Page 67 of The Billionaire's Wife

“Oh, please. Do you remember my mom at all?” Tristan kissed my forehead and released me.

I shouldn’t have missed the warmth of his embrace as badly as I did, nor should I be disappointed that his lips had barely brushed against my head rather than seeking my own. If we were doing this married thing, wasn’t kissing going to be part of it?

I cleared my throat. “I guess I should sign that document.”

“Eat first. I’ll send it back tomorrow. You start up at the bookstore in the morning, right?”

I shot a glance at the papers on the coffee table then resumed my seat at the kitchen island. “Yeah. Or, at least I think so. Megan was going to text me, and I haven’t seen anything yet.”

“Hm. That’s unlike her. Why don’t you reach out after dinner? I know she appreciates having employees who take initiative.”

Who didn’t? “Is it going to be weird that I’m working for one of your friends?”

“Why would it be?” Tristan took a huge bite of burger.

I still couldn’t quite bring myself to eat. My stomach had stopped churning, but there’d been enough up-and-down drama this evening that I was unlikely to want food until tomorrow. I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not on equal footing with anyone. You’re all billionaires and I’m just me.”

“The girls aren’t billionaires except by association. You’re my wife. You’re on exactly equal footing. If you don’t want to work for Megan, don’t. You can stay home. You can find another job. You could start your own company. What do you want to do?” Tristan reached into the bag and pulled out a napkin, then wiped his fingers and mouth, balled the napkin up, and dropped it in his empty container.

“I don’t know. The bookstore honestly sounds like fun.”

“Then do that. As long as you’re enjoying it. If it changes, do something else.”

I scoffed. He made it sound so easy. Just do something else. It wasn’t as though I had a résumé that would set the work world on fire. I had a high school diploma and years of not-quite-legal work that I was never going to talk about. The only jobs I could put on any sort of paper were the fast food and delivery jobs I’d had as a teenager.

That wasn’t a ringing endorsement in my thirties.

“You could go back to school, if you wanted.” Tristan studied me. “You used to want to do marketing. There’s still time.”

Marketing. A big PR firm. How long had it been since I’d given any thought to that as a career? If I could have jumped into it without education, I probably would have given it a try instead of falling back into the shadows where I’d grown up.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Pray about it.” Tristan took my hand and brought it to his lips. “I’ll pray, too. We can pray together.”

I nodded and looked away.

“What’s wrong?”

I took a minute to gather my thoughts. “In Paris, Jenna said something about how God always welcomes us back. I want to believe her. I read the stuff in Luke. But what about Paul getting mad at people for sinning so they can get grace? Or I found another article about something in Hebrews about there not being any more sacrifice for sins. That one didn’t make a lot of sense, but it sure wasn’t the father of a prodigal dancing for joy.”

“You’ve been digging.” He smiled. “That’s good. I don’t necessarily have all the answers, but I do know 1 John 1:9 says if we confess our sins, God is faithful to forgive us and cleanse us of unrighteousness. There’s no limit given on that. Nowhere says it’s a one-time thing. You were serious when you accepted Christ in high school, right?”

I nodded. I could remember the joy of that moment and the days following. The sense of wonder and awe that had faded gradually as the world around me stayed the same. In my mind, I’d painted a picture of everything improving somehow because I had Jesus. I’d talked to the pastor then, and he’d explained that we were what God changed, not always our circumstances. It had made sense.

But it was also disappointing.

“And now you’re coming back.”

I nodded again, even though he hadn’t asked it as a question. “I just…worry, I guess.”

“Then we’ll pray about that together, too.”

19

TRISTAN

“Thanks for meeting me here.” I offered my hand to Special Agent Orbison as he pulled out a chair across from me at the small coffee shop in Fairfax.

---