiness is to be expected.” He spoke with all the patience of a man bent on humoring the woman in his life.

      Only she wasn’t in his life. Was she? Right now, it sure didn’t feel like they’d broken up.

      And she had been moody when she’d been sick before. And he’d been patient. She was sure he had been the ideal husband during Maura’s pregnancy. And even though he was only being so nice because he thought she was ill, she would take what she could get. “Thanks for being so understanding.”

      He settled onto the bed beside her, careful not to jostle and handed her the mug. “Drink.”

      “Bossy.”

      He shrugged.

      She took a sip. “It’s sweet.” Very.

      “The doctor said sugar might help with the nausea. He said the crackers and a nonpungent cheese might also help.”

      “What doctor?”

      “The one I called.”

      “Overkill, Tino.” But sweet. Even sweeter than the tea. She took another sip. The well-sugared beverage did seem to be helping with her upset stomach.

      “Not at all. When in doubt, go to an expert.”

      She shook her head. “You’re too funny sometimes.”

      “Right now I am not laughing.”

      No, he wasn’t. He looked genuinely worried and guilty. “It’s not your fault I got sick.”

      “I think it was.”

      “No. I … it’s been like this for the past few days.” That at least was pure truth, if not the entire truth. “Only a few days. It was better before?” “Naturally.”

      He examined her, as if he was trying to decide if he believed her or not. She ignored him and took a bite of cheese and cracker. Oh, that did hit the spot. Her empty stomach began to rumble for more sustenance.

      “You have not eaten?”

      “I wasn’t hungry.”

      “You must take care of yourself. You cannot skip meals.”

      He was right, even if he didn’t know how much. “I’ll do better in future.” “I will see that you do.”

      “Right, because we spend so much time together. I mean before we broke up.”

      “I do not consider us broken up.” “Don’t be arrogant.”

      “I cannot force you to stay with me, but surely circumstances dictate a certain level of leniency on your part?”

      The admission shocked her. She’d always gotten the impression that Tino thought he could make anything happen if he worked at it hard enough. She supposed his words indicated a necessary level of respect for her. But she did not get where he expected tolerance from her.

      If he knew she was pregnant, that would be one thing, but there was no way he could know. She didn’t show any physical signs and she hadn’t told anyone but her doctor. Even if by some weird stroke of coincidence, Tino and her doctor were friends, the older man was hardly likely to chat about his patients.

      No, there was no way Tino could know, but he was acting very strangely.

      “Uh, Tino, you’re being really odd tonight.”

      “You think so?” he asked.

      “Yes, but, uh … that’s okay. No need to explain.”

      “You think not?”

      “No, really. We all have our moments.”

      “Funny, I have never been accused of having mine before.”

      “You’re serious?” “Definitely.”

      “You need to get out more.”

      “Lately I have had little excuse for getting out.”

      “You mean you haven’t started shopping for that new wife yet?” The words came rolling off her tongue, a ball of bitterness landing between them.

      “I do not need to shop.”

      “You already know her?” Who was it? Faith tried to think of the women Agata had mentioned, but no one came forth as a potential candidate for Tino’s new wife.

      “Intimately.”

      “You bastard.” Her hand shot out in an involuntary arc that ended in a crack against his cheek. Shocked at her own actions, she nevertheless cried, “We promised each other exclusivity!”

      He grabbed her hand—and examined it for damage. “Did you hurt yourself? You should not get so worked up. You are going to be sick again.”

      “And whose fault is that?” She meant to sound accusing, but the words came out sounding weak. Bewildered.

      Because that was what she felt.

      Why wasn’t he furious with her?

      She’d slapped him. A lump lodged in her throat, and she did her best to swallow it down without giving vent to the emotions roiling through her. She wasn’t a violent person. He knew that, but she’d broken her own personal code without thought. She would have imagined he would be spitting nails in anger right now, but he was looking at her with a peculiar expression of indulgence.