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Having a son of his own and finally settling down in his homeland to raise his family was the logical next step in that process. Feraz was confident in his decision. Roxanne? Perhaps not. Though she’d never said so directly, prior to this pregnancy, Feraz had gotten the distinct impression they were on the road to divorce. Hell, there’d been many a time after one of her outrageous shopping sprees or sexual indiscretions, Feraz had considered filing the paperwork himself in Djeva. In his home country, a man could divorce his wife without her consent. Not the ideal solution to the problem, but a desperate measure he would have taken if necessary.
Today, though, Roxanne was acting more subdued than he’d ever seen her. Maybe the pregnancy would be good for them on several fronts. Bring them closer together in a way their marriage vows had not. Finally put an end to all his wife’s rebellious immature ways and force her to settle down, with him. Speaking of wild ways, he’d not been proud to do it, but he’d had to be sure. While his wife had been checking out at the doctor’s office, Feraz had pulled Dr. Phillips aside to confirm the paternity tests results.
The baby was his, no doubt.
An unexpected pride swelled inside him.
My son. He planned to spend every free moment he could with the child, show him all the wonders of his homeland, teach him their family’s traditions and instill a pride of name in him that Feraz’s own father had lacked. He would be the kind of father he’d always wanted, but never had—strong, steadfast, idealistic, and respected.
Roxanne shifted beside him on the black leather seat of the limo, her arm brushing against his and creating that same rush of awareness he’d felt back in the exam room when he’d touched her shoulder. He and his wife had been apart for more time than they’d been together and Feraz had remained faithful to his vows even if his wife had not. It was simple loneliness and lust stirring inside him now, that had to be it. Any attraction he’d had for Roxanne had died a long time ago. Hadn’t it?
“Sorry,” she mumbled, pulling even more into herself, if that were possible. The Roxanne Feraz was familiar with had no qualms about pushing aside anyone to get where or what she wanted. This new wife beside him seemed nearly mousy by comparison. Still, he wasn’t complaining. He’d take good manners and compassion any day over boorish behavior.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice quiet in the interior of the car. She’d not looked at him once since they’d left the doctor’s office. “I really need to get back to my apartment. I’ve got—”
“We’re going to my penthouse first. To talk.” While alpha to his core because of his job and his upbringin
g, Feraz didn’t enjoy bossing other people around. He much preferred collaboration. But Roxanne had always been too strong-willed for her own good, even if she was acting like a wounded puppy today. Someone had to take charge of this mess of a marriage they had between them and since he’d been the only one who apparently gave a shit over the last two years, it looked like it would be him. “There are urgent matters we need to discuss. If there are things you need from your apartment, I will have the car take you there later to pack.”
“But I can’t just leave—” Roxanne faced him at last, her green eyes huge in her pale face.
“You can and you will.” Feraz flinched inwardly at his harsh tone, but he’d put up with too much over the years to give an inch now. “You are my wife, Roxanne. You are carrying my child. It’s high time you returned home with me and began fulfilling your wifely duties. At least until after our baby is born.”
“And then?” She crossed her arms, dots of pink highlighting her high cheekbones.
“And then we shall see.” Feraz stared out the window beside him at the passing, rainy scenery. The foul weather matched his mood. Happy as he was to see his child at last, all the baggage that came along with its mother put a damper on his enthusiasm. “I do not want to fight with you right now, Roxanne. You are in a delicate condition and I refuse to do anything to risk our child’s life. It’s the most precious thing right now, the only thing that matters. Understand?”
His wife swallowed hard, her eyes going bright with unshed tears, and now Feraz felt like even more of an ass than he already did. Dammit. Was he forever doomed to make a mess of everything with her?
“I want to say goodbye to my mom before we go,” she said, an edge underlying her soft tone. “I won’t leave without doing that.”
“Fine.” Feraz shrugged, still not looking at her. Because if he did look at Roxanne right now, and saw those teary emerald eyes of hers again, he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from dragging her over into his arms and reassuring her that everything would be all right, even if he damned well knew that it very well might not be. Allah above, how in the world was he going to get through the next few hours with her, let alone the next four months until she delivered? He sent up a silent prayer for patience and fortitude as the limo pulled up to the curb outside the high-rise apartment building on Park Avenue where his penthouse overlooked Central Park.
* * *
Isabella stared up at the towering building before her, her stomach sinking to her toes. After the doctor’s appointment, she wasn’t really sure what she’d expected to happen, but it definitely wasn’t this. She’d thought maybe they’d go their separate ways again and she’d have time to go home and discuss everything with her mother. This was her game and Isabella was just a reluctant player in the whole charade.
Still, as Feraz escorted her inside the luxurious white and gold lobby and over to the elevators, Isabella had to admit it was a far cry from her usual trudge up the stairs to her second floor walk-up in Queens. Roxanne always did like to live high on the horse and Feraz had the means to do it.
They rode up in tense silence once more. Feraz inserted a special gold key into the slot next to the button marked “P” and they soon emerged into a private hallway foyer done in black marble and shining glass and steel. At the center of the space was a huge round table with the most beautiful and enormous tropical flower arrangement Isabella had ever seen. She couldn’t help stopping to sniff the delicate jasmine blooms and trace her fingers over an elegant Bird of Paradise.
Feraz waited at the double entry doors to his penthouse, frowning.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, approaching him with wariness. It wasn’t that she thought he’d hurt her, although he was a big man—tall and broad and muscular. No. It was just that she felt completely adrift around him and wanted to avoid giving him any reason to doubt she was who she said she was.
“You usually avoid the flowers,” he said, his dark gaze narrowed. “Won’t they bother your allergies?”
Damn. She’d forgotten about Roxanne’s allergies. They weren’t identical in every way, as most people thought. Mainly in the looks department. Otherwise they were as different as sun and shadow.
“Oh, well.” She twisted the end of her long brown ponytail and stared at her toes. “I took some medication before my doctor’s appointment, so it shouldn’t bother me.”
“Right.” He opened the door to the penthouse and gestured for her to enter ahead of him. “Let’s hope that was safe for the baby.”
Considering the stress she was under and the pregnancy hormones raging through her system, his condescending tone pissed her off. “I’m not an idiot, thanks very much. I checked with Dr. Phillips first.”
Isabella walked into the living room and stopped short, gaping at the floor-to-ceiling view of Central Park out his windows. Holy crap, this place was amazing! Lips parted and eyes wide, she moved closer to press her fingertips against the cool glass. “Wow.”
His somber expression slowly morphed into a grin. “Don’t act so surprised. I know it’s been a while since you’ve been here, Roxanne, but things haven’t changed that much.”
