Page 22 of The Reluctant Wife

I glance down at his fingers and don’t find a ring. Or even a telltale band of lighter-colored flesh around his ring finger.So… Probably not married, right?

The muscle above his jaw twitches. A tightening around his eyes tells me I’m not far from the truth. But I also feel like I’m encroaching in his personal life when, clearly, he doesn’t want to talk about it. I lower my hand and lock my fingers together.

“You know what? Never mind. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Truly. Forget I said anything. And please accept my apologies for the intrusion.”

He continues to stare at me, his features a mask of granite. The seconds stretch, then he seems to come to a decision. “I was married,” he says in a remote voice.

I flinch. "Youweremarried?"

He nods.

"And you’re divorced?"

He slowly shakes his head.

"Then… Are you separated?"

His shoulders seem to swell. A nerve throbs at his temple. Then he looks out the window and mutters, "She’s dead."

11

Ryot

I sense the surprise ripple through the space between us. Then there’s silence. She doesn’t offer me her sympathies, for which I’m grateful. There have been too many who’ve given me their meaningless condolences. They’ve always felt empty. For nothing could take away the anger and the regret I’ve carried around in my heart since I got the news about Jane’s death. I didn’t mean to share that piece of information with Aura. For a while after Jane was killed on a mission, I literally stopped speaking for a while.

Not only because I was upset by her death, but also because I was relieved that I no longer had to pretend that I loved her. I didn’t have to pretend that we were happy. I didn't have to pretend that our relationship wasn’t falling apart. And the realization that I wasn't really sad she was gone—especially after how she betrayed me—made me feel even worse. But how could I explain such a selfish notion to anyone? It was easier to claim Ifelt responsible for what happened to her. Even easier to blame Q for his part.

The combination of emotions was a lot to process. It still is. My way of coping was by speaking as little as possible, and only when needed. That gave me a lot of time inside of my own head. I still haven't come to terms with all of it, but I'm beginning to accept it. I don't hate myself quite as much as I did two years ago, and I'm finding it harder to maintain a grudge against Quentin.

And I certainly don’t talk about my past with people I’ve just met.

So why did I open up to Aura? Do I trust her enough? Is it the attraction between us addling my decision making? Or did my subconscious lull me into a false sense of being comfortable around her? Enough that I could confide in her?

Either way, I’ve crossed another line in our professional relationship, and I’m pissed with myself for that. Also, I don’t want to talk about Jane with her. So, I pull out my phone and feign an interest in my email.

She doesn’t intrude. Then after a few seconds, she does the same. The car inches through the city traffic. I directed the team to take a convoluted route to our destination. I'm not taking any chances with having anyone following us.

It’s another forty-five minutes before we’re drawing up to the hotel. This one’s set in a quiet side-street on the edge of Regent’s Park. It’s also so exclusive that there are no signs indicating it’s a hotel.

As soon as the car draws to a stop, I push the door open and jump out, then walk around to open hers. She slides her handbag over her shoulder, then straightens. She takes a few steps into the middle of the sidewalk in front of the two-story Victorian building, raises her arms in the air and stretches. Thenbends over to touch her feet, giving me a view of her pear-shaped behind stretching the skirt of the dress she’s wearing.

I remind myself I need to stop ogling her perfect butt, but I'm unable to look away.

Cole and Brian are already ahead of us, scoping out the area. Once more, Cole takes the lead, I walk next to her, and Brian brings up the rear. We guide her toward the side-entrance where another member of my team is holding the door open. Then, it’s to the private elevator which whisks us to the top floor.

It’s one of the reasons I chose this hotel. Her comings and goings can be private. There will be no hotel housekeeping staff allowed onto the floor either. Instead, I’ve organized a team of cleaners who I screened to carry out those duties.

As for room service? One of my men will deliver the orders and stay while the food is prepared, then deliver them to us. I'm not leaving anything to chance.

"What about my clothes? My luggage?" she asks without looking up from her phone.

"It’s been taken care of."

"Of course, it has." Her voice is caustic.

Cole and Brian exchange glances, but I don’t allow my expression to vary. I sense she’s finding the changes unsettling, and that’s understandable. If it helps her to take out her frustrations on me, that’s fine.

When we reach the floor I booked out as a precaution, Cole leads the way to the double doors at the end of the corridor. On either side, we pass rooms where the rest of the team will be staying. When we reach the entrance to the room, I touch her shoulder and say softly, "Let Cole give the all-clear."

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