Page 127 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

It’s just an introduction.

That’s what I tell myself.

But as my driver pulls away from the curb, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just set in motion something that I’ll regret for the rest of my life.

33

Dominic

That same evening, I adjust my tie in the mirror, my thoughts still churning with guilt after my meeting with Nico this morning.

I’ve been avoiding her all day since returning from that breakfast with Nico. Buried myself in meetings at the office, conference calls, anything to keep from facing her.

Coward.

But now we have this networking event, another public appearance to maintain our perfect married facade. Young Entrepreneurs, or something or other.

When I step out, Tatiana is already waiting in the living room, dressed in one of her perfect pantsuits, hair swept into a sleek ponytail. She looks immaculate. Untouchable.

“Ready?” she asks, her tone carefully neutral. “The car’s waiting downstairs.”

I nod, straightening my cufflinks. “Let’s get this over with.”

I can feel her eyes on me, assessing. Waiting. When I don’t offer anything more, she sighs.

“Fine,” she says. “You’re clearly in a mood.”

The ride to Midtown is mostly silent. Traffic crawls through the city streets, making the journey feel interminable. Next to me in the back seat, Tatiana fidgets with her watch, the expensive Cartier she purchased a couple of weeks ago.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?” she finally asks, her voice low enough that Ric can’t overhear from the driver’s seat.

“Nothing’s going on,” I reply, keeping my eyes fixed on the window.

“Bullshit.” The sharpness in her tone makes me turn. “Yesterday we had sex. Multiple times. I stayed in your bed. And now you can barely look at me.”

I clench my jaw. “Ric. The privacy shield.”

Ric turns on music in the front, and I wait until the privacy shield is in place.

Then I turn to face her. “We have a complex arrangement, Tatiana. Let’s not complicate it further.”

“Complicate it?” she repeats, incredulous. “That’s rich coming from the man who bent me over his desk yesterday.”

“That was just physical release,” I say, the lie bitter on my tongue.

Her eyes narrow. “Why are you always so hot-cold? Why? I don’t get it. Push then pull. Push then pull. Constantly. Why? What did I do to deserve this? I slept in your bed last night. That means nothing to you? I thought we were... we were...”

“Whatever you thought, you were wrong,” I tell her coldly, hating myself with every word.

Hurt flashes across her face before she masks it with cool indifference. She turns away, staring out her own window, shoulders rigid.

The guilt threatens to choke me. I want to tell her the truth. About Nico. About my promise. About how I can’t stop thinking about her even though I know I should.

Instead, I say nothing, and the silence between us feels like another betrayal.

When we finally arrive at the venue, a sleek high-rise housing a conference center on its lower floors, I step out first and offer Tatiana my hand. She takes it without looking at me, her grip loose, performative. Angry.

Behind us, my security detail emerges from the follow car. They take up a shadow position behind us.

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