Marco remained seated for a moment, staring after her. He had hurt her. "Shit," he sighed, picked up his glass and finished the rest of his wine in one swallow.
Then he headed upstairs. The mansion was quieter now, the corridors dimmed for the night. He pushed open the door to the room.
Valentina stood near the bed, digging through one of their bags for her nightdress. Marco closed the door behind him.
He crossed the room slowly. She kept rummaging through the bag. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He lowered his mouth to her neck and kissed her softly. "I'm sorry, babe," he murmured against her skin. "I'm sorry. I guess I just really missed you and maybe I was expecting fireworks, you know."
The moment the words left him, he realised how foolish they sounded.
Fireworks.
After weeks of terror. He had expected his wife to arrive bright-eyed, glowing, and ready to fall into his arms.
He really was an idiot.
