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‘After he was buried, I stood in the middle of his empty home and I realised something I should have been prepared for.’ He paused, not for effect, so much as to rally his thoughts. ‘I was alone.’ His eyes stared into the distance. ‘I have no other family. No siblings, cousins, no one.’
She didn’t know what to say, nor did she understand why he was telling her this.
‘My parents destroyed any thoughts I might have had on marriage as a desirable objective in life. I don’t see the point to it, frankly.’ Curiosity sparked in her chest. She remembered throwaway comments her parents had made over the years about his family. She’d gathered that it had been quite a volatile relationship, but she didn’t know any particulars. ‘Standing there, completely alone, I had to contemplate what that meant. For six months, I have grappled with my isolation in this life. Largely, this has been by choice. I have avoided relationships assiduously.’
She remembered what that felt like. Being pushed away by Alex was an experience from which she doubted she’d ever really recover.
‘But something strange has happened to me since my father’s death.’
‘Oh?’ Unconsciously, she moved towards him, fascinated.
‘I have a yearning not to be alone.’
She frowned. ‘So you’ve changed your mind about marriage, then?’
He ignored that. ‘I want children, Theresa. A family. I want to have descendants to pass on my wealth to. I want...’ He stared at her, as if evaluating her for a moment before deciding he should proceed. ‘I want my life to matter beyond the balance of my bank account.’
Sympathy flooded her, alongside compassion, and, more terrifyingly, adrenaline and excitement, for his list of demands was filling out something inside of her, something she’d denied for a long time, because Jonathan was far from a suitable man to have children with.
‘Your life does matter. Of course it does. A child doesn’t make you inherently more or less valuable.’
His eyes bored into hers. ‘Believe me, this is the last thing I expected to find myself wanting.’
Tessa considered that a moment. ‘So what were you planning to do about it?’
‘Nothing, at this stage, perhaps ever.’ He shrugged, his eyes narrowing contemplatively. ‘And yet, here you are, offering yourself to me on a silver platter.’
‘I wouldn’t say that, exactly’ came the breathy response. Because no matter what words she responded with, an image was blooming in her mind and she couldn’t ignore the temptation of it.
‘I will only agree to this marriage on two conditions. The first is that you acknowledge the full extent of what you’re asking for. Sex between us is inevitable—but can you accept that? And do you understand that I mean sex without any emotional strings?’
She almost walked out on him then. Only the thought of her father’s worsening health had her hold her ground.
‘And the second is that you fully understand my desire for children. If you are not on the same page, this could never work.’
Her fingers trembled. Another speck of paint caught her eye, a vibrant purple thanks to the agapanthus hedge she’d been rendering to canvas hours earlier. She ran her finger over it carelessly. It was the duty of an artist to be paint splattered, and since her divorce she’d been trying to throw herself back into her art, indulging the work Jonathan had always sneered at as being ‘beneath’ her.
‘I realise it’s a curve ball.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders, moving away from her a little. ‘If the idea of this marriage no longer appeals to you, then you’re free to leave. This conversation never happened.’
Her smile was hollow, her stomach in knots. ‘It’s not that simple,’ she whispered, moving towards the window and pressing her over-warm forehead against the thickened glass. Her throat was dry and her head ached. ‘My parents have lost so much. After Stavros, they’ve never been the same. I know I’m no substitute for him.’
‘What does that mean?’ His tone was sharp, his voice close. She didn’t move. Grief was wrapping around her, as fresh now as it had been on that day so many years earlier.
‘I’m not like them,’ she whispered softly. ‘My mum, dad, Stav. They’re all cut from the same cloth. I’m a cuckoo in the nest, an enigma. They never got me. Marrying Jonathan was supposed to be—’ She shook her head, not wanting to discuss her husband then, nor the reason she’d jumped far too rashly into the engagement. ‘I didn’t mean to compound their sadness, but I did. I’ve put them through the wringer, and I just want to give them this gift—I want to do something they’ll be proud of, just once in my life, before it’s too late. Dad—’ Her voice shook but she pushed herself to standing, refusing to show any further signs of weakness to this man.
She turned to face him, so overwhelmed by the strength of her feelings that she didn’t see the emotions in his eyes, the pity in the depth of his gaze. ‘I’m sure they’re proud of you.’
She brushed aside his meaningless reassurance. She knew her parents, and she knew how they felt about her. They loved her, they couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to her, but they valued her as an object, rather than a person all of her own. Her interests, her passions, her art, they were meaningless to her family. But that didn’t change the fact she’d do anything for her parents, for the father who was nearing the end of his life.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Let’s do this.’ Before she let common sense return and she backed out of the scenario altogether.
His only response was a small shift of his head. ‘Come to my house tonight.’
Her eyes flared wide. ‘What? Why?’
His laugh was a hoarse sound that split her heart in two. ‘To discuss the details, agape. Don’t worry. I’ll keep my hands to myself—unless you don’t want me to?’
Heat flooded her cheeks. Was she so transparent? ‘What details?’
