Page 145 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

I wipe my cheeks, turn on the tap, and wash my face.

I scrub, and scrub, as if I can wash away the hurt and shame I’m feeling.

Maybe I shouldn’t go to this business dinner. Why the hell should I? What’s the point?

I sigh.

I’ll go. I’ll complete the terms of this stupid contract. Then tomorrow, I guess I’ll sign the papers. And we’ll be done.

No. You’re overreacting. He’s obviously just distracted by the coming business meeting. That’s it. That’s what’s wrong. Dom cares about you, he really does. He wouldn’t have said all those things last night if he didn’t. After this business dinner, we’ll finally have a nice, long talk, and we’ll figure things out.

Yes. That’s what we’ll do.

I shut off the water and dry my face on one of Dom’s ridiculously expensive towels. As I reapply my makeup, I try to focus on the task at hand rather than the knot of anxiety in my stomach.

In the car, the tension between us is almost palpable. He hasn’t said a word since I came inside. Not even the customary complement about how good I look.

Instead, he keeps glancing at his phone, his jaw tightening whenever he sees the screen, almost like he wants to call someone but can’t bring himself to do it.

Something is definitely wrong.

The man who just used my body like a personal stress ball is not the same one who whispered against my skin last night that I’d broken through every barrier he’d built.

Maybe he’s having second thoughts. Maybe he’s realized this whole thing was a mistake. Maybe he’s just ready for it to be over.

The thought shouldn’t hurt. This was never supposed to be real. It was a means to an end. His billion-dollar deal, my financial security. Clean, neat, transactional.

Except somewhere along the way, it became messier than that.

“Are you going to tell me what this dinner is really about?” I finally ask him.

A shadow crosses his face. “Just a final loose end for the resort project.”

“You’re lying,” I say before I can stop myself.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Excuse me?”

“The deal is closed. You said it yourself. So what’s this dinner really about?”

For a moment, something vulnerable flickers in his eyes. A plea, almost. But then it’s gone, replaced by that same distant coolness. “It’s business, Tatiana. Let’s leave it at that.”

I want to push. Want to demand answers. But the hollowness of our earlier encounter still echoes between us, and I find myself nodding instead. “Fine. Business it is.”

The car glides through the evening traffic, the lights of the city blurring outside the window. Dom sits beside me, not touching me, his body angled slightly away as he stares out his own window.

I should be thinking about tomorrow. About the annulment. About what comes next. But all I can focus on is the man beside me and the growing certainty that whatever awaits us at dinner, it isn’t just business.

No.

It feels like an ending.

39

Tatiana

We finally pull up to the restaurant, the sleek black town car gliding to a stop at the curb. I spot our security detail in the follow car behind us, the two men already scanning the sidewalk with practiced efficiency.

Dom checks his watch, then his phone again. The screen illuminates briefly, and I catch a glimpse of a name. Nico.

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