Page 64 of The Billionaire's Wife

I scowled. It took everything I had not to tell her to stop being stupid. That probably wasn’t the way to go here. Nor was grabbing her by the shoulders and giving her a good shake. “I don’t understand. This is everything you want. Without the uncertainty of the FBI’s plan, I might add.”

“You deserve to be free. To marry someone you love and have a family.” She turned and walked to the picture window and stood with her back to me.

I bit my lip and tossed a mostly inarticulate prayer heavenward. While I didn’t get a clear message of the exact words to use to get her to see reason, I did feel peace creeping through me. I’d take it. “Why don’t we spend the evening praying about it? We can talk about it again in the morning.”

“What’s there to think about? I should just go.”

“No.” I stood and crossed to stand beside her. I wanted to reach out and take her hand, but unlike during our time in Paris, I didn’t get the feeling she’d welcome it now. She didn’t turn to face me, so I stood beside her looking out at the river. “You should stay.”

“Tristan.” My name was a frustrated sigh.

My lips twitched up and I tried to mimic her tone. “Faith.”

“You’re not being realistic. Did you even absorb what Ortega said? You really want to be married to me forever? Just so, what, you can be some kind of martyr? Don’t you want a real wife? A family?”

“I don’t actually think being married to you forever and having a real wife and family are mutually exclusive.” I swallowed and tried to ignore the throbbing in my chest her words had caused. Did she really not see that we could have it all? Together? “I guess I thought, after this weekend, you were beginning to believe it, too.”

I looked over and saw her close her eyes. Her face scrunched up like she was in pain. But I had no idea how to interpret her expression, and given my apparent inability to understand her at all, I wasn’t going to try.

I cleared my throat. “I’m going to sign the papers from Mr. Ortega. Let me know what you decide.”

“Don’t you want dinner?” She still didn’t turn.

“I think I’m going to go for a walk. I’ll probably stop and get something at some point. If you want me to bring you something, I can, but I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“You don’t have to leave. I can go.”

“No.” I shook my head even though she still wouldn’t turn away from the window. “I’d like the walk. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Or order something in. Or text me, I guess, if you change your mind about me bringing something by.”

I sat on the couch and flipped to the back of the document then signed and dated on the lines indicated for me. I dropped the pen on the papers and stood. I opened my mouth to say something about how it was all right here for her, but stopped. She wasn’t a child. I sighed. “Think about it, okay? I’ll be back in a bit. I have my phone.”

18

FAITH

Ilistened as Tristan’s steps carried him down the hall to the door. It took everything I had not to turn and ask him to stay. But he needed to really think about this. Was he honestly okay with the idea of me as his wife? Forever?

It was one thing when we were kids and he was getting me out of a terrible situation. But now? He had so much to offer and I was just…me. If I was honest, I brought a lot of negatives to the table. Always had.

Look at how this whole mess had started in the first place. His parents—Mrs. Lee in particular—had taken pity on me and dragged me to church with them. I was reasonably positive she’d been responsible for Tristan giving me the time of day. I could imagine her patient voice in my head, lightly scolding him to make me feel welcome.

The door opened, closed, and the locks clicked with a distinctive snick.

I blew out a breath and let my gaze drift to the door. Should I have stopped him from leaving? Did I have any right to ask him to do this? To want him to?

I crossed the room and picked up the papers off the coffee table, then settled on the couch. I hadn’t read them in depth yet. Maybe I wasn’t a lawyer, but I was reasonably certain I could see past the “whereas” and “thereuntos” to see what the Ortegas were getting at. And maybe, just maybe, since I’d spent so much time on the other side of the line between black and white, I might see something in here that went beyond a straightforward release.

Halfway through the first page, I started to get a dull throb behind my eyes. The thing read like the lawyer got paid by the word. Twenty minutes later, I set the papers back on the coffee table, leaned my head against the back of the couch, and closed my eyes.

I didn’t see anything off in there. After wading through all the language, I wasn’t sure I would have even if it was obvious. So much for that idea.

Tristan…would have seen it. And he hadn’t. Or maybe he had, and he just didn’t care. Either way, he’d signed it, and the space beside his name for my signature mocked me.

In my pocket, my phone vibrated with an incoming call. I dug it out as hope speared through me. The only one who could possibly be calling was Tristan.

Or a number I didn’t recognize.

I frowned and tapped the “screen call” button. It was one of the reasons I’d gone with this model phone and it saved me from all kinds of telemarketers. And clients I didn’t want to deal with right then.

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