Page 13 of The Reason for His Wife's Return

He’d immediately made two things clear in no uncertain terms—their one-night fling fifteen years ago, when he’d acted like a fatally wounded animal looking to make the worst kind of decisions to bury his pain, had been a huge mistake he’d erased from his mind, never to be repeated again. Secondly, and more importantly, he was married now and that meant his wife had all his loyalty. Even though she deposited a body pillow between them like some fortress wall he needed to scale every night. That thought he’d kept to himself.

To which, Elena had guffawed loudly—until it had dawned on her that he was utterly serious.

Aristos had forgiven her two blunders that evening—one that she’d apparently been so sure of his response that she’d unwisely acted on it and the other that she’d intended to be cruel to both him and Mira and their arrangement. But Elena was... Elena. One of the very few people who had known him when he’d been nothing and still remained by his side.

Not out of duty or familial pride, like his grandfather reminded him at every chance.

Not out of false loyalty and induced by greed and ambition like most of his cousins.

But out of choice.

Yes, there was the fact that he paid Elena extraordinarily well but still... He liked to believe they had a bond of some sort. Just not the kind she’d imagined.

It had been easy to move on from the awkward incident with Elena returning to her usual sensible, no-nonsense efficiency.

Only it had had a consequence Aristos hadn’t imagined—Mira had run away from him yet again. Just the reminder of how low she thought he could sink set his teeth on edge.

“Ask everyone to leave,” Mira said now, in a quietly demanding voice that brought his head up with a jerk.

“We’re in the middle of an important strategy meeting that we’re already behind on. We can’t just stop for...personal reasons,” came Elena’s soft reply from his other side.

A murmur of assent followed from his most diligent staff members.

He turned his gaze to Mira, let the pregnant pause prolong, despite his need to placate her. As his PA and right-hand woman and the one who was shouldering the brunt load of work because of his damned accident and required rest, Elena’s polite dismissal of Mira’s demand was not...wrong or confrontational. But he wanted to see his reluctant wife’s reaction to it, see if she’d betray the smallest chink in the iron armor she swathed herself in.

With this fresh start, he wanted Mira to come to him with the truth, assert her role in his life.

Christos, how was it that he wanted the one woman in the entire world who had no desire to be his wife? Or had that always been Mira’s appeal—that she was icily untouchable, perfectly unattainable for someone who had crawled out of the gutter?

“I understand,” Mira said softly, holding Elena’s gaze.

Disappointment curdled in his stomach, more sourly than the medication he had to consume every few hours.

“But this is a rare occasion,” she began again, with a polite smile, “and I can assure you all I won’t make a habit out of interrupting your important meetings on a regular basis. So, please, see yourself out.” Steel wrapped in silken, soft tones.

His tired body flooded with arousal.

“Will ten minutes suffice?” Elena asked, even though most of his staff had already shot to their feet.

Aristos hid his dislike. With that question, Elena was hovering on the very firm boundary he drew around his personal life.

Mira, though, looked in everyone else’s direction, effectively communicating that responding to Elena’s quip was beneath her. “My husband’s clearly not at his best and needs his rest. I know he pays you all astronomical salaries for your expertise. Do as much as you can in his absence. I’ll forward any directives he might have tomorrow morning.”

If he hadn’t been coached relentlessly by tutors and his grandfather that it made him appear common and cheap and vulgar and even weak to his enemies, to express his astonishment at life’s little blips, Aristos would have had his chin hitting his chest in soundless wonder.

When Elena sent him a beseeching glance, unwisely requesting him to trump Mira’s dictates, his wife made the decision for him in a soft tone that would brook no opposition. “Oh, and I’ll also be communicating how he’ll be conducting business in the near future. Because he’s not going to be coming into work again. For several weeks at the least.”

Mira sank into the leather chair next to Aristos, fighting the urge to bury her face in her hands and moan loudly, with both relief and mortification.

She shouldn’t have bossed around his staff. For one thing, it was highly unprofessional. Secondly, it was beneath her to engage in the sort of possessive behavior that only seemed to broadcast the worst kind of insecurities.

But the sight of his PA rushing to his aid, the reality of that woman, who had been such an insidious, important part of Aristos’s life for so many years, questioning Mira’s sensible decision, had pushed her into a danger zone where she reacted emotionally.

It was bad enough how alarmingly pale Aristos’s skin looked in utter contrast to the colorful map of bruises on his face. Neither had she missed how fast and shallow his breathing had become when he’d tried to push up to his feet. It was bad enough that he was here at work, looking and feeling like he did.

Did the blasted man have no sense of when and where his strength might desert him? That he could permanently injure himself if he didn’t give his body enough time and space to heal?

His PA was very possibly just doing her job. But it was not her call to decide whether Aristos should be at work or not. If he wasn’t going to take care of himself, then she was going to do it for him.

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