Page 64 of Owned By a Billionaire

“No. That’s good.”

We crossed the road in awkward silence and sat down on a park bench under the canopy of a willow.

After a moment, he spoke. “It’s not pretty, Caroline.”

“No. Neither is mine.”

He turned sharply to study me, holding my gaze as though trying to read more into my words.

“Please, Cary, let me really know you.”

He sniffed. “I’m not sure if I really know me, Caroline.”

I sighed. “I don’t mean in the philosophical sense, or what makes you tick. I have a sense of that man already.”

His brow contracted. “Have you?”

“You can’t fake intelligence. You can’t fake sensitivity. I’ve known enough people to understand that. I’ve seen how you were with Bertie.”

He sniffed dismissively. “Dogs will always bring out one’s gentle side.”

“That’s not always the case.” I thought about Reynard and how I’d seen him kick a dog on more than one occasion. “And how you treated my grandchildren. How you were with me. That type of charade is difficult to uphold.”

“None of that was a charade, Carol.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

I shook my head. “No. I’m her, all right. More than ever, I am her.”

His brow pinched as he studied me. He scratched his shadowed jaw, normally clean-shaven. He looked even more attractive this way. “I’ve let myself go a little. Please excuse the way I look.”

Taking his hand, I smiled. “You look handsome. Beautiful as always, Cary.”

He removed his hand from mine gently. “The name’s Markus. Markus Reiner. My friends back in Australia called me Mark.”

I frowned. “Australia?”

“That’s where I was born. My family immigrated from Berlin to Sydney. I left there at twenty-five and moved here.”

“But you don’t have an accent,” I said, totally stumped.

“No. I learned how to curtail it. I was rather pretentious in my college years, a bit of an Anglophile. Detested Australia and its backward ways.”

“So, no Oxford?”

He shook his head. “You discovered that, didn’t you? I’m surprised you didn’t have me profiled.”

Taken aback, I was lost for words. A faint smile grew, and after digesting this staggering new detail, I said, “You know, I prefer Markus to Cary.”

He sniffed. “You haven’t met Markus yet.”

“But I have. That’s what I’m trying to say. I love you—the man that you are. It’s just a name. And while Iamcurious about your life, it still doesn’t matter.”

His dark eyes drilled into mine as though searching for something. “I’m still married, Caroline.”

Chapter 21

Markus

Istood.“Idon’tknow about you, but I need a drink.”

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