Page 3 of Pregnancy Clause in Their Paper Marriage
Christos turned to face her. ‘Because you marched into the bar to find me, you want to have a private discussion, and you’re nervous.’ He smiled faintly. ‘There, those are my three points—three points regarding my wife’s intent, whatever it is.’
She let out a small, somewhat reluctant laugh. ‘Very astutely observed, Christos.’
He inclined his head in wry acknowledgement. ‘I try.’
‘I know.’ She paused, looking straight at him, and Christos felt—something—in him contract. Squeeze. Lana Smith was a stunningly beautiful woman. Tall, elegant, slender, strong. Her hair fell in a gleaming sheet of blonde with a hint of auburn halfway to her waist, not a strand of it out of place. Her eyes were the colour of blue diamonds—pale without being watery, fierce and gleaming in a face that could have graced a Greek statue—of Athena, perhaps, rather than Aphrodite. There was too much strength of character in the clear lines of her face for it to be reduced to some sort of insipid beauty. Her body possessed curves in all the right places—lush yet lithe, supple and graceful. He’d always admired how beautiful she was, as well as how focused and driven, having built her business from nothing six years ago, and worked hard to get it to where it was, one of the city’s top PR firms, specialising in the rehabilitation or reinvention of significant figures in the business world.
Christos tossed the marker back on the easel. ‘So, what is it you want to discuss with me, Mrs Diakos?’
She looked as if she wanted to protest the name—she’d stayed with her maiden name of Smith for professional reasons—but then she gave a little shake of her head instead.
‘I do have—a proposal.’
He folded his arms, took a studied stance. ‘As I thought, then.’
‘It won’t actually affect you that much.’
‘Which potentially makes it all the more intriguing. Or, possibly, completely uninteresting and depressingly dull, depending on what it is. I assume you’re not asking for a joint credit card?’
She wrinkled her nose, unable to keep the flash of proud disdain from her face. In the three years of their marriage, she’d never asked him for money. She’d been the one to insist on a prenup. ‘No.’
‘You want my Netflix password?’
She rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her mouth. He’d always liked how he was able to amuse her, even when she was trying not to let him.‘Christos.’
‘Hulu, then? No? Well, it’s a good thing, because since we live in separate residences that’s strictly forbidden.’
Her smile deepened, and it felt like a triumph.
‘All right, then.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘What is it?’ He really was curious now. Why was she so nervous? She hadn’t been this unsure of herself when she’d proposed, three years ago, while they’d been sitting at a bar much like the one they’d just left.
He’d been slouched on a stool, minding his own business, ruefully reflecting on the woman who had only just kept herself from throwing her drink in his face, simply because he’d decided their liaison had come to an admittedly swift end, as he always did. He never made it past three dates, never got to the point where emotions could be engaged. It was a rule that had served him well, despite the histrionics, which were admittedly tiresome. At that point, he’d been ready to swear off women for good, which was why, perhaps, he’d been willing to listen to Lana.
She’d slid next to him on the bar stool, ordered a Snake Bite—whisky and lime juice—and tossed it back in one swallow. Already he’d been impressed—and intrigued.
‘Tough night?’ he’d asked, and she’d slid him a speculative, sideways glance, looking worldly-wise and weary even though she hadn’t yet turned thirty.
‘Considering I hate half the human race, you might say so.’
He’d let out a surprised laugh at that. ‘Likewise, but I think I hate the other half,’ he’d told her. ‘What happened to you?’
‘Just the usual,’ she’d replied, holding up her hand for another drink. She’d shaken her hair over her shoulders, her expression turning to iron. ‘Some smarmy man thinking he knows better than me simply because of what he’s got in his pants. Condescending to me in business and copping a feel on the way out. What about you?’
He’d been briefly enraged on her behalf, although she’d shrugged it aside as if it happened every day, and maybe it did. Suddenly his own frustration—that a woman had taken a break-up badly—had seemed both petty and arrogant in comparison.
‘I can’t say likewise this time,’ he’d told her ruefully. ‘Just that I narrowly avoided having a drink thrown in my face.’
‘Well, as long as you avoided it,’ she’d replied dryly, and he’d laughed again. Helikedthis woman, he’d realised. He’d never met another woman like her.
A couple of drinks in, her unorthodox proposal—a paper marriage to suit them both—had seemed eminently sensible. She’d wanted a husband to discourage suitors, smarmy men, and endless chat-up lines. He’d wanted a wife to dissuade women from thinking they could be the ones to change his heart. A woman he genuinely liked, who didn’t want to love or be loved by him, had madesense. Here had been someone he could get along with, who would make no demands, who would be interesting company when he chose to have it. The idea of such a marriage had seemed to suit them both, and he’d never actually regretted it.
But what on earth did his wife want now?
‘Well?’ he prompted when it seemed as if she wasn’t going to say anything. ‘What is this oh-so interesting proposal of yours?’
‘I want...’ Lana took a gulping sort of breath, very unlike her, before she steeled herself and met his gaze with her own, blue eyes bright with determination, chin tilted upwards. ‘I want to have your baby.’
CHAPTER TWO