Page 11 of Pregnancy Clause in Their Paper Marriage
Michelle waggled her eyebrows, looking both sceptical and amused. ‘I’d saysomethingis going to change. Unless you’ve figured out another way babies come about?’
Lana smiled thinly. She wasnotgoing to mention the whole IVF debacle to her assistant. Twenty-four hours later and the concept now made her cringe. Whathadshe been thinking of, suggesting such a thing? And yet what was Christos thinking of now? Because she was still apprehensive about how it would all actually work. ‘All right, maybe that will change,’ she allowed. ‘But that’s just one aspect.’
‘Some aspect,’ Michelle replied with a grin while Lana tried to get a grip on the panic that was icing her insides. Yes, some aspect, indeed, and one she hadn’t considered or engaged in in averylong time, for a reason. Not that she particularly wanted Christos knowing that, but...
‘So how will it work?’ Michelle asked, as if reading Lana’s mind. ‘Practically, I mean, please don’t give me the nitty-gritty.’ She held up a hand as she gave a not-so-mock shudder. ‘But in terms of your relationship? Will you live together? In whose house? How will you share the parenting responsibilities? Are you going to be a regular married couple now?’
‘No, definitely not,’ Lana replied to the last question with a firmness she felt absolutely, even if she couldn’t yet anchor it in fact. ‘We won’t love each other, for a start.’
Michelle stared at her, nonplussed. ‘What does that even mean?’
‘What do you mean, what does it mean?’ Lana asked, a bit rattled by the question. ‘Wasn’t it obvious? It means exactly what it sounds like it means. We. Won’t. Love. Each. Other.’ Simple, right?
‘Ye-es,’ Michelle allowed, ‘but if you’ll be married, living together, parenting together,sleepingtogether...assuming you’re doing all this without gritted teeth or bad attitudes...what does it mean you won’t love each other? That sounds a lot like love to me, or the facsimile of it, anyway.’
Lana almost laughed at the blithe naiveté of such a question. ‘That’s not love,’ she stated firmly. ‘That’s friendship. Love is something else entirely.’ Love was a sick, hollow feeling at your centre, radiating outward, taking you over. It was a weakness that stole through your body and heart and left you writhing with pain and gasping for air. Love was need, and fear, and disappointment, and shame.
Love was not something she was going to feel for Christos Diakos, or anyone else, ever again. She’d seen her mother grow twisted and bitter, angry and old, all from loving a man. She’d felt her own heart split right in half when the one man she’d dared to give even apieceof herself to had walked away without a backward glance, just as her father had. It was what she’d thought all men did...until she’d met Christos.
Could she really trust him—not with her heart, no, never that, but with this much? Her happiness? Herchild?
‘We have some details to work out,’ she told Michelle. And she realised she needed to talk to Christos about them asap.
Christos glanced down at the text from Lana on his phone in pleased amusement.
Need to talk details asap.
This was a good sign, he thought as he thumbed a quick text back. A very good sign.
Where and when?
The Metro Club, in twenty?
She’d named the private club for Manhattan’s professional elite known for its elegance and discretion, where they occasionally met for a businesslike briefing on the state of their marriage, sharing calendars, planning what events they’d attend together.
He texted back, realising he was smiling.
I’ll order you an espresso.
Make it a double.
He let out a little huff of laughter.
Of course.
Exactly eighteen minutes later, he was seated on a leather sofa in a quiet alcove of the club’s lounge overlooking Madison Avenue, sipping his Americano and answering emails on his phone while he waited for Lana to arrive. He felt her presence before he saw her, like an electricity in the air, and he looked up to see her poised in the doorway of the lounge, elegant as ever in an ice-blue silk blouse and form-fitting skirt in navy, her hair swept up into a chignon, a few wisps dancing about her face. She saw him then, and her eyes widened for a second, and it felt as if a jolt passed between them, that live wire twanging to life.
Well, wasn’tthatinteresting? For three years they’d managed to exchange glances across crowded rooms and never feel that electric energy, at least no more than a distant pulse of it. Now Christos was sure they both definitely did. Another good sign.
She started walking towards him through the scattered sofas and tables of the lounge, a loose, long-legged stride that made men’s heads turn, because she was that beautiful, and not just beautiful, but magnetic. Gazes were drawn, eyes widening in appreciation. Even Christos found he couldn’t tear his gaze away. He kept the faint smile on his face as she reached the sofa where he was sitting, dropping her expensive leather bag on the floor before she slid into the leather armchair opposite.
‘Thank you for this,’ she said as she picked up her espresso and took a sip, eyes lowered so her golden lashes brushed her pale cheeks.
‘Of course.’ He waited a beat for her to swallow, and then asked in the same amenable voice he’d been using all along, ‘So what details did you want to discuss?’
She put her cup down with a slight clatter and took a deep breath before she looked up at him, her gaze as unflinchingly direct as ever, but with a shadow of...something in it. Something that gave Christos a slight pause, a frisson of unease. He realised he wanted Lana to be the way she normally was—briskly pragmatic, able to laugh at herself, beautiful and funny and smart. Not...vulnerable, even just a hint of it lurking in her shadowed gaze, because he really wasn’t good at dealing with that.
‘I’ve made a list,’ she said, and took her phone out of her bag.