Page 2 of Slightly Married
My father’s face darkened as he slowly set down his tumbler. “In love?” His voice was dangerously soft. “Like you were in love with Josh?”
The mention of my ex-husband’s name stole my momentum. My shoulders stiffened as I recalled Bethany’s tearful confession nine months ago when she asked me to divorce Josh so they could be together. I filed for divorce the very next day after Josh attempted to justify his unfaithful behavior.
“Your whirlwind romance that ended with him taking half of your assets and deciding he suddenly wanted children with your Pilates instructor?” My father continued. “The man you insisted on marrying despite my objections?”
His words sliced through me, reopening wounds I thought were scabbed over by now. Apparently not.
I’d lost Mama, then lost my marriage and workout coach in one brutal blow. The shame of having ignored my parents’ warnings burned almost as much as the betrayal itself.
I fought to keep my expression neutral because this wasn’t about me or my mistakes. This was about Simone.
Yet I couldn’t ignore how his words had struck my deepest insecurity. That even after choosing me, a man would eventually decide I wasn’t enough. It was the same fear that had sent me fleeing to Paris, haunted by the thought that if I’d been different, been better somehow, Josh might not have cheated.
“That’s different,” I said finally. “I made my choices—terrible ones, clearly—but they were mine to make. You’re not giving Simone that chance.” I met his gaze. “Using my pain to justify controlling her life is cruel. And it won’t work. I won’t let you do this to her, no matter what happened to me.”
My father’s expression softened unexpectedly, making him look suddenly older, more vulnerable. He sighed, running a hand over his silver-streaked hair.
“I’m not using your pain, agápi mou. I’m trying to prevent it.” His voice lowered, becoming almost gentle. “When your mother died, I promised her I would take care of you both.” His voice caught on the word ‘died.’
We rarely spoke of those final days. The specialists flown in from around the world, the experimental treatments offering hope only to snatch it away again. Her decline had seemed to age him a decade in mere weeks.
Daddy continued, “With Konstantin, Simone will know exactly what she’s getting from the beginning.”
I heard Matt suck in a sharp breath, and I spared him a glance. His expression was unreadable, but his tall frame exuded an air of discomfort. I returned my gaze to my father, who was staring at Mama’s photograph.
“This man she thinks she loves can’t give her stability or a future.”
Looking into my father’s cool, determined gaze, I ached for my sister. I knew too well how it felt to have your choices lead to pain.
But at least my mistake had been my own. The difference was I had chosen Josh and believed in our love with my whole heart despite the red flags everyone else saw.
I’d trusted wrongly, but at least I’d had the freedom to trust, to love and to fail. But to be forced into a marriage she didn’t want, to some man she’d never met? That seemed infinitely worse.
I cringed at the idea.
Who was this Konstantin anyway? Some old rich sleazebag who thought he could leverage whatever business venture my father was hankering after to buy himself a beautiful young bride?
A cold knot formed in my stomach as I imagined Simone trapped in a loveless marriage to please our father.
I hadn’t returned from my Parisian self-exile just to watch my sister’s life be bartered away. Three months of wandering Montmartre alone, nursing my wounded pride and broken heart, suddenly seemed self-indulgent compared to what Simone was facing. Poor Simone. If only there were some way...
“I’ll do it,” I heard myself say, and the words themselves shocked me.
After all, I’d already failed at marriage once, what’s another failed union? This was my chance to protect Simone like she’s always protected me.
My words shocked Daddy, too. For a second, he lost his equilibrium. “What?”
“I’ll marry the old sleazebag ... whoever he is.” I folded my arms across my chest, aware of the loud clanging in my head at my own words. “If it means Simone is free, I’ll do it.”
My father’s eyes bored into me as he assessed me and then shifted to something behind me.
“Theoldsleazebag will accept you as his bride.“ A deep, unfamiliar and rich Greek voice cut through the room, resonating with amused authority, making the fine hairs on my arms rise.
I spun around, only to realize there was a man standing near the window, masked in a swathe of darkness as if the lights in my father’s office didn’t dare reach him. He was tall and wearing a dark blue bespoke suit, judging from the way it fit him.
His shoulders were broad, his posture military-straight, and an unusual platinum watch with an astronomical dial gleamed around his left wrist. His eyes, dark and penetrating under surprisingly thick lashes, seemed to reach out and caress me.
I was unsettled by the thought of this man being here while my father and I conferred. How long had he been standing there, silent and observant? How rude was that?
