Page 52 of Ruthless Financier
He took a bottle of Sauvignon blanc from the refrigerator and filled the glasses as he said, “It’s a hollow victory. My mom is still dead and he’s still rich and I might be just like him.”
I sipped the white wine and wished I had better answers. Other women were all heart and caring and sweet, but I was always an icebox who solved problems logically rather than facing her emotions. I let out a small frustrated sigh and stared into my glass. “You’re nothing like him. You have an amazing heart.”
And I loved that part of him the most.
Fuck. That wasn’t good.
He held his glass in front of him and his brown eyes were dark and almost impossible to read right now. My skin was alive with awareness of him when he said, “It’s not a chance I want to take with you.”
Nothing in my life had trained me for falling in love, or for what to do right now. My spine tingled when I said, “We don’t have to talk about this right now.”
“Look, you married me because of a contract. I think we should rip it up now.”
Boom. My eyes misted. I rocked on my toes. We were good together. My heart raced as I sipped my wine and tried to calm down. When I felt calm, I asked, “Why? You want to just be married, without a contract?”
That sounded so stupid, and my ears burned from my own words. He didn’t love me.
He turned toward the bar and put his glass down, avoiding me. “I think we can activate the dissolution clause now. You have the money and you … we … I need to be free.”
His shoulders seemed tense. I wiped my cheeks so he wouldn’t see me cry. I’m not the crying type. My own body ratcheted up the emotion as I put my glass next to his, unable to drink. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
His fists were on the black bar and he shook his head at the wall. “That’s impossible. This is about me and my bottom line, and needing to sever anything that makes me weak.”
I made him weak? I wasn’t sure what to do. All heat left my body, leaving me cold. My throat was tight, like I’d throw up, as my stomach twisted. I pointed to the door. “Okay. I’ll pack my things.”
He turned toward me and his face was pale and tight, too. If his words hurt as much to say as they did to hear, maybe we were both wrong. But he only said, “It’s late. You’re ready for bed. I’ll fly you back in the morning.”
Never argue with the client. The PR rule floated in my mind and I ignored the pins and needles feeling in my limbs as I forced myself to head to the bedroom. I stopped after walking a foot that felt more like a mile in my mind. I had one thing to say and hopefully he’d hear me.
“Jacob?”
His voice cracked. “Yeah?”
I ran my hands through my damp hair and wished the adrenaline rushing through me would dissipate. I met his gaze and said, “I enjoyed being your wife. None of this felt like a lie to me.”
He picked up his untouched glass and said, “Well, that’s something I guess.”
I floated back to him like he was a magnet and asked, “What?”
He gulped his wine like it was water and then stared at the ceiling when he said, “You were the closest thing to a wife I’ll ever have, and you being here sped up my timeline to success. I should be thanking you more.”
Damn. I wished he loved me. My knees were weak and I pressed my palm onto the nearby wall to hold myself together. My chest felt like it had caved in from a landslide as I asked, “Why are you ending it then?”
He stared at me and I swore I saw his eyes glisten like he’d cry. “Because I realized I want something in my life that’s not here now.”
An emotional woman—which was something I’d never be. I was cold and emotionless. But I asked, “What?”
He took a step toward me. “Love. I want to look at myself in the mirror and know I’m not like my father. And that I don’t seek to destroy the only woman I might love.”
He loved me? Maybe he did. I wasn’t sure. My hand shook. My heart had been hidden away and unavailable for a long time. Maybe we weren’t just filled with lust, like my life theory said. I let go of the wall and walked toward him and said, “But you don’t love me, so it’s not a problem.”
“We shouldn’t pretend. My heart will only break, and it’s better if we don’t see each other anymore.”
My arms ached to hold him and never let go. But I couldn’t lie to him or to myself anymore. I’d never be who he wanted me to be, or who he thought I was. So I ignored the ache in my body that made me long to run into his arms, and I clutched my belly instead. I took a step back, but my feet were so heavy it was like trying to shovel impossibly deep snow that was iced over. My heart pounded and I asked, “Jacob?”
His eyebrow arched. “Yeah?”
I love you. The words surfaced in my brain, but I pressed my lips together and blinked. His brown-eyed stare captured me entirely and I’d lose who I was if I followed my impulses. I shivered as I said instead, “I’m sorry if I ever did anything to hurt you.”
