Page 43 of A Nine-Month Deal With Her Husband

‘Your stutter does not make youunlovable,’ she insisted.

Ben didn’t take in her words. ‘After Margrét, it was easy to work out that emotion and my stutter are inexplicably intertwined and I vowed I would never allow my relationships to go more than surface deep,’ he stated.

But he’d stuttered with her earlier. What did that mean? ‘But you have feelings for me,’ Millie said, taking a stab in the dark.

He nodded, not bothering to deny her claim. Instead, he simply shrugged. ‘And that’s why I’m walking out of here, jumping on my plane and going to St Barth’s. And why I won’t be spending Christmas with you or having any contact with you in the future. Nor will I give you a child. It’s not going to happen, Millie. I can’t do this, I can’t doanyof it.’

Just like that? Did he really think she was going to stand for such a bloody awful explanation? ‘Oh, that’s such a cop-out, Jónsson, you are such a coward!’

Anger suffused his features and the blood drained from his face. ‘What did you say to me? How dare you?’ he asked her through clenched teeth. ‘Do you know how long it took me to get my stuttering under control? Do you know how many tears I shed, how many walls I punched, and how often I screamed and shouted in my head when my words got stuck in my throat?

‘I had no support from my parents—my mum thought I wasn’t trying hard enough—my dad simply believed it would come right on its own and I had to find my own counsellors and my therapists! I’mnota coward!’

‘You are if you are keeping it from letting you love me,’ Millie told him. It wasn’t a good time to tell him that, despite never having seen him so angry or out of control, she’d yet to hear him stutter. Yeah, he might have a couple of words go amiss here and there, but if he could yell at her without stuttering, then he could love her without it being a problem, too.

‘And I think you might love me, Ben. I love you,’ she stated. ‘And I’m so furious that you’ve put this barrier between us when there was no need to do that. I’m so angry that you couldn’t tell me that you stuttered and that you kept this from me.’

‘I won’t discuss my speech impediment, Millie.’

Ben looked away, but his stubborn expression remained. She knew how obstinate and determined he could be—he hadn’t built an international empire without deciding on a course of action and pursuing it with zeal. He looked at his watch again. ‘You should get back to the concert,’ he told her.

It was obvious he was emotionally retreating and even more obvious he wasn’t going to join her in the front row to watch the gala concert.Marvellous.Nor would he come to see her in London. Millie felt her throat tighten and remembered long-ago conversations with Magnús, wondering why she could never break through, wondering why he couldn’t love her, wondering what was wrong with her. And here she was again, standing in front of a man, begging him to love her, and, once again, she was being batted away.

She was done. She couldn’t give her love to someone who didn’t want it. But before she walked away, she had more to say.

‘I want to say a few things and I’ll hope you’ll give me the courtesy of hearing me out,’ she said, hearing the wobble in her voice and hating herself. ‘I cannot tell you how little I care that you stutter. I’m sorry you went through such a torrid time as a child, but you’ve been shouting at me, emotion blazing, without stuttering once, so I’m wondering if it’s as bad as you think it is.

‘So you got choked up and your words didn’t come quickly enough. Sowhat? Again, your stutter does not make you less you, less lovable, less anything. If you couldn’t speak at all, I would still love you. I think I always have,’ she said, sounding sad. ‘You’ve never let me down...until today.’

She blinked and couldn’t help the single tear that slid down her face. ‘I trusted you to tell me the truth, but you held back and you didn’t trust me with this. And that hurts, so much. Secondly, you are the best person in my life and over these past two weeks, I’ve come to love you. But I will not beg you to trust me or to love me. I did that with Magnús and I nearly destroyed myself in the process.

‘It’s your choice to love me or not, Benedikt, your choice to stay on your emotional island or to join the rest of us who are prepared to flounder our way through love. Be alone or be with me but...’ she swallowed and looked him dead in the eye ‘...if you are with me, then you arewithme. And that includes talking to me, letting me in. I’m not prepared to keep banging on the door, demanding entrance into your inner world.’

He rubbed his hand over his mouth, up his jaw, and Millie saw the misery in his eyes. ‘I can’t, Millie. You’re asking too much.’

No, she wasn’t. But she couldn’t make him see that.

She wasn’t going to cry, not yet. She still had to walk out of this room with her dignity intact and sit through a concert. She could cry later, on the plane back to London tomorrow. She couldn’t cry here.

‘Okay, then,’ she told him and heard her voice crack. She needed to leave now, before she begged him not to throw her away. Faced with the immensity of her need for him, with the reality of what she was walking away from, she wanted to grovel to him to keep her. She fought the urge to tell him she’d accept anything he could give her.

But, if she did, in time she’d come to resent him, just as she had Magnús. No, it was better to walk away. Millie forced herself to kiss his cheek, to touch his cheek with her fingertips. ‘Take care, Benedikt.’

Gathering every bit of courage she possessed, she walked out of the empty room they’d taken refuge in.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EDENROCKHADbeen voted one of the best hotels in the world and every time he came here, Ben was reminded why. The setting, being right on the beach, was perfect, the service was exceptional and the amenities were varied and wonderful. With golf, tennis and a range of water sports on offer, it was also a perfect spot to host a stag weekend for a group of guys who liked to be active, but who weren’t into pub crawling and getting wasted.

He’d arrived in St Barth’s mid-morning two days ago, just in time to be included in a round of golf and from there he and his friends hit the beach, finding that Anders had arranged jet skis for them. They’d spent the next two hours on the water, had a quick shower and met up again for drinks on the terrace and then an exceptional supper. Then, to toast the groom-to-be, they got stuck into the hotel’s exceptional wine and whisky list.

He hadn’t thought about Millie or the train wreck he left behind in Reykjavik. Or, more accurately, he tried not to. And every time he felt his heart splitting in two, he had another glass of wine or threw back another whisky.

As a result, he felt like death warmed up. So sick and so sad. Ben walked out of the warm, clear sea and pushed back his hair, wishing Millie was by his side, or that she was waiting for him in their room, or on a lounger or at the breakfast table. He wished he could make his life with her, take a chance on her, wished he could believe that their love would last for ever, through thick and thin, through stammers and stutters.

She’d told him she didn’t give a damn about his speech impediment, that it meant no more to her than the birthmark on his thigh, or the scar on his chin, did. But how could he believe that when it meant so much to him? How could she brush away something that defined the way he lived his life? It was the barrier he’d erected between him and the world, the impenetrable bulletproof glass shield excuse that didn’t allow him to emotionally engage.

Ben picked a towel off the lounger and roughly swiped his chest, before sitting on the lounger, inspecting the fine-grained sand between his feet. He didn’t want to be here, the sun hot on his shoulders and the gentle wind ruffling his hair. He wanted to be in London, wet and drizzly, or in snowy Iceland. He wanted to be with Millie.

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