The Billionaire’s Prodigal Wife (Mackenna and Alessandro) novel Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Mackenna was confused as Alessandro motioned for her to lie down on the sofa. ―I think you should get some sleep. You look like you‘re ready to drop

―I don‘t think I can sleep. It‘s only seven-thirty she whispered as he pushed her into the sofa and lifted her legs to stretch out. He took the blanket and tucked it around her legs and then adjusted the pillow under her cheek. ―I can‘t sleep with you standing there watching me

―Nap then, even a few minutes,‖ he watched her for a minute and then sighed. He moved to the armchair where he‘d dropped his attaché case and flung it on the table at the end of the sofa. He flipped it open and then before she could say anything, he lifted her legs and sat down under them, holding her feet on his lap. Before she could stop him, he began rubbing her feet.

―Alessandro, stop,‖ she tried to pull her feet from him, but he held her left foot firmly in his grasp.

―No, this always put you to sleep in the past. Close your eyes and I‘ll rub your feet until you sleep. Once you‘re asleep, I can get to work but I won‘t be able to work until I know you are resting Alessandro lifted and pressed a kiss to the top of her foot before he continued massaging the arch of her foot. He chuckled as her eyes involuntarily closed at his actions.

―Sleep, Mackenna He whispered as he made long sweeping movements along her sole with his strong hands. After several minutes he switched to her right foot and smiled as this time she didn‘t argue with him and the tiny sigh bubbling from her lips told him she was close to being asleep.

He knew when she‘d finally fallen asleep when her leg felt heavy on his lap and he nestled her foot against him, tucking the blankets around her. When she‘d been in school, he‘d often helped her to relax before exams by doing just this for her and she would sleep easy for hours. He lifted his sketchpad and pencils from his case and adjusted himself, using her legs as an easel to work against. He‘d always intended to design something for her, but he‘d never had the time. He corrected the thought; he‘d never taken the time. He looked at her while she slept, her face turned on the pillow, her profile pale, and blue marks under her eyes. It was obvious she hadn‘t been sleeping and he intuitively knew he was to blame.

He‘d made too many mistakes in the past and he would do things different this time if she would give him the chance. He stared at her hungrily, knowing for her, in her heart of hearts she believed she had every right to hate him, and, in his heart, he knew she was right. He‘d done the unforgiveable where she was concerned and four hours of talking to his parents via conference last night had confirmed what he‘d suspected. He was a first-class fool for putting cheek and tucked it behind her shoulder,

He put his pencil to paper and sketched her while she slept. Five years hadn‘t dimmed her beauty or her appeal to him. Her eyelashes fanned across her cheeks, long and curled at the tips, her mascara she hadn‘t properly taken off in her shower, now dark against her peach complexion. Her lips, no longer sporting any of the gloss she would have worn this morning, chewed off from her nervous biting, were pursed as she slept and they were made for kissing, heart-shaped and full. Her cheekbones were high, and her skin was shiny from the scrubbing it had taken in the shower. Her chin was pointed, dimpled and her nose was almost too small for her face, turned slightly at the end.

Her hair was still silky soft, but it was longer, much longer than the chin length bob she‘d worn it in for the time they were together. She‘d always had it dyed a blonde color, but he admitted he preferred the darker shade she now wore with the streaks of blonde through it. He smiled as she fidgeted in her sleep and his smile grew wider when she whispered his name and buried her face into the pillow as if it were him holding her. He‘d give anything to be her

pillow, but he knew he didn‘t deserve her, but he would earn her back and he would have to be patient.

He returned to his sketching and when he finished drawing her face, he flipped the page and began a rough sketch of her body. It was an exercise in self-control, he realized as he drew her curves and valleys, his mind returning to the image of her innocence on their wedding night. She‘d been so intimidated of getting undressed in front of him she‘d come from the bathroom wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt and he‘d laughed at her. By the end of their honeymoon, she easily walked around him naked, knowing when she did, he was powerless to keep his hands to himself.

As he thought about this, he realized at some point in their marriage, she‘d gone back to hiding from him, wearing night clothes to bed, and wrapping constantly in a robe. At the time he hadn‘t thought anything of it, too focused on making his family‘s company first in the fashion world to notice she‘d started hanging in the background instead of standing at his side. He watched her sleep as the knowledge hit him. She‘d shown him in so many ways she was preparing to leave him, and he‘d been ignorant of the warnings.

She‘d pick fights with him over silly things like the way he lined her shoes up in the closet or the way he dropped his wet towel over the back of a wooden chair at her vanity. She would pin her hair into ugly little clips he hated or wear a pair of jeans which had more holes in them the trash, and he‘d find her wearing them again.

Once she‘d refused to come down to dinner when he‘d had guests in and had spent the entire evening in her room, with earphones jammed into her ears, music blaring and staring at the ceiling. He‘d called her a child. She‘d called him an insufferable ass and told him he could use Dulce to play hostess since she was better at it. He‘d done it because he‘d thought she would give up her game and come down and take over.

When it had been close to midnight and he‘d gone to climb into their bed, she‘d locked him out. It was the first time when he was home, they‘d slept apart. He‘d made sure it was the last. He‘d removed the lock off the door.

Then were the times she would go stay with her grandparents for days on end until he would go get her and bring her home. He‘d believed it had been what she‘d done the last time she‘d left. When he‘d come in before dawn the next morning, she‘d already been gone, and he‘d assumed she‘d gotten annoyed he‘d gone out and had gone to her grandparents.

He‘d never been one to sleep in their bedroom alone and so he‘d gone to the guest room. He‘d given her a few days to cool off but on the third day he‘d gone to the bedroom to find a specific tie clip he‘d left on the bedside table and had noticed the picture frame holding their wedding photo had been smashed and her gold ring sitting in the middle of the glass.

He‘d gone directly to her grandparents, but she hadn‘t been there, and it was then he‘d begun to panic. When he found out she‘d refused to give her grandparents any information on her whereabouts he‘d hired an investigator, but she‘d disappeared off the face of the earth. Once she‘d landed in New York she‘d disappeared. There was no sign of her.

He was sketching furiously now, and he looked up and saw she‘d awaken and was watching him.

He needed to know. ―Where did you go from New York? I know you told me you bought a plane ticket, but I know you didn‘t. You also didn‘t buy a bus ticket or a train ticket. Where did you go?.

If his question surprised her, she didn‘t reveal it in her expression. ―Does it matter?.