Chapter Five
Marcus
Wren’s face is a picture. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so anxious that she’s going to turn me down.
Her face reddens again. “You’re teasing me,” she says.
I just sip my wine and hold her gaze, not smiling.
“Oh my God,” she whispers eventually. “You’re serious.”
“I’m very serious.”
She blinks a few times, and her brow flickers with a frown. I can see her trying to puzzle it out. And gradually, her eyes light with fury.
Luckily, I was expecting this. I know how her brain is framing it. First she thought I just wanted a business deal, but that doesn’t make sense to her anymore. Now she thinks I’m demanding my conjugal rights like a medieval king.
“Absolutely not,” she snaps. She gives a humorless laugh. “Jesus, Mars! I am not having a fake marriage. And I refuse to sleep with a man who doesn’t want me.”
“You won’t have that problem.”
“I… what?” She looks baffled.
I sigh patiently. “I don’t want to be married to just anyone, Wren. I want you. I wanted you when I was eighteen, and I want you now.”
Her expression slowly softens, and she says softly, “Oh… honey, I’m still five years older than you. That hasn’t changed.”
“No,” I say firmly, “you’re not going to frame this as a crush.”
“Isn’t that what it is?”
“No.”
“So, what? You’re in love with me?” Her words taunt me.
I stiffen. “I’m not a boy, or a teenager. I’m a fully grown man. It’s not a crush. I know my own mind, and when I decide that something matters to me, I don’t let it go. I want you. I don’t see why that’s such a hard concept to grasp.”
Her eyes flash. “This is about sex. I turned you down, and now I’m like the moon. You want to stick your flagpole in me.”
“You mean I want to plant my flag.”
“I know perfectly well what I meant.”
“Well, I wouldn’t quite put it like that…”
“You want to get me into bed, and you think this is the only way you can do it. Well, if I was to even consider this ludicrous offer, I can tell you now that sex wouldn’t be on the table, or anywhere else, in fact. I’d want your sperm in a cup, and I’d use a syringe and inseminate myself.”
“How romantic,” I say sarcastically.
She glares at me.
I lean my forearms on the table, closing the distance between us.
“I’m guessing that because you’ve been to the fertility clinic, you know all the facts and figures, right?
Forgetting about the syringe for a moment, there are two choices of insemination—Intra Uterine Insemination and In Vitro Fertilization? ”
“Yes, I remember.”
“The success rate of IUI is seven to ten percent per cycle.”
“Yes, but IVF is fifty-five percent on the first try.”
“And the risks?”
She doesn’t reply, but her jaw knots. They would have warned her of the chance of multiple births, premature delivery, and low birth weight.
And that she’d have to take fertility drugs.
And not only that, but every cycle would cost her up to twenty thousand dollars.
It wouldn’t be a small sum for a primary school teacher.
I’m betting she’s saved up for one cycle, but after that, she’s going to struggle to get the money together.
“The success rate of getting pregnant the old-fashioned way,” I remind her, “if you have sex during ovulation, is around thirty percent. It’s better all ways round—mathematically, physically, and emotionally.”
She glares at me, because she knows I’m right.
“We can talk about every single part of this relationship,” I continue. “But sex is non-negotiable. If we do it, we do it properly. I’m not going to be a donor in the shadows.”
“So… you’re blackmailing me? Sex or no baby?”
I glower. “This might surprise you, but I didn’t think you’d find the idea so abhorrent. I thought you might enjoy the thought of being married to a young, rich guy who, at the risk of sounding egotistical, isn’t quite the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”
She bites her bottom lip, and I realize she’s trying not to laugh.
My lips curve up, and so do hers. I lean back, and we both have a mouthful of wine. I pick up the bottle and top us up, conscious of her gaze on me.
“I’m sorry,” she says eventually. “I appreciate that I sound ungrateful. You’ve made a very generous offer. But it’s not for me, Mars.”
“Why not?”
She frowns. “Because it’s not what I wanted.”
“You’d get a baby out of it. And a doting husband. Two for the price of one.”
This time she doesn’t smile. “For how long?”
“What do you mean?”
“I read the headlines. You’ve been out with, like, three hundred women this year.”
I roll my eyes. “Hardly.”
“You know what I mean. You’re constantly photographed with models and actresses. Women in designer dresses, with coiffed hair and fake nails. Beautiful women. And yet you’re still single. It doesn’t say much for your stickability or faithfulness.”
I glare at her. “I’ve never cheated on a woman.”
“That’s not what I—”
“—and I never would. Ever. I’m serially monogamous.”
“Interesting distinction.”
“I don’t cheat.”
“Okay, fair enough, but that still doesn’t explain why you haven’t been married before.”
“I was waiting for the right woman.”
She snorts. “And that happens to be me?”
I cock my head, looking at her blonde hair. It’s still in a bob, but quite a long one, and it’s tucked behind her left ear. If she was mine, I could kiss that ear. Whisper words I’ve always wanted to tell her. “Would it shock you if I were to say yes?”
Her eyes widen. “Stop mocking me!”
“I’m not.”
“You could have any woman you wanted! You can’t possibly want me!”
“Why is that such a strange concept for you? We’ve known each other for a long time. I asked you out ten years ago because I wanted you, and that hasn’t changed.”
“I don’t—”
“It’s not just about sex, Wren. I like you. I need somebody at my side, someone I like and trust. And I want it to be you. Is that so incredible?”
Her jaw hangs, like an open drawer nobody’s remembered to shut.
“You turned me down,” I state. “Made it clear you thought I was too young for you. And it stung, I admit. I tried to put you out of my mind. But I never forgot you.”
She sips her wine, her eyes cautious.
“I was caught up with studying then, though,” I continue.
“It didn’t come as easy to me as it did to Caesar and some of the others.
I worked damn hard at uni. And then the company took off.
Everything changed. My world exploded. Dad needed us, and he threw us all in the deep end.
I didn’t have time for anything else except work.
And then the next thing I heard, you’d gone to Australia, and I thought that was that.
Gradually, I grew more comfortable in my role at the company, and yeah, I admit, I haven’t been a monk.
I’ve had a lot of fun. But I’m twenty-eight now, and my father was right—I need to start thinking about the future. ”
“And this is your chance to get your hands on your one true love?” Her eyes dance over the rim of her wine glass as she takes a sip.
“It’s true that neither of us is interested in playing the dating game, but that doesn’t mean it’s purely transactional. You can pretend it’s practical if you like. I’m not.”
She lowers her glass and studies the pale liquid in it.
We’re quiet for a while. I look out at the street, with the people passing by, carrying parcels, with their partners, their children. I’ve done little else but work for the past ten years, and I’m ready for something more.
Wren’s afraid of letting someone else in. But I know what I want, and I’m not afraid of a little hard work to get it.
“I know you’re frightened of getting hurt again,” I say more gently.
“That’s right.” She lifts her beautiful blue eyes to mine. “And you think you can play the devoted husband, but how long would that last? Weeks? Months? And then it’ll just be me, broken hearted again, but with a baby.”
I know what’s at the root of this. I remember her words from the night of the ball. Clearly, I’m not enough to keep guys interested. Her father left her. Three partners have cheated on her. She doesn’t think men stay. With her, anyway.
“Caesar still hasn’t said no,” she says. “And I don’t want complications. I just want a baby.” Her eyes gleam, and she swallows hard, dropping her gaze to the table.
I need to change tack. She’s not interested in me declaring I’ll be a faithful, loving husband.
“Okay,” I say, “if you’d rather keep it as a business transaction, let’s do that. You want a baby. I’m offering that and more. Stability. Security. Two things every child should have.”
“I have a job. I can look after my own child.”
“That’s true. But what about after your maternity leave ends? You’ll have to pay for childcare and a good school.”
“I happen to have faith in our state education system. You went to a state school,” she reminds me. “You always said your father told you it kept you grounded.”
“True. But I had private tuition for several subjects. Money opens many doors. What about healthcare?”
“Again, I trust our country’s healthcare system.”
“That’s very noble of you, when there are over two hundred thousand people waiting for a first specialist assessment, and both adults and children waiting more than five months for elective surgeries.”
She glares at me. “I don’t want your money.”
“You don’t have to take it. But if you have a child with me, I’d like to look after it. Is that so terrible?”
She has another mouthful of wine, but doesn’t say no.
I lean on the table again. “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking. Let’s discuss what you need to make this work.”
“I know you, Mars Ashford, you’re going to try to negotiate your way through this idea.”
“Absolutely.”
My admission makes her stutter. “F-for God’s sake…”
“I’ve already said that my only condition is that I’m not jerking off into a cup. Tell me what yours are.”
“I… what…” Her eyes glass over, and she blinks repeatedly. “I’m not having sex with you. I—I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Reasons,” she says.
“What reasons?”
“I’m not attracted to you.”