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“You’re both,” he argued. “That was the deal from the beginning. I couldn’t have one without the other.”
“Right. If my visa hadn’t been messed up, the wife part wouldn’t have happened.” She’d have missed all the gloriousness of being with Warren: his patience, his selflessness. The terrace. This dress.
Falling for him.
“And I wouldn’t have you as my wife unless you’d been my employee first.”
He came into the room, treading across the carpet slowly, as he’d done from the first. Even now, he was still patiently working through her triggers, as if he cared.
Why would he tell her that he paid attention because he cared and then send her back to Melbourne where the worst nightmare imaginable awaited her?
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he prompted again. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“Don’t I?” She surprised them both by laughing bitterly. “What are you offering me this time?”
Halting well shy of touching her, he took her measure. “To help. I’ll put you up in an apartment anywhere you like. Name the country. You can go there as if you’re on vacation, and the moment you have to leave due to any immigration issues, you can go someplace else.”
If she couldn’t stay here—and the letter was frighteningly clear on the fact that she couldn’t—it didn’t matter where she went. Because Warren wouldn’t be there. It was an inescapable fact that he’d become her whole world. Of course, the job was important, too, and yesterday, she’d have said it was more important than anything. But in light of the hole in her gut due to these new circumstances, to say so would be skirting the truth.
She was in love with him. Against her will. If only she hadn’t come to him with her need for a new dress, he wouldn’t have told her he cared and opened up hopes in her heart that had no place there. She’d been fighting her feelings just fine until that had happened.
“So, I’d be living out of a suitcase at the whims of the country’s immigration laws.” That sounded like the opposite of what she wanted. Anything that wasn’t staying in Raleigh with Warren sounded like hell. “I can’t think about this now. I just want to go to bed.”
And then, tomorrow, she’d have to leave the US. It wasn’t like she had a lot of time to comply with the immigration bureau. Thanks to Warren’s petition, they knew who she was, where she lived and who she worked for. And when her visa had expired, which was weeks ago.
“I need to know that you’re going to be safe.” Warren surged forward to grip both of her arms. The automatic recoil she couldn’t control threw a heavy wrench into the works. Instantly, he dropped his hands with a curse. “God, Tilda, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”
“It’s okay,” she whispered and rubbed at her arms where he’d grabbed her, not because it hurt but because it wasn’t okay. She wasn’t okay.
How many more clues did she need that they’d never work? Inside, where it counted, she didn’t trust anyone, obviously. The scars went too deep.
Even if he’d professed his undying love, it wasn’t fair to saddle him with a wife who couldn’t stop herself from jumping when her husband did something as simple as reach out to express his concern. Leaving suddenly felt like her salvation, not the end of their relationship, as she’d been painting it.
There was nothing to end. There’d have to have been a real relationship between them in order for there to be anything to kill.
“I’ll go back to Melbourne,” she said dully as her heart sheared neatly in half. “I have family there. I can work remotely until the project is complete, as you’ve specified. You’ll send the divorce papers via courier when you have them drawn up?”
“Are you sure that’s best? What about your ex?”
“I’ll get over it. I’m nothing if not professional. You’ll get your market share in Australia, as promised, so don’t worry about the project.”
She couldn’t let him know that she was breaking down inside. That’s when it was the worst. When a man got the information he could use to really hurt you.
His expression didn’t change, but the distance between them increased exponentially. The very atmosphere grew icicles as he stared at her. “That’s great. I do want to get my money’s worth.”
Ironic how she’d fallen for two very different men. One clung to her like a cocklebur and the other couldn’t hold on to anything outside of his bottom line.
Something must be wrong with her that she couldn’t find a man in the middle, who understood that she stood firmly in the middle, too—one foot in each camp between proper and provocative.
