Page 23 of Pregnancy Clause in Their Paper Marriage
‘Only if you want to.’
She pursed her lips, looking at him hard, and Christos had the sense she knew exactly what was happening, how he was backing away again, unable to keep himself from it, even though he wished he could. ‘All right,’ she replied finally. ‘I’ll give you the basics.’
‘Okay.’ He already knew he wouldn’t ask for more.
She took a sip of wine, swallowing it slowly as she composed her thoughts. Christos waited, bracing himself, knowing he had to get his reaction right, and already fearing he wouldn’t be able to.
‘There was a guy,’ she said at last, her gaze on her glass. ‘A man. I was young, very young. Twenty-one, just out of university, starting my first internship.’ She paused, her lips pursed, her forehead furrowed in thought. For a second Christos let himself simply enjoy how lovely she looked—her hair tumbled about her shoulders in artless waves, not the smooth, gleaming sheet it usually was. Her face devoid of make-up, her T-shirt sliding off one slender, golden shoulder. She was such a beautiful woman, and no more so when she wasn’t even thinking about it, using it to her advantage with her power suits, stiletto heels.
‘I presume you’re going to give me a few more details than that,’ he remarked when she hadn’t spoken for some time.
‘Yes, a few.’ She nodded, seeming brisk now, professional, her voice devoid of any of the emotion he’d been fearing.
So why was he disappointed?
His own contrary nature annoyed him, and he pushed the thought away.
‘He was my first—lover, I suppose, although I don’t even like using that word with him, but I did love him. I was besotted with him, actually.’
She grimaced, and Christos found he didn’t like hearing about that.Besotted?Really?
‘He was ten years older than me, an advertising executive I’d met through work. He was very charming—charismatic, snappy dresser, full of energy. I’m sure you know the type, especially in advertising.’ She glanced up at him, smiling wryly, and Christos gave a terse nod.
Yes, he knew the type. Fake, smarmy bastards with their shiny Rolexes and loud laughs.
‘Anyway.’ A sigh escaped her, her shoulders slumping a little. ‘I was...bewitched. That’s what it felt like, that’s what it was. If he’d told me to jump, I would have asked how high, and then I would have tried to jump higher.’
‘You were young,’ he said, when it seemed as if a reply was needed. He felt like punching this guy, whoever he was, right in the face.
‘Well, that’s the background,’ Lana told him.
She was looking at him now, her eyes hard, her face like a mask.No emotion here.
‘And the reality is that sex, intimacy, was something of a weapon to him, one he used to his advantage every time. And the—the bedroom became a place to be humiliated, even to be hurt. And I allowed that to happen.’ Her voice, although as hard as his eyes, wavered a little at the last, and she took a quick sip of wine.
Christos stared at her, realisation thudding sickly inside him. He didn’t want to punch this smarmy bastard now, he thought. He wanted to kill him.
‘Lana...’ He didn’t actually know what to say. What to do. He wanted to offer her comfort, understanding, take her in his arms and gently kiss the tears he could see gathering in her eyes even as she determinedly blinked them back. Hewantedto, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. It was as if he were frozen in place, his mind shutting down, his heart too.
I can’t handle this.
He simply stared at her, and he saw understanding gleam in her eyes briefly, like a light being switched on and then just as quickly off. She nodded slowly.
‘So now you know,’ she said, and it felt like the end of the conversation.
It was the end, because she clambered off the sofa, taking her glass into the kitchen, while he simply sat there, his mind spinning, his heart heavy as a stone. When she came back into the room, she looked composed, calm.
‘If you want to stay the night,’ she said, ‘you can use the guest room downstairs.’
Oof. As if that weren’t a brush-off, after what they’d just shared. Except, he realised, they hadn’t actually shared anything. He’d made sure of it.
‘All right,’ he replied, equably enough, because the last thing he was going to do was insist on anything. Still, he felt duty-bound to ask, ‘Tomorrow still good?’
She stared at him for a beat, her expression stony, the smile she gave brittle. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow’s still good.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
LANASLIDONTOthe stool at the hotel’s swanky cocktail bar, wriggling a little in the LBD she’d chosen to wear—an elegant sheath of rippling black silk, sleeves, with a square neckline, hitting just above her knee. She’d sometimes worn it to work paired with a blazer, but it could also function as an evening dress, when she was out and about for business.