CHAPTER ELEVEN
FRANCESCAWASN’TCOGNIZANT of falling asleep, but she must have at some point as she woke sometime later to a rumpled, empty and unfamiliar bed. She pushed herself up a little, heart tripping over itself as she worried that Aristide had disappeared, but there he was.
Relief washed through her. He hadn’t run away. He hadn’t set her aside. His back was to her, looking out the window at a pearly dawn. But he was here. That had to be good.
Right?
She lay back in the bed, stretched out, enjoying the way her naked body felt on the soft sheets, used and slightly achy and his. Mmm. She was hungry. Surely they could eat something up here, and then, as it was a new day, see to pleasuring each other all over again.
And to think he’d been so against it in the beginning. So certain this would be a bad idea, and it had been glorious instead.
“See, that wasn’t so terrible, now, was it?” she offered by way of good morning.
He turned then, but she saw none of that heat in his gaze. There was only a bleakness that made everything inside of her go cold. Frozen, inside out.
“Did you get what you wanted, Francesca? Are you happy now?” He asked these questions not in accusation, but with a cold finality that shivered through her.
“I...” Instinctively, she pulled the sheet up higher as if to shield herself from that desolate look on his face and the ice of his words. “What?”
“I told you I did not cross lines. You understood why. So you crossed it for me. How good of you.”
“Aristide.” She was so shocked, so appalled at the way he characterized it she didn’t have words beyond his name.
“If, God forbid, last night results in a pregnancy, we will deal with it rationally.”
A pregnancy. He said it with such frigid disdain she couldn’t catch her breath. It was like whiplash. Like an unexpected punch.
And she knew those too well. She hadn’t expected one to come from him. Her initial response was to wince away, to hide under the covers, to disappear.
How dare he remind her of that old response. How dare he turn last night into something...cold. She pulled the sheet around her but got to her knees on the bed. “And what is rationally to you?”
“We will create another contract to discuss the details. Hopefully, it does not come to that.”
Hopefully. Honestly, in this strange twist of events, she didn’t know what to hope for, but... Maybe it wasn’t the right time to introduce a child into the world, but she wasn’t opposed to having children. “I do...want children someday.”
“And it has become very clear to me that it only matters what you want.”
Everything he said was so unfair. So off-base. And it hurt so deeply she was surprised she didn’t just...crumble. But there was something about how well acquainted she was with the way everything was always twisted against her, she found anger swirled inside of her instead of defeat or retreat.
“What you want could matter if you would tell me. If you would be honest with me. If you wouldn’t lash out with these accusations. If you had a conversation instead of always watching me from a distance. I have tried to figure out what you want.”
“Ah, yes. I have watched you. Maneuvering me carefully. Exactly where you wanted me. Congratulations. You won.”
He made it sound like such a loss she wanted to cry. Tears threatened and only a force of will built in the tragedy of her childhood kept those tears from falling over. “I thought we both won.”
“Should you ever pull another stunt like that, we will immediately divorce. Reputations and contracts be damned. Mark my words.”
“A stunt?” She laughed, because it was so breathlessly cruel, she couldn’t seem to find anything else but a shocked kind of humor to it all. “I did not realize I forced your hand. I did not realize I had such power—me the senseless virgin.”
“You begged me.”
“And I suppose you’ve never said no before, so it must be my fault you couldn’t muster it last night? Multiple times.”
His expression was ice. Everything about it hurt. Because he made it sound like she’d hurt him, and she’d... She’d been so happy. So free. So sure last night could be the start of something beautiful. All her freedom a culmination of joy she—they—rightly deserved.
And he’d turned it into something ugly, mean and selfish. Tears threatened, but she blinked them away, still clutching the sheet to her chest.
Last night had been beautiful. This was... This was him being afraid of that. Afraid of this thing that bloomed between them. Because it wasn’t just sex. It was more. Maybe that hurt him because he didn’t want it to be more, but it wasn’t fair to treat her this way.
“You turn your hurt into anger, like a weapon,” she said. “And you hurt the wrong people. Because you’re afraid what might happen if you don’t.”
“Ah, and what is this bogeyman I’m so afraid of?”
“That someone might care about you.” I care about you. He had handed her a new world, just by listening, by watching. He had given her what she wanted. He had protected her.
And now he was ripping it away like she’d somehow...tricked him into it.
Because she had hoped that accusation might get through to him, might visibly land, but it didn’t. He moved closer, eyes blazing with a fury that made her want to wince away.
“And do you know what I think you’re afraid of? Letting anyone else have some semblance of control. You want to maneuver everything and everyone so you get everything you want and damn the consequences. Well, cara, I will not be your consequence. I will not be maneuvered by the likes of you.”
It hit close enough to the bone that her anger wilted. Because she had maneuvered him. She had focused on what she wanted. She had ensured she got it.
And somehow that had ruined everything.
Aristide spent the morning working. It was not easy to concentrate, but he did it. There were things that needed to be done around his ridiculous social calendar.
They had a charity event this afternoon, followed by a dinner.
He wouldn’t force Francesca to attend any of these events. Not immediately. They could skip a few things and blame those newlywed sparks. And if it turned out she was pregnant...they could miss a few more.
He did not let himself dwell on that possibility. Dwell on why it had not once occurred to him last night to do what he always did and protect himself.
Because once again, it had to be her fault. She’d started everything, begged him, been...utterly perfect.
Hehad not wanted to be haunted by the taste of her, the feel of her, the echoes of how she sounded when he tumbled her over that blissful edge. But they were there and he couldn’t seem to eradicate them.
More than once he’d found himself on his feet, as if he was going to go hunt her down. But then he’d ask himself for what? To follow the contemptible footsteps of Milo Bonaparte to pick at everyone, bit by bit, until there was only bitterness or servitude?
It seemed to be the only kinds of relationships his blood knew how to have. And now he’d even spread that bitterness to his wife of convenience. Impressive, really.
Fifteen minutes before they would need to leave for the animal shelter Francesca appeared, dressed and made up appropriately. He’d expected defiance, that spark of combativeness he seemed to bring out in her.
She kept her eyes downcast, her answers short.
Everything about her was...different. This was not defiance. It was defeat.
But it was better now. Now, before anything could grow. Now, before she fancied herself in love with him or vice versa. They would weather this little speed bump and go back to the business relationship they were meant to have.
She said absolutely nothing on the drive over to the shelter. Her gaze stayed out the window, but the minute they arrived and he helped her out of the car, she was all warmth and smiling.
At the employees and volunteers, of course. Not at him. They were given a tour of the facility, and after Francesca so adeptly and politely declined to have their pictures taken even though she’d been the one to tell him everyone used charity, they were led into an outdoor area where dogs raced around, playing with each other, with volunteers, more dogs lazing about in the sun panting happily.
“We try to keep them as comfortable as possible while we wait to find the best homes for them,” the manager said. “Your generous donation is going to be such a boon for us.”
“We’re so glad,” Francesca said. And she was all cheer and kindness, but he saw a kind of tightness around her mouth. A little chink in the armor she’d put around herself.
It made him want to reach out and touch her, offer his strength, but he stood stiffly by her side, hands carefully to himself.
“One of the first things we bonded over was always wanting a pet and never having one growing up,” Francesca was telling the manager. “But we’re having trouble deciding on what would be better for our lifestyle. I’m thinking a cat would be easier with all the traveling we do, but Aristide just loves dogs.”
She said all this with a cheerful smile, a slightly conspiratorial tone, as she leaned toward the woman who ran the shelter.
A flat-out lie told so effectively. Aristide wondered if he’d stepped into an alternate reality altogether, where this was all simply the truth. She was his and that was their past and they would have a pet together once they figured what would suit.
But not only had they never discussed his not having a pet, he clearly remembered her saying she wanted a dog.
“Something big and ridiculous. The more hair, the less brains, the better.”
He stared at her, but she ignored him, talking with the woman about cat and dog breeds and the like. Aristide watched the animals around them, was distracted by one that was insistently barking—at an overturned bowl. None of the volunteers were paying the large dog any mind as if this was a common occurrence.
Aristide walked over to the creature, then waved to his wife.
“Come, Francesca. Take a look at this one.”
With that fake smile plastered on her face, she walked over to him, smiled somewhat more genuinely at the dog.
“The exact kind of dog I always wanted,” he told her with a meaningful glance, because for some reason he wanted to prove that he’d been listening when he should prove that they meant nothing to each other.
She looked at him as if he’d stabbed her clean through. Her smile faltered, but she knelt down to pet the dog. Who, momentarily distracted from the bowl, wagged its tail and used its giant, disgusting tongue to lick her face.
Francesca reached out and fixed the bowl, so it was now right side up. “There now. No more fussing,” she said with kind admonishment as she rubbed her hands over its long fur.
But the dog reached forward with a paw, upended the bowl, and then started barking again.
Aristide frowned. “Definitely more hair than brains,” he muttered.
And when he looked from the dog to Francesca, he noted she’d pressed her face into the dog’s side. Her shoulders shook. Once.
She was crying into the dog’s fur.
Hehad done that to her, and he had to accept that she was not the poison in this scenario.
He was.