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She tapped her fingers on her chin, looking up the ceiling. Thinking. Though he doubted she could come up with a different solution. “If you give it to him, he’ll come back for more.”
“I can have my lawyer put something in writing.”
“I doubt work ethics are Conor’s strong suit.” She shook her head. “Let’s tell your father.”
He snorted. Was she for real? “You do realize that telling my father is the worst thing I can do right now.” His father would berate him for messing with the precious institution of marriage, lying, and taking a shortcut to redemption. A misleading shortcut. He could deal with his father’s wrath, but the consequences might include parting ways with the family business. His father wouldn’t trust him anymore, and he couldn’t blame him. He ran his fingers down his face, frustrated.
She sat on the edge of the bed, facing him. “Telling your father before Conor does might save you. Your father will get mad, but he’ll appreciate your honesty.”
“Why would he forgive me so quickly since the whole thing is about how dishonest I’ve been?”
“Because your father has been there for you. Always.”
He rubbed his chin. His father was a family man, and had always been involved. But he also had his quirks, his principles, even if many of them had been twisted in the early days of his making money and his fortune. In other words, Giorgio Gallucci was no saint. “Dad is a good man, but he’s not the angel you’re painting him to be.”
“I understand. But, listen, I talked to your mother last night.”
He shrugged. His mother had approached him after dinner and told him how much she’d enjoyed talking to Lara. He’d assumed she was being nice. Had Lara told her anything about the true story behind their marriage? No. His father would certainly already know by now. “What about?”
“You know how you’ve always been a fuck up? I believe a big part of it is you acting out because that’s all you’ve ever known… your mother said you would do that as a child—try different sports and activities, get injured and scraped. To get attention from her in some way, especially after Mateo was born.”
“Like every other kid in the world,” he said, an edge of impatience in his voice. A dark emotion shifted through him, one he couldn’t pinpoint. All he knew was he didn’t enjoy her talking to his mother about him, or trying to be his armchair therapist. He’d never signed up for any of that.
“No, it’s different. I’ve seen how guarded your mother is. She takes a step back,” Lara said in a gentle voice. “I’m not judging her, or you. I’m pushing you because I’m from the outside looking in and I have a fresh perspective.”
“Well we finally agree on one thing—you are pushy. You’re putting your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“Jeez, easy,” she said, lifting her hands. Her throat worked, visibly, and she lifted an eyebrow, regarding him with interest. “I’m your wife, doesn’t my opinion count?”
The dark emotion from earlier boiled in his bloodstream, expanding his veins, pounding his heart. His throat went dry and thick. He should step away, change the subject. The more he trusted her, confided in her, the more he let this caring for her consume him, the harder would be in the end.
“I asked you a question,” she said, her tone more assertive. “Doesn’t my opinion count? Or all I’m good for is some fucking for you to release the stress?”
He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Lara, the deal was we’d be husband and wife on paper.”
She jumped from the bed to the floor, the contours of her pretty face hardening. “We’ve been off paper for a while. Why is it so hard for you to come to terms with that?”
Because he didn’t want her to be right—about his mother, about them, or anything else. If she were right and he’d been wrong, he’d have to deal with a new reality. He’d have to give his all to relationships, to her, without the convenient crutch he’d leaned on all those years. He’d be heartbroken and hurt for real—the kind no one could heal. The kind that scared him to death, because he’d never experienced it.
“Lara...”
She took a couple of steps in his direction, her eyes lasered focused on his. “Tell me. What do you feel for me? And cut the bullshit.”
His heart raced like he was a caged animal, too close to his predator to breathe. Yet he managed to sound calm and in charge. “I feel like you’re better off as a wife on paper only.”
“Why can’t I be the judge of that?”
“Because we had a deal, and nothing that has happened made me change my mind.”
Pain flashed in her eyes, and he had to mentally brace himself not to rush to her, to hug her, to kiss her. If he did that—
“I’ve changed my mind though. Do you even care?”
“No,” he said quickly. Lied. The conversation rattled him to the core, and continuing it would end badly. He didn’t need her side—he’d heard it, and a part of him agreed, which only made the whole thing more complicated. “You’re a good woman, Lara. But caring for you and your feelings right now is not something I can manage.”
“Well manage this—I’m leaving.”
A chilly sensation spilled into his stomach, and a knot formed inside, painfully tight. “What?”
