Page 17 of Owen

“What do you want to talk about, then?” I arch a brow.

His square jaw sets as he clamps his mouth shut in a stubborn line.

Screw this. “Okay. Great chatting with you.” Taking my drink, I slide off the stool, being careful not to spill my wine, and begin walking back to my villa.

“I didn’t love her,” he declares matter-of-factly. “She didn’t love me, either.”

I stop and spin around at his confession.

“We weren’t marrying for love. It was a business arrangement.” When I meet his gaze, he keeps sharing, surprising me. “She didn’t give us a chance or take the time to get to know me, not that it would have worked, anyway.” He shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not upset about her not loving me, not even a little. I’m upset about the whole situation; my family expecting me to perform like a puppet for them. It’s ridiculous.”

I don’t react; I wait patiently for him to tell me more.

He blows out a long breath, eyeing me nervously. “No judgment?”

“You’ll not find that here.” I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my own life. I’m in no position to judge.

He nods decisively. “In answer to your question, am I always this confident? I used to be, but now…” His muscles tense. “…I’m not. My mother and father chose my future wife as part of a business deal. Gregor maybe told you, but our family owns one of the largest printworks in Scotland, but it’s a dying industry. Our marriage was designed to strengthen and expand the business between my father and hers. It was a calculated business deal. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“How romantic.” His sad aura is so thick you can feel it. Under his watchful gaze, I reseat myself and pat the stool beside me, inviting him to join.

I slip my bag off and lay it down on the gray patio paving below.

Owen casually walks out from behind the semi-circle bar and pulls a seat closer to me before sitting. Pulling his phone and wallet out of the pockets of his shorts, he lays them side by side on top of the bar.

Now only a few inches apart, I swivel to face him, resting my feet on the footrest of his bar stool, my knees between his widespread legs.

I place my hand on his bare knee that’s covered in soft golden hair and give it a squeeze. “Relax. You can share anything with me.” I smile reassuringly. Discretion is my jam. I’ve become a human vault, filing away all the relationship, career, and life dramas my team members share with me, and I never disclose.

He swallows hard, staring at my hand that’s trying hard to soothe him. “Our marriage was doomed from the beginning. It would never have worked. Marrying her felt like a prison sentence.” He looks off into the distance. “I genuinely thought I could go through with it, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.” He shakes his head, taking a deep breath. “I don’t think I have a job or a home to go back to anymore, either. My mother hated me already, but this time I think I’ve really blown it. She’ll never speak to me again after this.”

I can’t imagine never speaking to Poppy as she grows up. That would break my heart.

He continues. “My mother is all about the show, all for the sake of the business. She wears a mask well to hide the fact she and my father despise each other. I’ve cast a shadow over the family name. They—well,she—will never forgive me for that.” He stops, taking another deep breath, almost as if he is desperate to get out whatever he’s been keeping bottled up. My hand stays rested on his knee, giving it another squeeze, coaxing him to get whatever is eating him up out, loving how soft the hair on his skin feels.

“That business, my job, working for my father… it’s all I know how to do and suddenly I don’t know who I am and I have nothing to get up for in the mornings.”

Clenching and unclenching his hand around his wineglass, he looks pained when he says, “In the past, my friends have told me I can be selfish.” He looks at me as if waiting for my reaction at that news, only I don’t give him one. I will not judge a situation I know nothing about, or base my opinion on what Gregor has told me about him, either. He continues, “And, according to my ex-girlfriend, who married my best friend, I might add, I wasn’t a very good boyfriend either. So, in the last year, I’ve tried to be a better man. Paid attention to my friends’ lives, been helpful, showed up for people. I’ve been trying to right my wrongs.”

“Do you still love her?” I ask apprehensively.

“Skye? Hell, no,” he scoffs. “As a friend, I do. I love them both equally. They were made for each other. I can see that now. But I am not sure I was ever in love with Skye.”

I adore how mature he is about his best friend marrying his ex-girlfriend.

“Were you and Skye together long?”

“Since high school.”

“Wow.”

“Fourteen years. But most of the time I was a dick to her. How she put up with me, I’ll never know. In fact, scratch that, I do know because I’ve had time to think about thisa lot.I think she felt sorry for me.”

“Why?”

Humming as if in thought, he runs his tongue along his pearly white teeth. “I have Mommy and Daddy issues. Let’s just say that growing up wasn’t easy. I also wasn’t honest with Skye from the start. Although she knew my mother would never have allowed us to marry, she stayed with me, and I think that’s why I always held back from her, never fully letting myselfbewith her. I know I didn’t put in the effort in our relationship, because deep down I knew I would have to marry someone my parentschose for me. My sister is trapped with a man she doesn’t love, and she is utterly miserable.” He fades off. “Christ, my poor sister. She looks so unhappy.” He rubs his hands down his face. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Rubbing my fingertips across his knee, I nod in acknowledgment.

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