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“You’re wrong about Lars,” Rose choked out. “He wouldn’t have done this awful thing you’re accusing him of—”
“Bigamy.”
She flinched. “Don’t use that horrible word!”
“You’re right,” he said coolly, finishing off his flute of champagne and setting it down. “It wasn’t bigamy, because his wedding to you was a sham from start to finish.”
“You’re wrong!”
“Did you ever sign any paperwork?”
Rose sucked in her breath as she realized for the first time that she’d never signed any papers. No marriage license. No forms. Nothing.
He watched her. “Växborg hasn’t visited Sweden for years. None of his friends here know about his first marriage. But the minister who conducted your ceremony was an out-of-work actor from Stockholm.”
“No,” she said automatically. But she remembered how the minister had been strangely young and handsome. She’d been so nervous, almost sick, as she stood in the ruined shell of the ancient stone church and waited to speak her vows. She’d shrugged off the minister’s soap-opera-star good looks, deciding all Swedish men must be as blond and handsome as Lars. But was it possible that what Xerxes Novros was telling her held some shred of truth…?
No! Rose shook her head fiercely. “Lars wouldn’t have pursued me if he were already married. He wouldn’t have even noticed me pouring his coffee in San Francisco!”
“He wouldn’t?”
“No! He wouldn’t! Marriage lasts forever. It is the friendship and passion that lasts your whole life. Loyalty and love are the foundation of everything!”
He stared at her sardonically. “And where did you hear that, princess?”
“I didn’t have to hear it from anyone,” she snapped. “My parents have been married for nearly forty years. My grandparents were married for sixty before my granddad died. All my brothers and sisters are married except for one. All married. Happily. Forever.”
Xerxes looked at her for a long time, then pressed the intercom. When the flight attendant came through the door, he turned to her, pushing the empty champagne flute back into her hands. His voice was almost surly as he said, “Scotch. Rocks.”
As she left, Xerxes turned back to Rose. “I can see marriage means a great deal to you.” He gave a hard look at the ostentatious diamond on her left hand. “So much that you didn’t mind speaking a few false vows in order to get your hands on that.”
He thought she cared about this huge diamond ring? She clasped her hands together tightly. Rose didn’t care about jewelry, only what it symbolized! “You think I would have let Lars even flirt with me if I’d thought he was married? Never!”
“Everything is for sale in this world. Everyone has a price. And clearly—” he looked with scorn from her ring to her designer wedding gown “—that was yours.”
“The lace was hand-stitched by nuns in France,” Lars had told her proudly when he’d presented it to her. He’d laughed at Rose’s desire to wear her mother’s simple 1960s-era wedding gown to a simple ceremony in her California hometown. “I will plan everything, petal. All you will need to do is be beautiful—and be ready for our honeymoon!”
Shaking the memory from her mind, Rose took a steadying breath.
“You’re wrong,” she said. “Either you’ve made a mistake, or…or…”
Or you’re lying, she wanted to say, but didn’t have the courage, faced with his wrathful gaze.
Rising to his feet, her captor crossed two steps to her. His eyes were like black fire. He towered over her,
and she had to force herself not to cower, but to stand straight and tall, to stand her ground.
“Växborg has no money of his own. His money comes from his wife’s inheritance, from her wealthy mother.” His lips twisted as he scornfully touched the exquisite lace of her sleeve. “That’s her money you’re wearing on your back right now.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Keep on telling yourself that, princess.”
“If any of this were true, if he were as bad as you say, why wouldn’t his wife just divorce him?”
Xerxes looked away, his jaw clenching. “She can’t.”
“Why?”
