by Jess Bentley
Ugh. “I wonder what she wants.”
“I can send her away,” suggests Irina with an unaccustomed hardness in her gaze.
Shrugging, I figure I should deal with it. “Thank you, but no. I’ll see what she wants. I might as well get it over with.” After the display Jayson and I gave her at Sophie’s party, I half-expected a confrontation with Maia.
I take a moment to comb my fingers through my hair and gather my wits. My stomach clenches with nervousness as I leave the bedroom and walk downstairs to the salon. With each step, I try to remind myself that Maia can’t hurt me, no matter how catty she might become. After all, I have the man Maia wants, so I’m the ultimate winner in any battle.
Maia has draped herself artfully on a sofa, the white fabric highlighting her golden-brown skin and turquoise sundress that looks deceptively casual — meaning it probably costs a fortune. She swings one foot, encased in silver sandals with dangerously high heels, as though she hasn’t a care in the world.
Hovering in the doorway for a second, I force myself to enter the room and take a seat across from the other woman. “Hello,” I say with as much coolness as I can muster. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Maia’s eyes narrow, but then her mouth curves into a satisfied smile. She leans forward slightly, as though preparing to attack. “I knew there had to be a reason.”
“That’s what I’m trying to discern. What is the reason for your visit?”
Maia wrinkles her nose. “I meant there had to be a reason for your marriage. Specifically, for Jayson playing the doting husband.” She taps her long nails, painted silver, against the glass of the coffee table. “I could think of several scenarios for why he would marry you, but not why he would pretend to be happy about it.”
“Perhaps you should consider that he’s not pretending.” I’m proud of myself for not betraying any reaction, though my stomach tightens again. Maia is much too pleased to have news that would be good for me.
Maia’s cold laugh holds more scorn than amusement. “You poor, deluded fool. Do you think Jayson’s fallen in love with you?” She rakes a contemptuous glance over me, clad in khaki shorts and a pale pink tank top. “Did you sway him with your impeccable sense of fashion?” Her lids lower slightly. “Or maybe it was your prowess in the bedroom?”
I shift slightly. “I’m sure there’s a point to your visit, so can you please get to it?”
Maia’s expression is so malicious that it contorts her face into something not even remotely beautiful. “Here is the reason for your marriage.” She lifts a manila envelope from the table and tosses it at me. “I can assure you it has nothing to do with love, you little fool.”
Harper
I catch the envelope automatically. My first instinct is to drop it on the floor and refuse to see the contents, but I don’t. I have to know what’s made Maia so happy. With shaking hands, I lift the flap and pull out a thin sheaf of papers. A cursory glance reveals legal jargon. “What is this?”
“Those are the papers that allow Jayson, as your husband, to act as a voting proxy for your shares of Satyros Corporation.”
I shake my head. “You’re crazy. I don’t own any Satyros stock.”
“Wrong.” Maia laughs, clearly enjoying her revelations. “Dmitri gave your father ten percent of the company ages ago. That came to you upon his death, and you blindly handed over the control to your husband.” She shakes her head, sending glossy strands cascading over her shoulder. “Did you really think he loved you?”
It takes every ounce of control, but I manage to hide my bewilderment and the stirrings of anger. “I allowed Jayson to vote for me because he knows the company,” I bluff. “Besides, I hardly think he would have tied himself to me just to get back my ten percent. He could have bought me out.”
“Not then, he couldn’t. When Dmitri died, the company was in trouble. Jayson’s managed to turn it around, but the company couldn’t have absorbed the costs of buying you out, and Jayson was using his own money to finance the day-to-day expenses of the company and of caring for Dmitri’s daughter.”
My chest aches with a hollow pain, and I find it more difficult to maintain a calm façade. “My share would hardly matter. I couldn’t do anything with ten percent.”
Maia shakes her head. “Kostas had given away other shares before Dmitri took over, shortly after he started the company. He was the son of a poor fisherman and didn’t have the necessary capital. His partners had shares in the company.”
“What does this have to do with me?” I ask her coldly, desperate to be rid of Maia.
“Kostas purchased back much of the stock he’d used for collateral, but there remained bits and pieces among friends and family. Dmitri attempted to buy back the shares when the company was strong, but a few refused to sell.” Maia leans a little closer. “The other shareholders were pressuring Dmitri to take the company public. He remained steadfast about keeping it a private corporation, and he had your father’s full support. However, when they died, you were left with enough shares to secure a majority share of the company if you threw in with the others.”
My head spins, and I shake it, trying to clear my thoughts. “You’re lying. Jayson didn’t even want to run Satyros Corporation.”
“True.” Maia shrugs. “Nevertheless, he is Greek and knows the importance of family. He wanted to honor Dmitri’s plans for the company.” She grimaces. “Jayson was willing to do anything, apparently.”
“Get out.” I’ve stopped caring about hiding my reactions. I get to my feet, letting the envelope scatter on the marble floor.
Maia regards me coolly. “I will leave, but I’m sure I’ll be back before long. Now that you know the truth, you have no reason to stay.”
I straighten my shoulders. “Jayson still needs to control my shares.”
The other woman gains her feet in one fluid motion. “Not any longer. He’s reacquired all other stock, and the company can easily purchase your stocks. He has control of your stock, so I am not sure why he’s keeping you around. Perhaps he has decided a divorce is too expensive, or he doesn’t want to risk you being petulant and refusing to sell the shares now that the company is almost fully under his control.” Her eyes narrow, and the smile widens. “My theory is he has decided to woo you into signing over those stocks. He’s trying to make you so besotted that you will agree to anything. Once you give up the stock, it will be the end of your ‘marriage.’” Her laugh is full of cruel mockery.
“I want you to leave. If you come back — ”
“Oh, I shall return. Soon, I will be Kyria Satyros. I made a foolish decision years ago, but I refuse to let Jayson slip through my fingers again.” An expression resembling pity flashes across her face. “You can’t really think you would be able to compete with me?” Without another word, she turns and strides from the room, her heels tapping against the marble.
I sag into the chair, leaning down to pick up the dropped envelope. Pulling out the papers, I examine them more thoroughly. My signature appears on several pages, all authorizing Jayson to control my shares of the company for as long as we remain married, unless I revoke the right. At the time, I signed them without really reading, assuming the papers were more paperwork relating to the marriage contract.
Nausea burns in the back of my throat, and I swallow thickly. Jayson told me I was penniless. Selling the stock would’ve allowed me to finish my education and have the life I’d wanted. He must have thought I’d choose my own comforts over allowing him to keep the company under his control.
Marriage was such a drastic step to secure the shares. Of course, he’d needed a companion for Sophie. It must have seemed like a small sacrifice, exchanging three years for total control of the Satyros Corporation.
So why had he suggested extending the marriage? Had he developed feelings for me? Or was it as Maia had theorized, that he’s trying to make me fall in love with him so desperately that I would do anything he asks? Is it simply a matter of convenience? He sai
d he didn’t want to start over in another relationship. Am I merely his convenient wife, made even more convenient now that I’m fulfilling all the wifely duties?
He didn’t expect Maia to be available. Would he change his mind now that he knows she wants to take on the role she shunned years before? Or would he keep Maia as a mistress and me as his wife?
My lips compress at the thought. I refuse to be in that position. It doesn’t matter why he changed his mind, or even if he changes it again. What matters is our marriage began under false pretenses, and he deliberately withheld the only way I could have maintained my original plans for the future. In just a few minutes, the truth shatters all the trust I’ve placed in him.
Anger cuts through the numb disbelief, and I jump to my feet. The pages scatter around the floor, but I don’t stoop to pick them up. My focus is centered on returning to packing, but not with the intention of waiting for Jayson to decide it’s time to return to New York. I’ll arrange for the jet to take me home. Once in the city, I’ll move my things from his penthouse apartment and go on with the plans I made when our marriage was supposed to dissolve at the end of summer.
Anger fuels my movements, and I fill my cases in less than an hour. I’m stuffing clothes into the last bag when the bedroom door opens. My spine stiffens, my heart races, and my stomach churns as Jayson comes in.
He seems to be in a better mood than yesterday, and I briefly remember Sophie’s plight. If he’s still intent on forcing a marriage, I’ll do my best to stop him. Forcing a marriage must be his answer to everything.
He draws up short, his gaze on the packed bags. “What’s going on?”
“It’s time to return to New York,” I say in an icy tone.
Jayson frowns. “Has something happened? Is Sophie ill?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He walks closer, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling my back against him. “What’s the rush? I thought we could stay a while longer, just the two of us. It could be the honeymoon we never had.”
I stiffen at his touch, and now I jerk away. “The honeymoon we never had that went with the marriage we never should have had.”
With a sharp exhalation, he turns me around to face him. “What happened? You’re angry.”
“Yes, but more than that, I’m just done.” I don’t like the hint of defeat bleeding through in my voice.
His face reflects his bewilderment. “Done with what?”
“This.” I wave my hand vaguely. “The whole situation, Jayson. I’m through with this sham of a marriage.”
He frowns. “What happened to extending our arrangement?”
“What happened to honesty?” I advance toward him, spurred by anger. “You lied to me. You kept my share of the company shrouded in paperwork, taking advantage of my grief to take over the stocks, knowing I was in no state to realize what you were doing.”
Jayson flinches. “What are you talking about?”
“Ask Maia,” I toss out glibly. “She knows everything about your motivations for the marriage. More than I do, but I’m just your wife.”
“I had no motivations beyond Sophie’s welfare,” he snaps.
“I don’t believe you, Jayson.” I turn away from him. “I can’t trust you, and we can’t have a relationship if there’s no trust.”
“You’re leaving, just like that?”
I nod, glad he can’t see the tears pushing against my eyelids. “It’s over.”
“No, not yet.” Jayson strides to the door. “You are not going anywhere.”
“Try to stop me.”
A nasty smile makes his lips curve. “Gladly, agape mou.” He slams the door behind him. I rush toward it as I hear a key turn in the lock.
“What are you doing?” I pound on the door. “Jayson?”
“I am making sure you stay put.”
I yell his name as the sound of his footfalls fades. “You bastard.” I hit the door again before sagging against it, drained. I planned to avoid a confrontation, at least until I was back in New York. My racing mind supplied a few scenarios for how it would go when I told him the marriage was over, but this particular one never occurred to me. I would never have dreamed my husband would lock me in our bedroom. Like a prisoner.
Like a prisoner? I am a prisoner. Trapped in his bedroom, in his house, and in his country, I’m at Jayson’s mercy.
The minutes creep by, and I pace the room while waiting for his return. At one point, I go onto the balcony, but one look down confirms the drop to the ground would be extremely dangerous. The longer I pace, the more I seethe. When the lock finally turns in the door, I turn to face him as he enters the room, my feet solidly planted, bracing myself.
“What do you think you’re doing? You can’t lock me in this room. I’m leaving.”
His face tightens. “Not yet, you aren’t.”
“Stop me.” I straighten my spine and stride forward. His hand clamps around my arm as I try to pass him. “Let me go, Jayson.”
“If you want to leave, then you can — once you take this.” He shoves a bag into my hand.
Taking it automatically, I open the plastic bag to find a three-pack of home pregnancy tests and a specimen cup. I blink, looking up at him with confusion. “What is this about?”
“It is about you not leaving until I know if you’re carrying my child,” says Jayson, his expression unreadable.
Closing the bag, I try to push it back into his hands, but he won’t take it. “This is crazy. I’m not pregnant. I can’t be.” I stare pointedly at the bedside table before looking back at him. “You always used protection.”
“Always?” he asks smoothly. “I think you’re forgetting the first night we spent together. If you’re honest with yourself, you’ll know we were so... passionate that we haven’t always acted responsibly.”
I shake my head. “I’d know if I were pregnant.”
He shrugs. “You haven’t had your uh…‘monthly visitor’ in weeks.”
My face burns. “How would you know? Are you keeping track?”
Jayson snorts. “Not at all, but since we became lovers, I would notice.”
I drop my gaze, not wanting to admit that I haven’t been keeping track. My mind races as I try to remember when I last had a cycle. A sinking feeling hits the pit of my stomach when I realize I was in New York the last time. We’ve been here for weeks, and I’m usually regular.
I swallow audibly. “Fine, just to humor you, I’ll take one.” I look him in the eye now. “Just so we’re clear, when the test is negative, you aren’t stopping me from leaving.”
His mouth curls at one corner. “I wouldn’t dream of making you stay against your will, agape mou.” Turning toward the bathroom, I freeze when he adds, “Unless my child is inside you.”
I storm to the bathroom, uttering a sound of protest when he pushes open the door. “I can handle this alone.”
“Of course you can, but I don’t trust you to tell me the truth.” He takes the bag from me to withdraw the specimen cup. “You take care of this part, and I’ll supervise the testing process.”
“You’re such an insufferable bastard.” I snatch the cup from his hand. His chuckle follows me into the bathroom. Under my breath, I curse him as I set about the task at hand. It’s not easy when you’re being monitored, but I finally manage to produce a sample.
With a sinking heart, I set the cup on the counter. “You can come in now,” I say with reluctance, wanting to put off the test. Of course, I want to deny that I could be pregnant, but the more I think about it the more things make sense — like the bouts of nausea and fatigue. I’d attributed them to something else — anything else — but now I can’t help reevaluating the past few weeks, mentally searching for clues.
Jayson comes in, holding a test in his hand. He hands me the foil package and I rip it open, despite my shaking hands. With a deep breath, I dip the test stick into the cup. Even before I can put the cap back on and lay it flat, a faint test line starts to
appear. As I watch, the line gets clearer and darker than the control line.
Jayson’s breath stirs my hair as he exhales from behind me. “You are pregnant.”
You don’t have to sound so pleased about it, I think. “It could be a false positive. The instructions say it would take up to ten minutes to be accurate. The line appeared immediately, so it must be a faulty test.”
“That is unlikely, but test again.” He grabs another test. “This is a digital test.” This time, my hands shake too much to allow me to open the package, so he does it himself and puts the test in the cup. The small screen displays “Pregnant” in less than a minute. Jayson shows it to me. “This is also positive. You have to admit the odds of two tests being defective are pretty low.”
I shrug. “It could be a bad batch.”
“Okay, fine.” He nods decisively as he sweeps the tests into the trashcan. “We’ll leave for New York within the hour. I shall arrange for you to see the best obstetrician in the city, and he can confirm your pregnancy.”
“Don’t say that,” I hiss. “It isn’t my anything. I’m not pregnant.”
“We’ll see,” he says with apparent neutrality, though his eyes gleam.
Two days later, I sit in the car beside Jayson as the limousine takes us back to the apartment. I clutch a folder full of prenatal care tips in my hands but haven’t opened it. It’s surreal, but there’s no denying the pregnancy. The test at the doctor’s office yielded the same results, which the ob-gyn confirmed with an ultrasound.
“There he — or she — is,” Dr. Anderson had said, pointing with an elegantly manicured nail to a little blob on the screen. “That’s the fetal pole, which is a good sign. It’s too early to see the heartbeat, since you’re only about five weeks pregnant.” She must have seen my look of confusion, because she adds, “Don’t forget we’re counting from the first day of your last cycle, not the date of conception.”
My glance drops to the ultrasound picture Jayson holds in his hand. He had taken the printout reverently, while I wanted to run from the room and pretend like nothing was happening. The little blob looked like nothing discernable and certainly not the beginnings of our baby.
