Page 65 of Owned By a Billionaire

Poor Caroline was left with her mouth agape. “Okay. As long as you elaborate on that bewildering revelation.”

“Oh, I will. You’ll hear the whole shitty story of my former life.” I kept my tone dry and emotionless, despite the tsunami of agitation within.

As we walked in silence, I pointed at a pub I’d already visited a few times for a lunchtime ham sandwich and beer. “Will that do? It’s not pretty.”

“Oh, Cary… I mean, Markus. I’m not that faint-hearted.” Her lips quirked into a smirk. “I’ve seen worst. Which, of course, you know.”

Her arched brow drew a rare smile from me in response. For, yes, we’d met in even shadier establishments.

As I fell into her dark, magnetic eyes, I almost forgot why we were there, as though those thirty years prior to our meeting never happened.

If only.

But then, there was also an ironic twist to this tale of deception.

Caroline and I would never have met.

That’s what mattered most.

I held the door, and as she passed by, I breathed in her signature fragrance and indulged in memories of her lying in my arms. Nicer times, when it was just us, without that closet of skeletons I’d left behind about to burst open.

After we settled with drinks in hand at a table tucked away in a quiet corner, I gulped down a whisky before starting on my pint. Moderation could wait. I needed all the help I could get.

Thanks to the booze, my chest unknotted a little. I abstractedly watched a man and woman at the bar having a heated argument, which was not unusual for that working-class pub.

I took another gulp of ale and then slowly peeled away more of my mask. “Although I wasn’t at Oxford, I completed a Masters in English Lit at Sydney University.”

“I don’t care about your college days. I’m more interested in learning about this wife of yours.” Her eyes were wide and expectant.

I had to smile. Her impatience was justified, especially as the couple at the bar continued to swap abuse for all to hear. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

She shook her head. “I’ve heard worse.”

I took another slug of my pint and continued. “I met Elise while teaching English Lit.”

“You met her at university?” she asked.

I shook my head. “At secondary college. She was in her last year. Eighteen at the time.”

“Oh? And you were?”

“Twenty-three. I got my diploma in education before embarking on a masters, which I completed while teaching.”

“Okay.”

“I skipped a couple of grades as a junior,” I added. “Anyway, we didn’t get together while I taught, for obvious reasons. But after she graduated, we dated.”

I paused. “Elise was a dancer from a wealthy background, and she also wrote poetry. I guess her creative and free-spirited nature dazzled me. Or at least I confused her bipolar disorder, which I wasn’t aware of at the time, with her being a fearlessly expressive wild child. Dance was her passion. And she was talented, but she would have blowups with everyone, barely making it through a performance season.”

I took another drink before continuing. “Anyway, I married her. We’d been dating for six months, and she threatened to leave me if I didn’t tie the knot.” Pausing for a moment, I summoned those disturbing episodes in my early adult life. “It soon became apparent that Elise wasn’t well. Her mood swings were severe, and she was prone to paranoia. She turned violent towards me. I had to leave, if only for my own safety. She tried to stab me once, and another time, she set our bed alight.”

Caroline frowned. “Oh my.”

I nodded and sighed, recalling that dramatic night. “The house burned down. I even have the clipping from the newspaper report to prove it.”

“You kept that?” She looked surprised.

“I did.” I exhaled deeply.

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