He stared at the bed almost resentfully. He’d planned to sleep on the sofa, obviously not enough of a bastard to make his pregnant wife unhappy. But she’d been unhappy the night of her wedding. His conscience twisted. Angry, furious, frustrated, all things he was very familiar with feeling over the last eleven years. But he’d not once feltbad.
Until now.
She’d had to ask for a damn honeymoon.
She’d felt like a stranger in his home, which—of course—shewouldhave.
He was on the brink of really messing things up. He could feel it.
He imagined her washing her face, brushing her teeth, these deeply intimate moments of married life that others took for granted, and he just didn’t know whether he was hiding in this room because he didn’t want that, or because he wanted it so badly.
The door behind him pushed open, and her face glistened like dew, all make-up removed. She was wearing a little vest thing and a pair of silk black pants and she’d never looked more beautiful.
‘I’ll just…’ he trailed off and backed out to the bathroom, the minty scent of her toothpaste in the air, the sink wet from where she’d run the taps.
He gripped the vanity, knuckles white, head bowed.
Get it together. Get it goddamn together.
Sharing a bed with Maria would be the sweetest of tortures. To be that close to her, her warmth, the smoothness of her skin. Not once had he forgotten the feel of her beneath his hands, on his tongue, around him.
She’d asked him for a real relationship, but in order for him to give that to her, he was going to have to let her in. But he wasn’t sure he could do that. He’d barely survived the last time they’d broken up. Gio and the work he’d made Micha do was the only thing that had pulled him through the days, weeks and months that followed his move to Paris.
Only, this time there wasn’t even a choice. They were going to have a child.
I’ll do whatever it takes.
His own words, delivered as a threat, come back to haunt him.
A short while later he returned to the bedroom to find Maria already under the covers, the night lamp on that side of the room already switched off.
He sat heavily on the opposite side of the bed.
‘Is this okay?’ she asked quietly. ‘I don’t know what side—’
‘It’s fine,’ he hastily assured her, wincing when he realised he’d cut her off.
‘Oh. Okay. Good night then.’
‘Good night, Maria,’ he said, as he slipped beneath the covers, the distance between them an insurmountable divide. The fear that, in the night, he might accidentally reach for her terrified him. His muscles locked, not even wanting to breathe loudly in case it disturbed her.
Long into the night and the early morning, he remained awake, planning the honeymoon she’d asked for as something to do. He would absolutely do what she wanted, the honeymoon, the new home, the fresh start…but he knew with a high degree of certainty that he’d lose his heart in the process.
Just like he had before.
CHAPTER TEN
Micha had watchedMaria try to get comfortable in the private jet’s seat for the last ten minutes.
‘Do you want to swap?’ he asked, finally.
‘No, I don’t think that would make much of a difference,’ she admitted, still clearly uncomfortable.
He was guessing that it was her back, because she hadn’t let him know what it was that she was finding uncomfortable and he fought the ridiculous—and frankly dangerous—desire to tell her touse her words.
She shot him a look from under her eyelashes. ‘Are you going to tell menow, where we’re going?’ she asked.
He pursed his lips and shook his head. She sighed dramatically and he bit back a smile.
