Page 316 of In Love with a Cruel Billionaire

THE PROFESSOR WAS INfamiliar territory.

Diana. Trouble. Curse in seven languages.

The situation almost felt like home, but because he also knew things could get a lot worse, he almost wished he had taken the time to learn an eighth language. The way things so often blew up in his face, he had a feeling he would soon run out of cuss words to use.

If only he had seen her before entering the restaurant's main dining hall, he could still have salvaged things, could've still saved her from more pain. But he goddamn hadn't. And now it was too late.

He forced himself to place a hand at the small of Laverne's back, which her dress had left completely exposed. There was nothing less he felt like doing, but he also knew what was expected of him. To act out of character would only raise questions, and Laverne had been with him far too long not to figure things out eventually.

As they followed the maître d' inside, he deliberately sought Laverne's attention, his every word and gesture designed to have her whole world around him.

But it was no use.

"We've reserved your usual table,monsieur."

His usual table, which meant he would have to walk pasthertable.

Fuck no.

But to refuse would only make Laverne realize something was amiss and lead to a scene he absolutely needed to avoid, so he managed to give the other man a brief, tight smile of acknowledgment. "Thank you, Pierre."

Time marched on, and with every step he took, the harder his heart thudded against chest. As the distance between them continued to shrink, the emptiness inside of him gnawed more violently at the professor.

And thenithappened.

Without any fucking warning.

It just fucking happened.

Her gaze finding him, and even without their eyes meeting, he knew.

She was hurting.

Badly.

So much so that her pain made it all the way to him, its scarred edges burying deep into the center of his old and damaged soul.

I'm sorry.

I'm so fucking sorry.

I'm sogod damnedsorry.

In the corner of his eye, he saw her companion turn to face him. The man was too damn handsome for Matthijs' peace of mind, and he might have even hated him on the spot if he hadn't noticed the clothes Diana's companion wore.

A man of God, the professor thought broodingly,and more likely a deacon or one that had yet to be ordained, given his age.

Either way, the irony wasn't lost on him. Of all the times they could meet accidentally, it had to be now, when she was with one of the Lord's trusted servants...and he was with his mistress.

The professor and Laverne finally made it to their table, and the next few minutes were a blur, with him acting entirely on autopilot while his mind was desperately doing its best to shove out his last image of Diana.

Pale face.

Trembling form.

And eyes that hurt (so much goddamn hurt) but did not hate.

What must I do to make you throw me away, mijn obsessie?

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