Page 44 of The Billionaire's Demand

He took a mouthful of champagne. Her question had been direct—his answer was not.

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ he countered.

Her frown remained. ‘Because you hate me,’ she said.

He stilled. ‘Hate you?’ His voice was hollow.

‘I don’t blame you for that—I have no right to do so.’ She spoke as if she had not heard him. ‘But...’ She took a breath and he realised she was not as calm as she was appearing. ‘But even though you discovered that my marriage was not...not what the world thought it was...not in that way...that doesn’t change anything between us, does it?’

He didn’t answer, only lifted his champagne flute to his mouth, taking another slow mouthful, as if to give himself time, then lowering it again.

His expression changed, and he looked directly at her.

‘Eliana, even if...even if you went into your marriage with Damian open-eyed about his sexual orientation—and I hope that you did...that you knew what you were letting yourself in for—do you...do you ever regret it? Regret marrying him instead of me?’

He had said it—asked the question that he had never allowed himself to ask before. For what purpose would there have been in her answer? Not while she was married to Damian certainly.

But if she had come to regret it she could have had the marriage annulled for non-consummation...or just gone for a divorce—

‘No.’

Her one-word answer was quietly spoken, but there was in it something that made Leandros know she had spoken only the truth.

‘No, I don’t regret marrying Damian. It was my choice to do so—and it would be my choice again.’

Leandros felt a heaviness inside him at her answer. He pursued it to its conclusion—the conclusion he already knew...had known for six long years. Now stated again.

‘Because if you’d married me you’d have faced poverty—and you couldn’t face that.’

‘No.’

Again, the one-word answer gave tacit agreement to what he had said, and was quietly spoken, but it was neither hesitant, nor holding regret.

‘I could not have faced the consequences of marrying you. And so for that reason, whatever kind of marriage I had with Damian, I cannot—do not—regret it.’

Her expression changed.

‘It’s the only truthful answer I can give. I’m... I’m sorry I can’t give you any other. And I’m sorry that I hurt you...that I killed the love you felt for me.’ She took a breath. ‘And I am glad, for your sake, that you no longer feel anything for me—’

She broke off, looked away, out of the window, over the rooftops of Paris.

There had been a bleakness in her voice just then that had been absent from the quiet, unhesitant way she’d told him she did not regret her marriage to Damian. But it was her last words that echoed inside Leandros’s head. They were true—of course they were true. How could they be anything other than true?

And yet—

Are they still true? Do I feel nothing for her?

The question hung in his consciousness, wanting an answer—an answer he could not give.

For a moment he stood still, eyes resting on her averted face, on her fingers curved around the stem of the champagne flute she was holding. Then slowly, so very slowly, his hand reached out to touch the curve of her wrist...so lightly...so fleetingly.

‘Things change, Eliana,’ he said softly. ‘They’ve changed already between us. They could change again.’

He let his hand fall away. He was conscious of the beat of his own heart. The silence between them. She did not turn back, so he could not see her face, but he saw her fingertips around the stem of her glass tighten. And her free hand moved to fold over the place where he had touched her so briefly—so gently.

Was she sheltering herself against his touch? Or sheltering the touch itself? How could he tell? How could he know?

How can I know anything about her, about what she feels? And why should I care?

---