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“Greyson, take it.”
“What is it?” he asked, and she sucked her lower lip into her mouth and nervously gnawed on it. Her eyes, wide and anxious, spoke volumes.
“You know what it is,” she said softly.
He blinked a few times before looking away and silently staring out into the darkness. The lagoon reflected the lights from passing boats and homes on the shore. It was beautiful here. Exactly the right place for a reconciliation. But this wasn’t that.
This was the beginning of the end.
He sighed softly. He was lying to himself again . . . the end had started nearly five months ago with the birth of their beautiful daughter. No, much further back than that. That evening when she had smiled at him with love, hope, and excitement in her eyes and told him she was pregnant.
She had hugged him, and his arms had closed around her automatically. While she had enthused about their baby—about the type of parents they would be—he had sat there feeling numb, shocked . . . betrayed. Hating her. Hating how vulnerable he felt. Resenting the baby and what he thought it meant.
That was when it had ended for them. When, instead of assuming the doctor had misdiagnosed him all those years ago, he had believed his wife had cheated on him. With the only other man he knew she saw on a regular basis.
“Why don’t you tell me anyway,” he invited her. Wanting to be wrong. Knowing he wasn’t. But he couldn’t bring himself to touch that envelope, to see for himself.
“I want a divorce,” she said. Her voice held the slightest tremor, and her chin was wobbling. “I had the papers drawn up months ago. When I didn’t think you were interested in Clara. So we’ll have to change a few things. We have to discuss shared custody.”
She was being generous; she could so easily deny him custody. He would fight her, and he would win . . . but she could have made it difficult. Instead, she was trying to be reasonable. Trying to be fair.
“I don’t want a divorce,” Greyson said, keeping his voice level and low. “It won’t benefit either of us. We can still have a good marriage, Olivia. We’re physically compatible; this week has proved that. We’re still fantastic in bed together. And Clara would benefit more from a stable family unit. Two parents and one home.”
“Greyson, too much has happened between us. I don’t think continuing with this sham of a marriage would be healthy for any of us. You don’t love me. I knew that when we married, but I was foolishly optimistic. I thought we could make it work. That love would grow between us.”
“Olivia, last week I asked you why you married me if you didn’t think I loved you.”
“I didn’t think you didn’t love me, Greyson. I knew you didn’t,” she corrected him, and it felt like she was hedging.
“Why did you marry me?”
“Maybe I didn’t think love was that important.”
“I don’t believe that’s true.”
“So what do you want to hear, Greyson? Do you want to hear that I was in love with you? That I thought that even though you didn’t love me, you cared about me enough for us to make a go of it?”
“Is that true?” he asked past the huge lump in his throat, and she compressed her lips and glared at him mutely.
“What difference does it make anyway? How does it change the ugly reality of our situation?”
“I hate that I hurt you, Olivia. It was never my intention to hurt you. I thought we could have a happy marriage. I still do.”
“You’re delusional,” she said with a curt shake of her head. “You married me under so many false pretenses I lost track of all the lies and deception.”
“I was always honest with you,” he protested.
“Really, Greyson?” she scoffed.
He winced, feeling like a dick for not recalling his biggest deception. But he didn’t consider it an actual deception, not when it had always been his intention to tell her about it.
“I was going to tell you about the infertility thing. But it became moot really quickly.”
“This is getting us nowhere. Take the papers. Have your lawyers look at them and make revisions as you see fit. I’m not leaving Riversend, but I’m sure—when Clara is a little older—we can have her spend weekends and holidays in Cape Town with you. While she’s a baby, she’s obviously more dependent on me, so you’ll likely see her less, but I’ll send pictures, and you can visit and . . .”
“I’m not leaving,” he interrupted.
“What?”
“I’m not leaving Riversend either.”
“But the company . . .” She looked completely flustered by his statement, and Greyson was feeling petty enough to take great pleasure in her confusion.
“The current arrangement is working fine. I’ll just need to reshuffle a few things, perhaps move my PA here and set up an office in town. But aside from a few meetings in Cape Town once or twice a month and some infrequent trips abroad, I can run the business as easily from Riversend as I could in Cape Town.”
