We settle into the leather seats. The silence is heavy but not angry.
“I was engaged once,” he says quietly, looking out the window. “I was your age.”
“Did something happen to her?” I want to reach out, but I hold back.
“No. She was beautiful and sweet, like you. I was a football star in college. I didn’t focus on law until later. She was the typical cheerleader—smart, pretty, athletic. She loved football.” I can feel the old wound in his voice.
“So what happened?”
“After dating all through college, I asked her to marry me. She said yes. We moved in together. Until that point, she didn’tknow how wealthy I was. I didn’t flaunt it. I wanted to be like everyone else.”
He sighs.
“She discovered how much money I had. I’d been keeping it from her because I wanted her to loveme. It was good for a few months, but she started spending. As the wedding approached, she was never satisfied. One morning, I woke up to a note on my pillow listing all the ways I was unlovable. One and a half million dollars was gone from my account. She moved to Mexico with a group of friends.”
“Did you try to find her?”
“We’d been together for four years. I thought we were in love. But she left me. That’s all I cared about. I could have fought her for the money, but she knew I wouldn’t. I came into a massive trust fund for my twenty-fifth birthday, and when I did, I vowed never to marry. That was twenty-three years ago.”
“I don’t want your money,” I say softly. “I married you because I wanted a career, and...” I stop. I just confessed to using him. But he already knew that.
“That’s all?” He has the hint of a smile.
“I was drawn to you from the moment we met. You told me you were an asshole, but I didn’t believe you. I should have.”
Now I have a hint of a smile, too.
“I’ll do better.” He takes my hand and holds it tight.
18
GRIFFIN
We arrive at the Greenhouse Inn, a small, upscale establishment with several private bungalows. It's nearly seven in the morning when we reach the front desk. I arrange accommodations for us and my driver.
The bungalow has a bedroom suite with a king-sized bed, a living room, and a small kitchenette. I'm exhausted from the long drive and the longer emotional day. Selena looks wrecked.
My emotions are still all over the place about potentially becoming a father. I absolutely hate the thought. But I despise hurting Selena more. The idea of forcing her to terminate a pregnancy she wants to keep is criminal-level abuse. I will not do that to her. But I'm also at a loss because I have no idea how to do this.
“I know I don’t need to apologize, but I do understand this isn’t what you wanted,” she starts, her voice diplomatic and careful.
“I made that decision by not wearing a condom that fit. Now you’re pregnant, and we are having a baby. There won't be any more discussion about it, Selena. And don't tell me you plan to leave. Last night was the only running you will ever do. I found you once, and I will find you again, so don’t run away from me. You can do anything for a year. We’ll deal with how we move forward after that.”
“But you can threaten me, and you can walk away,” she counters softly.
“I’m not threatening you. I’m just telling you I have the resources to find you. I know I’m never going to be the loving man you deserve.” That, despite how desperate I am for it not to be, is the truth. “But I’m not going to walk away from this contract. I want us to try and make this marriage livable for both of us, okay?”
She stares at me, expressionless.
“Let’s just take it one day at a time,” she says gently. She yawns and tugs at her rumpled hospital clothes. It hits me then—she doesn’t have anything else to wear.
“We can help each other. I’ll keep you grounded, and you teach me how to treat you with love and respect.” I kiss her neck. “I can’t imagine you got much sleep last night, and I didn’t sleep at all. Will you take a nap with me?” I kiss her again. “Just sleep.”
“Okay.”
I pick up the go-bag I keep stashed in the trunk of the car and pull out a soft T-shirt and a pair of boxers. “Here. Wear this.”
“What are we doing?” She wants clarity.
