Page 57 of The Billionaire's Wife

After dinner, we’d walked down to the Seine and walked along the bank until the sun had set and the temperature started to drop.

Now, back at the hotel, the reality of sharing a room with Jenna hit me full force. It would be fine. Except that I wasn’t used to sharing a room with anyone, let alone a bed. I hadn’t since the few months when Tristan and I lived together after we eloped.

“Hey. Cute jammies.” Jenna grinned from where she sat on the little two-person sofa between the windows of our room.

I glanced down at the cartoon alien and Hawaiian girl doing the hula. “Thanks.”

“We’re a lot like that, you know?”

My eyebrows lifted. “You’re aliens?”

Jenna laughed. “No. We’re family. We don’t let anyone get left behind. Or forgotten.”

I sighed.

“You don’t believe me.” Jenna pointed a finger at me.

“I do. I’m just not sure it applies across the board to everyone you run into.” I crossed my arms, suddenly chilly.

“Hmm.” Jenna patted the seat next to her. “You’re not exactly a stray from off the street. You’re Tristan’s wife.”

I winced and dragged myself across the room. I would have loved to find an excuse—any excuse—not to. I perched on the sofa as far from her as I could get.

“I don’t bite.” Jenna laughed. “But I also get being overwhelmed by this group. And you haven’t really even met all of us yet.”

I nodded. Tristan had mentioned church and getting together with everyone. I’d found an excuse to get out of going every time he did. “Don’t blame Tristan for that.”

“Oh, I don’t. I know he’s persistent. Noah said—and I guess you have to figure that all the guys talk to their ladies, so we pretty much know it all—”

Jenna paused. I nodded.

She smiled and continued. “So I heard about the divorce papers.”

I winced and looked away.

“You know he doesn’t actually want a divorce, right?”

I closed my eyes. “I don’t know that, no. He has the papers. He’s obviously thought about it. And honestly? It’s probably better for him.”

“You didn’t sign them.”

I wanted to groan, but held it in. “No. Maybe I should have.”

Jenna shook her head. “You know better than that.”

“I know what he said, but—”

“Is there a reason you can’t accept what he said at face value?”

I blinked. “You’re blunt.”

“Guilty.” She smiled, not looking guilty in the slightest.

I chuckled in spite of myself, then sighed. “I don’t think I’m good for him.”

“I do.”

“You barely know me.” I frowned. Jenna had no idea if I was good for Tristan. For all Jenna knew, I was a serial killer hiding out from the feds.

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