Page 89 of The Billionaire's Demand

‘You can change anything you don’t like,’ he said, stepping out into the foyer and placing his keys and wallet in the bowl, then turning back to her. But Libby had already stepped away from him, was moving deeper into the penthouse, one hand lifted to her lips as she stared at the double height room beyond the foyer. He tried to see it through her eyes. Through the eyes of the teenager he’d once been, so poor he hadn’t eaten for days, sleeping in an alleyway that reeked of urine and sweat.

It was magnificent, objectively speaking. The penthouse had been made of two full storeys of apartments, combined by the previous owners. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered panoramic views of Manhattan, and there was a deep balcony with a spa beyond the kitchen.

‘We can’t raise a baby here,’ she said, turning to look at him, and instead of there being admiration in her features, he registered abject horror.

He frowned. ‘You don’t like it?’

She looked around again, as if she might see something else in the apartment she’d missed on first inspection. ‘It’s not that.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s...just...so...’

He waited, curious as to what word she would choose.

‘A baby couldn’t relax here,’ she said then laughed softly, nervously. ‘I couldn’t relax here. My God, Raul, this is—’ She bit down nervously on her lower lip, and that same protective urge fired in his gut. To hell with it.

He closed the distance between them and put his hand on her upper arm. A gesture designed purely to reassure and comfort, nothing more, and yet damn it if his fingertips didn’t spark the second he touched her. She expelled a sharp breath and her eyes lifted to his, so he felt the world tipping sideways in a way he immediately wanted to fight.

‘It’s just a place to live.’

‘But it’s not a home,’ she said urgently, swallowing, and he felt her tremble like a little bird. His gut twisted. What did he know about home? He’d never had one. ‘Not like I’ve always wanted to raise a child in.’

Raul had bought the place because it was a good investment and he could afford it. A divorce had meant it was being sold for under market value; he acted quickly to secure it and he hadn’t regretted the purchase since. But he had no emotional ties to the place.

‘Okay, we’ll find somewhere else.’

Her laugh now was a little manic. ‘Just like that?’

‘Why not?’

Libby shook her head, wrapping her arms around her torso. He didn’t drop his hand. He hoped his touch was reassuring to her in some way, even when it was unsettling to him. ‘It’s fine. I’ll get used to it.’

But Raul didn’t like the tone of her voice—anxious and concerned. His thumb stroked her arm gently. ‘Hey.’ He drew her face to his. She stared up at him, eyes wide, looking for something in the depths of his expression, but he didn’t know what. ‘We will make this work.’

It was a promise he made to the both of them, something they both needed in that moment, to hear, and believe.

CHAPTER SIX

A WEEK AFTER moving to New York, Libby had to admit her fears had been baseless. Her worries about how she and Raul would make this work, her concern that their sexual chemistry would make any kind of cohabiting situation untenable, had evaporated in the face of the fact they barely saw one another.

Raul worked long hours. So long she had begun to wonder how he functioned—even to worry a little, because how could a person sustain themselves when working so hard? And when he was home, or rather in the sky palace, as she’d started thinking of it, it was more than large enough to accommodate the pair of them without them needing to interact. Libby had her own spacious bedroom, balcony and bathroom, and she tended to eat dinner alone, hours before Raul returned. Her days were long and solitary, but Libby refused to give into the temptation to feel sorry for herself.

While this was far from her ideal situation, there was plenty to be thankful for, and excited about. She focused on the baby and on exploring this enormous, exciting city. She certainly didn’t think about the dreams she’d always cherished, and about how far her arrangement with Raul was from the safety and security of the real, loving marriage she’d wanted since she was a little girl.

Raul’s apartment was on the Upper East Side, and Libby discovered she was an easy stroll from many of the sights she’d seen in movies and on TV. From famous restaurants and grocery stores to museums, galleries, Central Park, and just the streets themselves, she kept herself busy by walking for miles and miles each day. It was admittedly far colder than Libby had ever thought possible, and frequently she’d been caught out in the snow, but on the first day in town she’d found a department store and bought a discount puffer coat that zipped up from the knees to the collar. It was like wearing a blanket, and when combined with gloves and a beanie, she was warm enough to walk and walk.

It made her tired though—pregnancy was exhausting, anyway—but she was always glad to be tuckered out at the end of the day and ready to flop into bed. Sleep came easily most of the time, meaning she didn’t lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering about Raul, and this bizarre arrangement of theirs.

And so one morning, eight days after arriving in America, Libby woke and looked out at the crisp blue sky and contemplated which direction she’d strike out in, where she might go, what she might see. She didn’t think about Raul, she didn’t think about their baby, she just focused on keeping herself busy, day by day, until one day, this all felt normal.

She made herself a piece of toast for breakfast, eyeing her Vegemite jar with a hint of concern. It was already half empty.

‘Morning.’

Libby startled, almost dropping her tea into the sink, as her gaze jerked across the room to find Raul standing there, arms crossed, legs wide, watching her.

Her mouth went dry and her heart began to pound; her lips parted on a quick sigh. The temptation to cross the room and touch him was totally unwelcome. She mentally planted her feet to the ground, refusing to surrender to the sudden desire.

‘Hi,’ she said unevenly. ‘What are you doing here?’

His expression was quizzical. ‘In my home?’

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