Page 19 of The Reason for His Wife's Return

Jesus, what the hell was she thinking? How could she talk like that to him? And if he’d threatened her with something like that, even as a joke, she’d have been devastated.

But then, Aristos would never do that, a voice whispered with a conviction that came from deep inside her. Beneath Aristos’s anger always lurked a far deeper, stronger emotion.

Mira rubbed her pounding temples, cursing herself for going about it all the wrong way. What she’d wanted was to rip up the contract and ask him to give their marriage a real chance. That they begin all over—a fresh start for their new beginning.

It was the reason it had taken her weeks to get here. Because she hadn’t wanted to return to that big house. She hadn’t wanted to look back and let fear rule her again. What she’d ended up doing was make him wary of ever trusting her again.

This was why she hated romantic relationships. And this was why she hated dealing with him, especially.

Aristos was her kryptonite, always had been. Turning her from a sensible, self-sufficient Mira to this irrational creature at the mercy of deep emotions, at the mercy of things she knew she shouldn’t want.

Seeing those bruises on his body, seeing him exhausted and pale, had stolen her common sense away. Imagining him in pain and torment had pushed her to irrationality. She couldn’t help thinking she’d come so close to losing him.

But did she truly, really ever have him?

Could anything ever contain the maelstrom that was Aristos Carides? Was it anything but foolishness to think he would ever be a responsible father? Was it anything but pure stupidity on her part to think she could somehow convince him that she didn’t want their arrangement to be temporary? Especially when they couldn’t trust each other?

Mira paced the vast bedroom, straightening things here and there, rubbing her lower back and mulling things over.

She had to fix what she’d unknowingly ruined.

Trust between them was a tenuous, fragile rope that they were still braiding. She didn’t want to go through this pregnancy or childbirth, facing Aristos across the table as if they were enemies. Or worse, dispassionate people who were held together by just the pregnancy and that flimsy piece of paper. She wanted trust between them, she wanted the closeness and connection they’d shared that night and she wanted...him.

And yet, it seemed she couldn’t just wish it into existence, could she?

“Planning your escape route?”

She turned to find him rubbing his hair with a thick towel. A white T-shirt and black sweatpants covered up the gorgeous body. Dismay filled her at the realization that he might be leaving again.

“Are you going out again?” she countered.

Before he answered, a knock sounded on the bedroom door. Frowning, Mira glanced at her watch. It was half past ten. An array of staff walked in, carrying dark wooden trays bursting with food and drinks. She’d barely thanked them when the whiff of pizza hit her nose.

With big, juicy chunks of pineapple—just as she’d been craving earlier.

Her mouth watered as the doors closed. “How did you know I—”

Without glancing at her, Aristos picked up a bottle of beer from one of the trays and popped the cap open. “Stella texted me that you asked about where to find pineapple pizza.”

“So you had them make it?”

He shrugged. “It took longer because they had to have fresh pineapple brought in by a chopper.”

“You had someone bring in fresh pineapple by chopper at night to make the pizza I asked for on a whim?”

“That’s the one disadvantage of living here. Something we have to address soon.”

Mira simply stared at him, her mouth hanging open. Even the delicious smell of pizza and her hungry belly weren’t enough to pull her attention away from the man in front of her. Who was clearly pissed off at her and yet had the room in his head to have that small wish of hers seen to immediately.

“So you don’t want it, then?” he said, laying a hand on the large circular tray. The pizza slices were hot and the scent of cheese and pineapple summoned her like a call from the mother ship.

“No, of course I want the pizza,” Mira said, dragging the tray toward her. But she couldn’t eat. Not yet. Not when something was sitting in her throat like a huge boulder blocking her airways.

Leaning his forearms on his knees, Aristos bent forward. It was almost like an attack—if attack meant drowning her in the scent and sight of him. “Will you eat or do I have to force-feed you?”

Without responding, Mira served herself two slices of pizza and leaned back in her seat. The pineapple was juicy and sweet on her tongue, the cheese hot and melting, hitting the exact right spot. He watched her like a hawk as she finished two slices in record time and chased them down with a glass of ice-cold water.

“Still not eating any meat?”

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