Page 80 of Owned By a Billionaire

How would Mark navigate this?

I’d spoken to my lawyer by illustrating a hypothetical situation. I suspected he knew I was talking about Mark, however, since the family solicitor had suggested drafting a prenup during those heady days of our engagement.

He advised that there were two possibilities: either the abandoned wife could sue for emotional damage or, despite there being no actual law broken, the authorities could come down on him for time wasted investigating his disappearance.

That same afternoon, Mark joined me at Mayfair. After a day of teaching, he looked tired, and I quickly fixed him a drink.

“Why won’t you stay?” I implored.

“Audrey needs the company,” he said with a cheeky grin.

“Oh, Mark, please,” I said, pacing again. This man had me doing a lot of that lately. “In any case, you do realize it’s not illegal to fake your death under Australian law?”

He gave me one of his long, perplexed stares. “Who have you told?” His abrasive tone made me wince.

“No one. But I made my own enquiries, and no names were mentioned. I just want us to be together.” I hated how weak I sounded.

“I want that too.” He gulped down his whisky. “You know everything about me, but I know so little about you.”

He stared at the blond wig on the chair as though making a point.

I regretted leaving it out, but with so many scattered thoughts tugging at neurons, I’d become careless.

“Like this, for instance.” He picked up the wig, which I removed from his grip and tucked away.

“You never complained,” I said.

“It’s twisted, though, wouldn’t you say?” His steely stare showed me yet another new face. “I need to know why.”

I knitted my fingers as I gazed out the window. How could I explain something that I didn’t understand myself? “We don’t have to do it again.”

“Have you seen someone about it?”

My face contorted. “I’m not unwell, Mark. It’s just kinky role-playing—to which you responded enthusiastically, I might add.”

“Everything about you turns me on, Caroline. It’s not a question of arousal. I’m just trying to understand. You now see me for who I really am, but you’re still a total mystery to me. And while I was wearing a mask, I had no right to ask you to remove yours, but now it feels a little unequal between us.”

I sat on my bed, kicked off my shoes, and massaged my toes, my mind wandering to something as trivial as needing a pedicure.

“You promised to talk about your life before Reynard Crisp.” His tone softened as he sat next to me on the bed and placed his arm around me. “I can continue to play these games. You can wear your wigs and make me pretend to force you or whatever erotic scenario makes you hot.” He paused. “But I guess I’d like to know when this first started. And I know nothing about your life growing up.”

A breath whooshed out of my mouth. “When this first started? Oh Mark, please, let’s not turn this into psychoanalysis.”

He rose from the bed, poured us another drink, and passed me the glass. “I’m not trying to get into your head. I would just like to know about your life before all of this.” He pointed at the Monet on the wall. “For instance, who were your parents?”

I sipped solemnly on my drink.

My hands trembled. The only time I’d revisited my childhood was after Bethany exposed her true identity, forcing me to explain her existence to my children. The anxiety from that day and the shock on my children’s faces when they learned how their half sister was conceived still sat deep in my core. Now and then, I felt a sharp pain from it, like a wound that would flare up with the weather.

Finally, I said, “I don’t know my proper parents. I never have. I tried looking for them a while back, but I recently gave up. Other things, namely you and your fake identity, have distracted me, and now Crisp coming for his payment.”

“His payment?”

“My Mephistophelean dues.”

“Oh yes.” His mouth raised at one end. “That won’t happen. I’ll see to it.”

My brows contracted. “Mark, please. Stay away. He’s too powerful and dangerous. I can’t lose you.”

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