Page 3 of A Nine-Month Deal With Her Husband

‘I have no interest in my mum’s business, so I’ll agree to that. But you’ve got to promise never to lie to me.’

He far preferred the truth, however hard it was, to dishonesty. The promise was easy to make.

Benedikt pulled a notepad towards him and picked up his fountain pen. It seemed they had a deal to make, a marriage to undertake.

He looked at Millie and nodded. ‘Right, let’s hammer out the details.’

CHAPTER ONE

Present day...

INREYKJAVIK, outside the hotel she’d booked last week in the historical heart of the city, Millie left the taxi and icy air burned a path down her throat. Man, it was cold. And, at nearly three in the afternoon, daylight was fast disappearing. She smiled at the driver who’d parked directly outside the entrance and thanked him for collecting her from the airport before turning to thank the harried-looking porter pulling her case from the boot of the sedan.

It was about a hundred degrees below and she buried her nose in her cream scarf as she walked up the steps to the front door of the hotel, wishing she was wearing another four layers of clothing.

Despite only being outside for no more than a minute, she was mind-numbingly, toe-curlingly cold. She managed to stutter a greeting to the doormen and immediately headed for the freestanding fireplace in the centre of the impressive room. She held her hands to the warmth and her fingers started to tingle.

Man, she’d forgotten how far north Iceland was and how cold it could get. Life in London had made her soft.

After defrosting, she peeled her scarf from her neck and undid the buttons on her thigh-length coat. She wore tight jeans tucked into knee-high, stiletto-heeled leather boots and a cranberry-coloured jersey that skimmed her hips and ended at the top of her thighs. She brushed a hand over her long hair, which she’d pulled back into a low tail.

She could murder a cup of coffee...

Draping her coat and scarf over her arm, she looked around the small lobby and her eyebrows lifted. The hotel had more of a feel of a modern country house, with long, comfortable sofas and exceptional art on the walls. There was no reception desk and she wondered where to check in...

‘Ms Piper?’

Millie greeted the tall, thin and extremely stressed man who’d addressed her. ‘Hello.’ She smiled at him and thought he could do with a half-bottle of homoeopathic stress drops.

‘I’m surprised to see you here, Ms Piper.’

Piper looked at the name tag attached to his lapel—Stefán, General Manager. Why should he be surprised? She’d made a reservation and she’d arrived. That was the way hotels worked, wasn’t it?

A young woman approached them at a fast clip and touched Stefán’s arm. ‘Sir? Will you come?Now?’

Stefán picked up the urgency in his colleague’s voice. ‘Ms Piper, will you excuse me?’ He pointed to a couch behind her, facing the snowy street. ‘I’ll be right back, if you’ll wait?’

Well, it wasn’t as though she had a choice. Millie nodded and watched as he fast-walked across the lobby and disappeared behind a door. She noticed her suitcase standing next to a pot plant and grimaced. She hoped there wasn’t a problem with her booking.

Now a lot warmer, Millie took off her coat and sat on the edge of the backless couch and looked at the huge Christmas tree in the corner, white fairy lights its only decoration. Christmas was just three weeks away, but she wasn’t overly excited about the holiday.

Without a family, the holiday season was more of a trial than a celebration. Millie placed her chin on her fist and sighed. The last Christmas she truly enjoyed was when she was fourteen, the year before her mum died. She and her mum had decorated their Reykjavik house with greenery and fairy lights and made a wreath for the front door. They’d polished off many hot chocolates and belted out Christmas carols on the piano as snow covered the city. It had been a happy time, mostly because Magnús had been away for most of that December...

At fourteen, she’d believed her mum when Jacqui told her her dad was working, that he was in a different time zone and that’s why he couldn’t call her. That, despite being unemotional and distant, Magnús definitely loved her.

But she’d still wondered why Magnús never hugged her, why he’d never shown her a hint of the affection her friends’ fathers gave them. Magnús didn’t show any interest in her, or her life, and, despite her mum’s reassurances, she genuinely believed, for the longest time, she was defective and unlovable.

That there was something wrong with her...

Losing her mum had rocked her world and, despite her thinking he couldn’t be more distant or emotionally unavailable, Magnús retreated from her life in every way he could. She felt as though she was sharing the house with a stranger, someone who occasionally used the bedroom he shared with her mum.

She’d so desperately wanted his attention, good or bad, so she resolved to make him notice her. She started bunking school, acting out, dressing in weird and alternative clothing styles.

She picked fights and taunted him, wanting to see if she could penetrate his mask of cold disdain. It took him a few years, but his mask finally cracked when she’d taken his car that time. He’d lashed out, calling her a barnacle and a leech, someone he couldn’t stand. He’d had to share Jacqui with her and he resented all the attention her mum gave her.

‘But I’m your child, too!’she’d protested, feeling as though he’d gutted her with a sharp scalpel.

‘You’re not mine, thank God! I would hate to think such a useless, snivelling, pathetic creature carried any of my DNA!’

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