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“Perfect,” she says, picking up her half-eaten calzone. “Thank you for these, by the way. But you really don’t have to. Shipping them in must cost you a fortune.”
She isn’t wrong. The Gingerbread House Bakery has figured out that I’ll pay almost anything to get their baked goods for Paige, so their shipping prices have doubled and then tripled in the last week alone.
Normally, I’d threaten them into groveling submission. But I find lately that I don’t care about petty shit like that.
I’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy.
I shrug. “You love them. Nothing else matters.”
“Yes, but I’ll live without them.”
“Luckily, you don’t have to.”
She almost smiles, but then she catches herself. I see the walls go back up again. Even her body has tensed since I sat down. It’s like she has to physically demarcate herself off from me. As if every inch she gives up is one she’ll never get back.
I’ve been respectful of her space since she moved in a few days ago. I even agreed to let her move into the largest bedroom on the first floor even though I wanted her on the second floor next to me. But every night, I have to resist the urge to barge into her space and demand that she at least fucking talk to me.
Hell, I’d settle for having her justlookat me at this point.
I point my chin toward the magazine in her hand. “Are you planning the nursery already?”
“It’ll take time to source things,” she explains. “I like to be prepared.”
“I’ll clear out the furniture in one of the bedrooms upstairs so you can start working on the nursery.”
She frowns. “That won’t be necessary. I’d rather have the nursery on the first floor… next to my room.”
“Paige—”
“That was one of my conditions on moving back in, Misha,” she says quickly. “I mean, you were more than happy to give me my own wing of the house not long ago, remember?”
Again, I curse my past self internally. “I was angry when I said that.”
“Let’s face it, Misha—this was only ever meant to be a marriage of convenience. We went and fucked it all up by sleeping together. That led to… unnecessary confusion. But I’m not confused anymore.”
“You could really be happy living like this?” I ask.
She reaches up unconsciously and grabs her pendant. “Will you let me go instead?”
My expression hardens to flint instantly. She takes that as the answer it is.
“Exactly. You won’t agree to a divorce, which means I have to stay here and pretend to be your wife. Which I will do. In the absence of happiness, I’ll take security. Security for me and my children. Living like this is the price I’m paying for that.”
Her words cut deep, but I know I deserve them. That and worse.
“Let me know if you need anything,” I say, rising to my feet.
“Don’t worry,” she says softly. “I’ll only ask for what I know you can give me.”
I should say something. I should try and explain to her how I feel, the way that Maksim would do if he were in my shoes. The way that he would encourage me to do if he were here.
But impenetrable walls work both ways. Once you’ve built your own so high, they’re really fucking hard to pull down.
104
MISHA
Rose is five feet and three inches of bristling competence. A buzzsaw of focus and professionalism with bright eyes and a razor-sharp bob. It’s her first day as Paige’s new assistant, and she’s already made herself indispensable.
