“But it is my business. You’re my wife! If I’d known, I could have?—”
“Refused to marry me.”
His mouth tightens, and his eyes flash with an emotion I can’t name. “No. I could have made different decisions. I would have guaranteed your safety in the contract and fulfilled that promise. I would make sure you and the baby weren’t put at risk. I failed to think about my family’s future.”
“Right. Because your ideal family wouldn’t have a sick woman in it.” Of course, that's what he imagined. A woman who could raise his child for longer than a few mere years. It's what anyone would hope for.
“Ideally, you wouldn't be sick at all,” he snaps.
An icy, corrosive anger seeps into my veins. There it is—the truth. He resents me for being sick. He wouldn't be the first man to feel that way. I remember Victor's face when Dr. Makovich told us I would need open heart surgery. I can still see the way his lip curled up at the edge into a sneer. I was nowhere near the heir he wanted. I was a girl, and a damaged one at that. No vessel to shoulder his enormous legacy.
Billionaires are supposed to be able to afford the best, and James was sold damaged goods. He might pretend to care for me to assuage his guilty conscience, but eventually, he'll start looking for a way out. I might as well beat him to the punch. At least that way, I can be the one to make the choice.
“If you want out of this marriage, don’t stay for my sake,” I mutter. “I’ll figure something else out. I’ll find a way to raise this baby that doesn’t leave you chained to a dying woman.”
James’s eyes widen, and he leans over toward me. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You don't have to pretend, James. We both came into this with open eyes. It's not like you're my real husband, anyway. That's just what it says on the marriage certificate.”
“We’re married, Maura. You’re mywife.I refuse to let that change.”
I’m not surprised. If we don't stay married, James won't get his deal with my father. Then all this effort would've been for nothing.
“Fine.” I tear my eyes from his and stare out the window. “It's your decision. If you want a broken wife, you have her.”
“That's not how I think of you,” he says insistently. “How can you even say that?”
He's not going to let this go. At his heart, James is a decent person. He doesn’t want his own resentment to hurt me, so he’s going to keep trying to convince me it doesn’t exist. He could spend the whole rest of the flight home arguing that he doesn’tcare. Frankly, I don’t want to deal with that. So I pull out my trump card—the sick girl card.
“Please, I'm exhausted,” I whisper. “Let me rest. Don't make me have this conversation any longer.”
I hear James moving, shifting his weight. “Iamsorry, Maura. I wish I’d reacted differently, but more than that I just…I just wish I knew.”
I whisper my answer, not really sure if I want him to hear it.
“I know.”
36
JAMES
Ilie back in my bed, reviewing tomorrow's schedule on my tablet. There's a new color on my calendar. Mustard yellow, for doctor’s appointments. Maura and I have another follow-up appointment tomorrow.
The day we arrived back from Greece, Dr. Markovic came to the penthouse to check up on Maura personally. He came with a whole host of recommendations for her diet, exercise, and schedule during her pregnancy. With his help, we arranged for a private chef to deliver meals tailored to Maura's needs. She's now under strict instructions to walk no more than an hour a day, accompanied by someone who can call him if her heartbeat elevates.
It's obvious that Dr. Markovic and Maura have known each other for years. Sometimes, he talks more like she's still a child. Part of me wants to snap at him that she's a grown adult, capable of making her own decisions. Another part of me is glad. She acted like a child, keeping her condition a secret and naïvely thinking it would never come out. Putting herself at risk because of her stubbornness.
My own schedule for tomorrow shows the gym in the morning, then straight meetings for six hours. At least Taylor was able to schedule them over Zoom, so I can stay in my home office in case Maura needs me.
Sighing, I rub my temples. She won’t need me—and even if she does, she won’t ask. There’s been a definite distance between us since we got home. We’re polite when our paths cross, but Maura never invites conversation. She disappears to her studio whenever she can, though she’s not strong enough to stand for long.
Meanwhile, I come up with every excuse to barge in on her and make sure she’s alright. I’ve offered her water so many times, Dasani will probably try to hire me as a spokesman. I’m constantly, painfully aware of where she is.
Two days ago, she snapped at me to stop hovering.
“You're doing it again,” she'd said, not even looking up from her book.
“Doing what?”
