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“No, I don’t lie to you, Urs.” His throat bobbed with his swallow. “But to answer your question—I learned from experience.”
“Tell me.” Her demand was low, but forceful.
* * *
The truth, the full story, was on the tip of his tongue. Could he tell her? She’d probably hate him. How could she not? He hated himself. But dash it, this was Urs and good or bad, Urs never hid anything from him. He owed her the same courtesy. Damned the consequences.
He inhaled a sharp breath and the words came of their own accord.
“It was seven years ago, in New Orleans. We had a customer, a company once owned by three brothers. The middle brother died and his wife—Sophie—held his spot for their son.”
Jay lowered his eyes, unable to bear her reaction. “She was older, thirty-seven. I was closer to her son’s age than hers, but she found me amusing. She was the type who always knew the right thing to say in every situation and she saw the same quality in me. She was—” he bit the tip of his tongue “—the first person who showed me I might have some value.”
The memories roared back. Delicate, lovely Sophie. Sophisticated, gay Sophie, except for her eyes—her gray eyes still held that note of sadness, of the sixteen-year-old who crossed an ocean to marry a much older man.
“And you two were lovers.” Urs stated the fact.
For once could she not be so readable? The story would hurt her in so many ways, no matter how he told it. Still, he owed her all of it, with as much veracity as he could muster.
He gave a curt nod. “Though I never saw her as one. Our relationship was different. I didn’t think of it as a friendship either. In many ways she was almost a mentor. She taught me things. We weren’t in love, but we enjoyed each other. I had a wonderful trip and I thought we’d remain close acquaintances. I made quite a few in the city.”
It had been a magical time. He’d left with something akin to confidence, more than he’d ever had. People liked him in New Orleans, even respected him. He could’ve lived there.
Urs had her hand over her mouth, concern in her eyes. He stared back at the table and shook his head. It was still like a dream. A nightmare.
“I wasn’t even supposed to go back. My parents were sending me to Hong Kong, but I wanted to speak to a contact in New Orleans and called on her while I was in town.”
“And she was pregnant?” Urs’ voice was now a whisper.
“Already showing. She wasn’t even going to tell me.” He shook his head. That’d hurt more than anything, even the dagger-like words she’d used when he proposed marriage.
I’ll be damned if I make this child an obligation. It and I deserve to be wanted. I want to be married out of love this time, not out of guilt.
Not out of guilt. That was impossible because no child of his was going to grow up a bastard, no matter how wealthy the household. Anything else would’ve been wrong, right? Even years later it was hard to fathom how his instincts to be honorable steered him so off course. Well, people did say the road to Hell was paved with good intentions.
“But that hurt. You wanted her to have thought better of you,” Urs said not asked. The gentleness in her voice was almost melodious. He ached for her bluntness.
Jay nodded, unable to say the words.
I want this child raised by adults, not children. There’d been tears in Sophie’s eyes—tears that made him protest and promise.
Urs was still for once, not a fidget or a pucker. “What did you do?”
“Do?” He smiled at his own stupidity. “I married her. It took days to convince her, but I wore her down. Night after night, I begged and she finally relented.” They’d both been exhausted. There were circles under her eyes at the church. He’d made so many vows, vows he didn’t keep. “I didn’t tell my parents. I couldn’t. I didn’t know how. She took that as a sign.”
The anguish in Sophie’s voice tore at him.
I wanted to marry a man, Jay, not a boy. You promised me you’d be what I wanted.
He’d hated her in that moment, told her she was insane as she threw perfume bottles at him. If anything was proof that he wasn’t worthy, it was those two weeks of fights.
Urs quivered so hard the table shook. He should’ve never told her. She was going to cry, or flee, as she should. He was a reckless fool who’d destroyed so many lives.
Instead though, she reached across and slipped her hand over his. She stroked his thumb and he almost burst into tears. “What happened to her? And the baby?” Her voice was calm, implacable.
He didn’t deserve her strength, not after what he did. She should scold him or yell at him or throw him from the house.
“The baby was never born. Sophie developed a fever and... We were married less than a month. It wasn’t a good union. We weren’t suited. We admired and liked each other, but weren’t meant to marry. She deserved an easier time.” He closed his eyes again. Had Sophie been happy for any of it? Those were her last weeks on earth and he’d ruined them. He’d made so many mistakes. A good person—a good husband would’ve done things differently.
