Page 72 of The Billionaire's Wife

Or to get a new car.

No. Driving to work when it was a decently walkable distance was dumb. Although rain and winter might convince me otherwise, I wasn’t there yet. Maybe a bicycle?

I’d talk to Tristan and see what he thought.

My steps slowed as I neared Tristan’s condo building. My stomach clenched. Angie had been so kind on the phone. So excited to hear that we were married. So welcoming. But what if it had been an act? What if they were upstairs, waiting to pounce and demand that I exit Tristan’s life for good?

I’d do it.

No question.

If they asked me to leave, I would. Because they’d be well within their rights to do so. I’d been nothing but trouble for them since the first time they invited me to church with them. And while I would always be grateful that they did, I owed them enough that I’d walk away.

Even if it killed me.

With growing dread, I passed through the lobby and pressed the button for the elevator. A couple returning from work, hands intertwined, laughed their way over and waited with me. The smile I gave them felt tight.

Finally, the elevator arrived and we climbed in. I pressed the button for Tristan’s floor then scooted to the back wall. The laughing couple was a handful of floors below me, and their presence made the trip up seem to take forever.

At last, they got off, and I closed my eyes in the silence as the car traveled to the top floor. I tried to still the thundering-doom music that played in my head, but failed. My steps dragged the final feet to the condo door, and I fumbled the keys.

I pushed open the door, and lilting Irish music and the hearty scent of something rich and meaty poured out to greet me.

I smiled in spite of myself. It was just like Tristan’s house growing up—filled with color and laughter and music and meals that hadn’t come from the frozen aisles in the grocery store.

I closed the door behind me and paused to take off my shoes and set down my things. I checked that my phone was in my pocket, then took a deep breath and headed down the hallway toward the kitchen and living area.

“There you are!” Angie tapped a wooden spoon against a big silver pot before resting it across the top, wiping her hands on the apron she wore, and hurrying across to wrap me in a tight hug. “Oh honey, it’s so good to see you.”

I stiffened, then forced myself to relax and return the hug. “Hi, Mrs. Lee.”

She leaned back and fixed me with a stern eye.

I winced. “Angie.”

“Better.” She patted my cheek then stepped back and studied me. “You look amazing. All grown up and gorgeous with it.”

My face burned.

“You’re embarrassing her, Ang,” Mr. Lee—Steve—called from where he sat on the couch. He patted the cushion beside him. “Come sit and tell me about the bookstore you’re helping run.”

“Oh. I just work there. I’m not running anything.” I glanced around for Tristan, but didn’t see him. With no escape, I made my way to the couch and sat. “But I like it there.”

“You always liked books.” He winked at me and everything inside me warmed. “I remember you used to take off with my leather-bound classics.”

“You knew about that?” I could feel the blush crawling back onto my cheeks. “I thought I was being sneaky.”

He laughed and patted my knee. “I know. And I figured it made it more fun for both of us. Always did want to ask why you took Dickens time and time again, though.”

“A Tale of Two Cities.” It was one of the reasons I’d always wanted to go to Paris.

“Ah.” Steve nodded and sent me a look of understanding. “I always liked that one, too. Romance, intrigue. Redemption.”

I swallowed as the final lines of the book floated through my mind. I nodded, but my throat was too tight to speak.

“Tell me about the bookstore.” Steve settled back into the sofa.

“There’s not a lot to tell. It’s just a smallish store. Megan—she’s the owner—is married to one of Tristan’s friends. Although I guess she’s a friend of his in her own right as she’s the sister of a different friend.” I’d been able to pick up that much from listening to conversations here and there in the six weeks I’d been here. “I like her. She’s very resistant to change.”

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