The Marriage Surrender. Michelle Reid

lowering her face and gripping tightly at the strap of her shoulder bag. He always did have this knack for completely discomposing her with a look, just as he was doing now—deliberately, she guessed. And she hated it. Hated what it made her feel inside.

      But she had a suspicion that he knew that, too.

      ‘You’ve lost weight,’ he remarked finally. ‘That suit hangs on you like an old sack. If you lose any more weight you will simply fade away. Why have you lost so much weight?’ he demanded.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she snapped. But surely he could work out why she had got so thin! It didn’t take much knowledge of the last devastating year she had just lived through to understand it.

      ‘Sorry—again, Joanna?’ he mocked. ‘I remember that being your favourite word before. It used to infuriate me then. It still does now,’ he added grimly.

      Her chin lifted, blue eyes flashing him a glinting warning that the very short fuse to her temper was alight. ‘You said you were busy,’ she reminded him curtly.

      He dipped his dark head in wry acknowledgment of both the short fuse and the reminder that his time was precious. This was something else Sandro could never resist—riling her too-ready temper. He had once told her that it was the only really healthy emotion she had in her. He was probably right. It was the only one she had ever shown him during their short, disastrous marriage, anyway.

      There was a knock at the office door. Joanna jumped nervously. Sandro grimaced at her nervousness, then his secretary was entering the room, carrying a tray set with coffee things.

      The tension in the room must have been stingingly obvious, because she glanced warily at her employer, then skittered her gaze over Joanna, before murmuring some incoherent apology as she hurried across the room to place the tray down on a glass-topped coffee table set between wo low leather sofas.

      No one else moved. Sandro wouldn’t, Joanna couldn’t, and the silence gnawed in the air surrounding them all as the poor woman did what she had to do then turned to leave again with a brief, wary smile aimed somewhere between the two of them.

      Joanna watched Sandro watch the intruder leave, watched him run his eyes over the woman from the top of her sleek blonde head to the slender heels of her black patent shoes. It was born in him to study women like that, Joanna was sure he wasn’t even aware that he did it, but God she hated it!

      Beautiful, she seethed in jealous silence. Of course the woman had to be beautiful! Sandro would not accept anything less in a woman who worked within such close confines!

      ‘Grazi, Sonia,’ he murmured rather belatedly, just as ‘Sonia’ was about to walk through the door.

      She sent him a glance and it spoke volumes. Sonia was offended that he had not introduced her to his wife. But Joanna was only relieved. She had no wish to be nice to his secretary when she was too busy trying to subdue a second bout of jealousy that was so strong it literally fizzed beneath the surface of her skin.

      Did Sonia do more than his typing for him? Could she be the very discreet mistress?

      The door closed them in once again, and Sandro’s attention was back on her. He studied her stiff-boned, firmly blank stance for a few moments, then sighed as though her very presence here irritated the hell out of him. He waved a long-suffering hand towards the seating area.

      ‘Sit down for goodness’ sake,’ he muttered. ‘Before your shaking legs give out on you.’

      ‘They’re not shaking,’ she denied, but went to sit down anyway, choosing one of the sofas and perching herself on the very edge, hoping he wouldn’t play his old trick of sitting himself down beside her. It was just another tactic he’d used to employ to completely unsettle her. He’d used to gain some kind of morbid gratification from placing her on the defensive.

      But this time, she was relieved to see, he decided not to bother with that one. Instead he turned his attention to pouring out two cups of coffee.

      Joanna watched his every move, every deft flick of those long brown fingers as he poured out two black coffees, added sugar to his own but none to hers, used the small silver spoon to stir the sugar, then silently handed a delicate white china cup and saucer to her, before going to sit down on the sofa opposite with his own.

      And he did it all without bothering to ask her if that was how she liked her coffee. Sandro possessed almost instant total recall. He could remember names, places, facts and figures without having to try very hard. It was a major asset in his line of business, he had once told her, to possess fast recall of any information he might have acquired concerning the subject under consideration at the time. It saved him a lot of hassle because it meant he didn’t need to waste time going off to gather up the information.

      On top of that, he was astute, very astute. Few people managed to con him. Though she was one of those few who had managed to do it. And in some ways she believed he’d found that harder to forgive than anything else she had done to him.

      ‘OK,’ he said flatly. ‘Let’s have it.’

      She shook, rattling the delicate bone china cup in its saucer so badly she had to lean forward and put them down before she spilled the coffee all over herself.

      Sandro crossed one elegant knee over the other. That was all, no other reaction whatsoever, but the action captured her restive attention. He was wearing charcoal-coloured socks, she noticed inconsequently. His shoes were hand-made lace-ups in a shining black leather.

      ‘I need some money,’ she mumbled, hating herself for having to ask him, of all people, for it.

      ‘How much?’

      Just like that. No hint of surprise, no raised voice. She had never asked him for anything before, not even a tube of toothpaste. He knew that. The man with total recall would remember that telling little fact.

      Which also meant he had already worked out that this was a dire situation for her.

      ‘F-five...’ The rest got stuck in her tension-locked throat and she had to swallow before she could say it. ‘Five thousand pounds.’

      Still nothing. No reaction whatsoever. She even glanced up, wary, puzzled, searching his impassive face for a hint of what he was thinking.

      She saw nothing.

      ‘That is a lot of money for you, Joanna,’ was the only comment he made.

      ‘I know,’ she admitted. ‘I’m s...’ Sorry, she had been going to say, but she stopped herself and instead got stiffly to her feet, unable to remain still beneath that dark level stare for a single moment longer.

      With a tight restlessness she moved herself away from his close proximity, aware that his eyes were following her, aware that his brain was working faster than any other brain she had ever known.

      Aware that he was waiting for her to tell him what she wanted the money for but was determined not to ask her himself.

      Reaching his desk, she rested the flat of her hips against its edge and crossed her arms over her body so her icy fingers could curl tensely around her slender arms.

      The silence between them began to stretch; she could feel it vibrating like a tautened wire between them. But, in a way, it made her want to do something to stop it, so she turned abruptly to face him, lifted her chin and forced herself to look directly into his carefully neutral eyes.

      ‘I have a proposition to put to you,’ she announced. ‘I need some m-money and, since you are the only person I know who has any, I thought you could give it me in the f-form of a settlement.’

      ‘A settlement to what?’

      Her heart suddenly decided to stammer. ‘A divorce.’

      No response, not even a flicker of those long, lush, lazy lashes, the super-controlled bastard!

      ‘I know you can’t possibly want to hang onto this so-called marriage of ours,’ she raced on quickly. ‘So I thought it might be best to make