Page 22 of Hunter

“What do you mean terms?” He waves my question away. “Hunter, if we’re going to play this game for a year, I won’t stand for you holding secrets over me. What terms did my father want?”

His focus flits from me toward the buzzing restaurant on the other side of the vines that shield us. A piano is being played; the soft lilt of classical music mixes with the excited chatter of the other customers. When he returns to meet my gaze, his mouth twists in amusement. He takes a breath, his enormous chest expanding and contracting beneath his tuxedo.

“You’re not going to let this go, Bella?” I shake my head. “There was a small payment made and assurance that I would maintain you until you asked that I don’t.”

“You paid him?” I squeal.

“He threatened to request an annulment. I couldn’t bear the thought of you returning to Spain, so I intervened. I gave him a group of small businesses I had. It was nothing, but he seemed happy with it.”

“How did your father agree…” My voice trails off as the penny drops. He isn’t talking about his family businesses; he’s talking about his own. The ones he set up as a teenager in the background to build and grow as a backup plan if life should get difficult. He told me about them in his letters—a corner shop, a café, and a garage from memory. There may have been more, but they slip my mind.

“It wasn’t my father’s choice,” he says simply. “You were more important. I’ve done all right without them anyway.”

“But they were yours. You shouldn’t have.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Really, Bella? As your husband, I should have allowed your father to obliterate us and drag you back to Spain, only for you to be married off to the next suitable candidate?”

“No, but…”

“There is no but. I was not allowing that to happen after knowing how desperate you were to move to London and live here.” He sighs softly, his hand lifting to his bowtie nervously. “This wasn’t what I wanted to talk about.”

“Tell me the story of Oso then,” I encourage, sensing his uncertainty in telling me the truth of how he has cared for me over the years. In my mind, Hunter maintaining my safety and lifestyle had been something he was required to do. Now, I see it was a choice he made, which wasn’t dependent on our reconciliation.

His demeanor brightens immediately as I push the uncomfortable subject to the side, creating room for him to tell his tale. He rubs his hands together, and I lift my glass to my lips to drink.

“We were in his office, and one of his security staff had come to alert him to a disturbance at the rear entrance. Someone was demanding to speak with him.” He chuckles. “Greyson did a fantastic job creating a distraction. He was only a boy then, but was always effective in his work.”

“It was a setup?”

“Of course, when all your belongings arrived at the house, I immediately realized the bear was missing. When I asked after it, your father rebuked my request. That day, Oso was coming home with me.” I laugh out loud in complete disbelief at what he’s telling me. The manager appearing beside us interrupts the story. Hunter acknowledges him with a nod as he stands silently beside us.

“Would you like to order, Sir?” he asks.

“We don’t have menus,” Hunter says, his tone icy. The man lifts one of the leather-bound menus from the table, and we glance at one another. “Apologies, I was too captivated by my wife to notice them being laid on the table. Please give us a few minutes.”

“No problem, Sir,” he responds, but I don’t miss the sarcasm in the tone. I am sure he enjoyed pointing out my husband’s oversight. Hunter passes me a menu and then collects his own.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” he mutters, scanning the options.

“Keep talking,” I prompt, unable to concentrate on anything other than his tale.

“Yes, so while your father was attempting to placate a situation outside, I took it upon myself to go on a little treasure hunt. Oso was sitting pride of place on your old bed waiting for you. I threw him out the window and collected him on the way out.”

“No fucking way!”

The exclamation comes out louder than planned, and our waiter pops his head around a flower arrangement to check on us. My cheeks burn with embarrassment at being so crass in such a beautiful place. My companion doesn’t seem to care; his pupils dance as he watches my reaction.

“Bring us whatever you recommend,” Hunter tells him. “I have no interest in wasting time picking a meal. I want to continue the conversation with my wife.”

The wordsmy wifesound too good on his lips. My heart aches with what could have been.

Our meal passes with course after course of delicious dishes accompanied by matching wines. Each one is more delightful than the last. We chat around various topics, mainly reminiscing about a time when none of this had happened. Every so often, he catches my eye, and that boy I fell in love with is there, each part of him clear and soft.

We are spooning delicious lemon souffles into our mouths when his driver appears at our side. Hunter looks up and glares at the intrusion. The stoic man leans down and whispers something in his boss’s ear. Hunter grimaces, unhappy with whatever has been said.

“It slipped my mind,” he says almost to himself, then glances at his watch. I stare at him, looking for him to explain what’s happening. He must feel my focus on him; he looks up, and sadness has come over his previously bright expression. “I’m sorry, Bella. I need to go. You finish, and my driver here will take you home.”

“Where are you going?” I snap as he dabs at his lips with his napkin.

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