by Dani Collins
“But, Mom...” Always Mom lately. Never Mommy anymore. Five years old was way too young to make that transition.
“Listen, we’ll compromise. You can skip your bath and have one tomorrow when Grandma is there to help you. Get yourself into your jammies and ask your dad to read stories, then you can play two or three games on the tablet if you want. You don’t have to sleep, but I want you in bed.” It was a trick. Zoey always dropped off like a rock once she was under the covers, especially after an active day on Heath’s mother’s farm.
Zoey agreed reluctantly. They said their “I love yous” and Natalie ended the call. Sitting up, she stared at the bathroom door, stomach as heavy as the pit of doom. Now what?
As the silence prolonged, the door opened. Demitri hesitated in the frame, naked and powerful, glancing at her with a chilling flatness that turned her to stone.
Her heart plummeted while varying levels of culpability, indignation and vulnerability washed over her. She should have told him, but he didn’t have to act as though she’d committed a federal crime. As though he was not only furious, but wanted nothing to do with her now.
His view of her had changed, exactly as she’d feared. No matter how common single motherhood was these days, a stigma still existed. A judgment. Maybe she wasn’t easy, but she was a woman who made bad choices where men were concerned. Someone who didn’t have it together. A failure, and therefore her daughter didn’t stand a chance. Natalie had been exposed to all those angles of prejudice at one time or another.
And she couldn’t deny that she made bad choices where men were concerned, could she? Look at this one, giving her the silent treatment rather than asking her why she hadn’t told him.
He moved to the chest of drawers and fished out a pair of shorts, stepping into them, and then continued to dress with efficient flicks of a collar and a snap of his jeans, all without looking at her. When he sat to put on his boots, she got the message.
“You don’t have to go. I’ll leave,” she said, flipping back the covers and rising to search out her own clothes.
“It’s fine. Stay.” He stood and reached for his jacket off the hook on the wall.
She snorted, the furthest thing from amused. Angry, actually, that he didn’t even want to talk about it.
Really bad choices, Natalie.
Wearing only her bra and underwear, she pulled her suitcase from under the bed, anxious to get away now. Feeling stupid and discriminated against. Feeling really, really hurt and disappointed, because yes, a very misguided part of her had thought he might like her enough that it wouldn’t matter that she was a mother. It wasn’t as if she was asking for marriage and a father for her child. Just a bit of companionship without being labeled or dismissed.
“What are you doing?” he asked, hand on the door latch.
She was obviously packing, but didn’t see the point in being sarcastic about it. There was no reason to have a fight over this. She’d kept a secret and he was reacting exactly as she’d expected. Now they were done. It hurt, stung like hell actually, but there was nothing she could do to fix it, so she accepted it.
“Natalie,” he said, demanding she respond.
“I’ll get a room for the night, then make my own way to Lyon tomorrow,” she said in as level a tone as she could manage. The nice people at her credit card company would be thrilled to extend her the cash. “You don’t have to give up your room or your weekend.”
“This was the last room. You’re not walking down the street in the middle of the night with your luggage. I’m leaving. Stay here.”
She turned, finding him with one hand still on the door latch, the other clenched so tightly around his dangling jacket his knuckles showed white. His face was all taut angles, his shoulders as stiff as iron, his will for her to do as he said practically resounding off him like rings of a bell.
“I want to leave,” she said, not happy with the way her voice came out all papery and husky, but rejection did that to a person. She realized she was shivering and grabbed her long-sleeved undershirt off the floor to struggle into it. She found a pair of jeans in a drawer and shot her legs into them, then had to bounce on her feet to shake her butt into the seat of them. The rest of her clothes went from the drawer as an armload that got dumped into the suitcase.
“Natalie, stop.” He was suddenly right beside her, tall and broad and reaching toward her.
She jerked away, pivoting to confront him. “I’m making this easy for you,” she said with razor sharpness. “Stop making it hard for me.”
“I have a right to be shocked,” he said with a fling of his hand toward her phone. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew you’d act like this. Think differently of me,” she blurted with a pointed, significant look. She couldn’t hold his stare, though. Shame washed over her. All the guilt of denying her daughter weighed into her, slumping her shoulders so she skulked around him and into the bathroom to gather her things there.
Demitri listened to her clatter together all the millions of bottles and compacts and tubes she’d scattered across the tiny vanity since they’d arrived. His heart was pounding and a sick knot churned in his gut. Nausea had arrived with his realization that she had a child. Confusion and panic—yes, he was in a state of panic—had him desperate to walk out and pull himself together. Get away from whatever this was.
But she wouldn’t be here when he was ready to come back.
That should be a relief. It should be exactly what he wanted because, damn it, that was how he coped best. Walk away. Pretend it hadn’t happened. Leave the devastation for someone else to clean up. But she wanted to leave, and he was stuck to the floor, aware he didn’t want her to go.
She wasn’t the flirty, gamine, sometimes-nerdy single woman he’d thought he was maneuvering into a long-term position as his mistress. While he’d been delighting in finding a woman who had attained the perfect combination of being interesting while remaining disinterested in deep commitment, she’d been hiding that she actually carried the most indelible responsibility possible.
He was completely flummoxed as to how to proceed.
She came out of the bathroom and brushed by him without looking at him, almost as though she was too ashamed. I knew you’d think differently of me.
He was seeing her differently, but not in a bad light. It was more... Hell, he didn’t want to examine any of what he was thinking or feeling. Face forward and keep moving was his motto. He never looked back and self-examined.
Scratching a hand through his hair, he watched her struggle to zip the poorly packed case and the word burst out of him. “Stop.”
She only set her chin and worked to press and joggle the zipper tab with more determination.
“Natalie, would you give it a rest for a minute and just tell me—”
“What?” she demanded, quarter turning from the case and folding her arms, pure belligerence in her tone. “Tell you why I’m in Europe pretending to be a single woman who can have affairs?”
“You’re not single?” That lit his fuse with a burn so deep and hot, he stopped breathing.
“No, I am. I’m single,” she assured him with a widening of her eyes that told him she’d seen the switch inside him and was alarmed by it. “I meant about not mentioning Zoey. That I’ve been acting as if I don’t have any obligations when I actually have a five-year-old.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “But I did tell you that first night that this is just a fantasy. A chance to live in a way I could never touch in my real life.”
He told his muscles to relax as he watched self-consciousness flicker across her face. She met his eyes with a small plea for understanding in hers.
“I’m not proud of that. Or of hiding her from you. Heck, leaving her for three weeks with my mother-in-law has been eating me up, but that, at least, was for the sake of my career. It’s actually what Gideon talked to me about that day you saw us.”
She flicked another glance at him before she c
ontinued in a rush, as if she’d been dying to get this off her chest.
“Twice before this I couldn’t take a special assignment because Zoey was too young for me to leave her. I was almost passed over for this one and wrote Adara an email about how it feels like discrimination when a married man with a child my daughter’s age would be chosen without any hesitation, but I wasn’t. She arranged for me to have this spot and asked for my input on rewriting the policies so they’re more supportive to single-parent employees. They want to encourage everyone trying to advance in the company, especially if they’re caregiving at home, because poverty doesn’t help anyone in that situation.”
Demitri nod-shrugged, vaguely aware of a discussion about that at board level, but it was so beyond his sphere of interest he’d let his siblings run with it. It wasn’t the most impactful detail now.
“Your daughter is five? How old are you?” He’d guessed her to be twenty-five or six, but to have a daughter that old, she must have been a baby herself when she got pregnant.
She tucked her chin. “Twenty-four.”
He couldn’t help the way his brows lifted in shocked dismay.
“There was a party the night we all graduated high school.” She shrugged. “My brother had just died and I was...” Her shoulder hitched defensively. “I’m not proud of that, either, but it happened and we got married because that’s what you do, right? I wanted someone to take care of me, but Heath wasn’t interested in taking care of either of us. He barely takes care of himself.” She combed impatient fingers through her hair. “I shouldn’t say it like that. I mean, he’s not going to let Zoey play with matches or anything,” she grumbled. “But he doesn’t hold down a real job. ‘Flash cards and dental appointments can be done another day, let’s go fishing instead’ is his attitude. He loves her and will always keep her safe, but I can’t count on him when it comes to the day-to-day stuff.”
The baleful darkness in her tone hit Demitri below the belt, bludgeoning him with the knowledge that he’d never been someone to count on, either.
“And this wasn’t... I wasn’t looking for someone to take care of me here,” she rushed to add, indicating the room with a circle of her finger. “Skiing the Alps is nice, but I learned to live without any sort of frills a long time ago. I’m actually good with taking care of myself and Zoey. One of the reasons I don’t date is because I don’t want the hassle of trying to fit someone else’s needs into our lives. We’re solid, and even when I focus on my career it’s really about her. Better income translates to more opportunities for her, a better education down the road. I’m trying really hard to make decisions that are best for her. But then I had this little spell of time here to think about myself for a change.”
She smiled with pained truth.
“You live single and carefree every day,” she pointed out. “You probably don’t realize how alluring the lifestyle is. Parenting and mortgage payments are not glamorous. And look at how you’ve reacted. You thought I was superhot when you thought I was single and now you’re turned off because I’m a mom. I wanted to feel hot and fun for a change.”
“I’m not turned off,” he growled, moving into the chair where he’d sat to put on his boots. His feet were heavy, his jacket on the floor where he’d dropped it.
He braced his elbows on his knees, deeply bothered and uncomfortable, still not keen to delve into why he was struggling with this, but he couldn’t avoid dissecting it.
While she was already turning back to her suitcase to fiddle with the zipper, apparently resolved to leave.
“I don’t mess around with moms, Natalie. I hear what you’re saying,” he hurried to state, forestalling another “you’re a fantasy” remark. For some reason that was starting to annoy him. “The women I usually get involved with are as superficial as I am. You’re not shallow in the least, and I knew that the first day we spoke, but I ignored it because...”
“Sex,” she provided. “I know. That’s why I’m here, too.”
It was more than the sex. He liked her, but the sex was pretty incredible. Did she even realize how good? His conscience twinged as he processed that it sounded as though she’d had one lover before him, a boy-man who had never got past seeking his own pleasure.
A dark ache rose behind his breastbone. No wonder she was so enthralled with him. It had nothing to do with substance on his side or even his money. It was purely because he happened to take a great deal of pleasure in giving women pleasure, and she was starved of it.
He swore at the floor between his feet, oddly embittered by the thought.
She sighed. “I should have told you. I’m sorry. You’re feeling guilty and you shouldn’t. This was my decision, Demitri.”
He lifted his head, grumbling, “Maybe your ex never gets a chance to take responsibility. Did you ever think of that, Natalie?”
She dropped her splayed hand from the middle of her chest, expression blanking with surprise. “Fine. Wallow in guilt, then. This is all your fault.”
It wasn’t, obviously, so he shouldn’t be feeling anything beyond mild inconvenience that he was losing a delightfully compatible lover.
He rubbed his thighs, growing more keyed up as he watched her open her case and rearrange things, shoulders bowed with rejection.
Because she had a kid. And rather than try to pull him into that vortex, she was telling him why she never would. There was a quiet ferocity in her defensiveness. She was sorry she’d hidden her daughter, but everything she’d said told him she was deeply proud and committed to the girl. It was sweet and endearing, and he couldn’t leave her thinking that he found something wrong with that.
“Nat, listen,” he said to her back. “I’m allergic to family. Mine’s a horror show. Like, we should be in therapy, but that would mean talking about it. If I could cut all my ties to them, I would.”
“Don’t say that!” She swung around. “If I didn’t have Zoey, I’d be completely alone, and that’s awful. Don’t wish your family away. Don’t.”
“Obviously we have different perspectives,” he dismissed, not comfortable with her vehemence. “What I’m saying is this does change things, but because of my history, not yours.”
She hooted, swinging around to say, “It’s not you, it’s me? Is that what you’re saying?” Heaving her suitcase off the bed, she let it hit the floor next to her with a thump that jostled her narrow body.
“Stop.” He stood, hissing with impatience at her determination to leave.
“Look, I’m not going to tell the guy who paid for the room to get out of it,” she stated. “I’m a big girl and can solve my own problems. I wasn’t sleeping with you for this ski trip or even a new scarf.” She pulled the silk one he’d bought her from its bunched home inside her coat sleeve and left it on the dresser. “I just wanted a nice memory. Let’s keep it as one by ending things here, with civility. A clean break.”
He had never realized how much that silly saying could feel like an actual bone snapping inside him, leaving a screaming agony that reverberated through his entire body.
“I brought you here,” he said through his teeth. “Stay in this room, get some sleep and I’ll take you to Lyon in the morning. Meet me in the lobby at eight. That’s the end of it.” In more ways than one.
He walked out.
CHAPTER SIX
DEMITRI HAD TWO LIMOS waiting at the helipad when they arrived in Lyon. Aside from a few neutral remarks—good morning, ready?—they’d barely spoken. A maid had come to the room to pack his things. He’d piloted the helicopter and Natalie had tried to convince herself she was airsick, not lovesick.
They arrived at the Makricosta Heritage in Lyon one behind the other. He had no reason to check in and only a small duffel that he took straight to the elevators. She had new colleagues to meet and a room to be shown to. If she was distracted while she waited and her gaze followed the youngest Makricosta brother as he strode across the lobby, it was hardly suspicious. Every female employee’s head was programmed
to turn in his direction when he graced a hotel with his indifferent presence.
Her room, a standard queen in the upper middle of the main tower, had a pretty view of spires and red-tile roofs winding along the Rhone. Liable to break down if she moped in her room, really needing distraction from her melancholy thoughts, she asked to be shown to the desk she’d be using.
The administration floor was mostly deserted. The weekend manager pointed out her cubicle and leaned in with a conspirator’s whisper. “I’d keep my head down and finish as quickly as possible, if I were you. The boss is in and does not look happy.” He nodded toward the end of the hall.
“Demitri?” She willed herself not to blush. “I saw him arrive.” And the idea of him looking as despondent as she felt should not be such a boon to her ego.
“Adara,” he corrected under his breath. “But she’s got him in there, and the staff in Paris said heads will be rolling, but they’re being very tight-lipped about what happened. You were just there, weren’t you? Do you know?”
She tightened her grip on her purse. What was left of her conscience swirled down an imaginary toilet. The dryness in the pit of her stomach affected her voice.
“No,” she managed, but it was more a mouthed word than spoken. Her eyes had to be huge and swimming in guilt.
Fortunately, he was craning his neck as he ensured the doors were still firmly closed down there. “Well, I don’t want to be around when they come out looking for blood. I’d suggest ignoring the rain and heading out to see the sights.” He gave her a nod as he walked away.
Adara knew.
Natalie wished she could run and hide from this, but it was not her way. When she made a mistake, she owned it, 100 percent.
On heavy feet, she started down the hall.
* * *
Demitri so didn’t need this. He reached for the knob on Adara’s office door, only getting it open a crack before his sister said sharply, “We’re not done talking about this!”