A Game of Vows

by Maisey Yates

  “Hannah,” he said, moving into a sitting position, every muscle in his body screaming at him, “I’m serious.” His eyes started to adjust to the dim room, and he could see her, in his chair, her legs tucked up under her.

  “Truthfully? You walked with me … you were just really out of it. And anyway, it’s not that far.”

  “I don’t want you to have to deal with things like this … ?.”

  “How often does this happen?” she asked.

  “Migraines? Once every week or so. Migraines like that? It’s been months since I’ve had to deal with anything on that level. They’ve gotten further apart but …”

  “All this stress.”

  He shook his head. “Not necessarily.”

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  “You never stop thinking, querida.”

  “Granted. But I’ve been thinking specifically about our baby. And about our future.”

  He swallowed. “What about it?”

  “We’re already married.”

  “A fact we’re both well aware of as it caused you grief a few weeks ago.”

  She nodded curtly. “Yes, but now I’m thinking it’s advantageous.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “We’re having a baby.”

  “So many things manage to slip my mind, Hannah, and yet that one has not.”

  She laughed, a small, nervous sound. He wasn’t used to Hannah sounding nervous. “I know … I—Do you want to talk later? I mean … that was a bad … It was bad. If you don’t feel up to talking, I understand.”

  “Talk, Hannah.”

  “Okay. I think we should stay married. I think we should be a family.”

  “A … family? What do you think makes a family, Hannah? Marriage?”

  She hopped out of the chair and started pacing. “I don’t know, Eduardo. I … I don’t really. I’ve never had a family. But on that note, I can tell you what doesn’t make a family. A mother who never comes to see you. A father who can’t be bothered to say four words to you on a daily basis. Do you know, he never did one thing for me? He bought frozen dinners and I heated them up for both of us. The school bus made sure I got to school. No one went to my parent-teacher conferences. I …” She took a breath. “I was seven when one of my friends said something about my hair not being brushed before I went to school. She started doing it for me on the bus. So, that’s what family isn’t. I’d really like to try and make a real family.”

  His heart hurt, for Hannah. The woman she was now, the little girl she’d been. He wanted to hold her close. Erase every bad thing that had ever happened to her. He wanted to care for her.

  And then he remembered the events of the past few hours.

  Remembered the fact that Hannah had just spent the afternoon caring for him.

  He couldn’t give her what she needed, what she deserved.

  “Hannah, do you really understand what you just saw? When that happens … I can’t move. I can’t see. You want to try and make your perfect vision of family with me?”

  “You’re the one who wanted to try this. And I do, too,” she said, conviction infusing her tone. “You said we’d do this together. I want to make this work. And the great thing is, we don’t have to do anything. We’re already married. We already talked about me coming to live in Barcelona. Really … really, it’s perfect.”

  “And us, Hannah?” His whole body tightened when he thought of the other benefits of Hannah being his wife.

  “I …”

  Hannah felt like her insides had frozen. Of course sex would come into it. The sex between them was great. No question. And she wanted it, there was no question there, either. And if they were going to be married … well, it was only logical.

  Then she thought back to that moment on the floor of the bathroom, when she’d held him in her arms. When she’d felt like he was part of her.

  Just the thought of what it would be like to kiss him now, to be skin to skin with him now, when she felt so emotionally raw and stripped bare, when her defenses were gone, frightened her down to her soul.

  “I can’t think about it right now,” she said. “That’s just to say … I have to process one thing at a time. You and I will have … all the time ever to figure each other out.”

  Although, she was afraid she would need that much time just to sort herself out.

  “That seems fair,” he said, his voice rough.

  “So … will you stay married to me?”

  “Yes, Hannah,” he said.

  “Great. Good. That’s … great. And good. Do you need anything?”

  “No. Just sleep.”

  “Good, I’ll leave you to that, then.”

  Hannah walked out of Eduardo’s room and closed the door behind her. And only then did she realize she’d been holding her breath. She was going to have to get it together. She couldn’t risk letting herself fall for him. She’d never believed in love, or at least she’d never believed that she could love anyone. That they could love her.

  And she couldn’t afford it. Couldn’t afford to depend on him like that. To need him so much.

  She thought back to that moment of fierce, pure possessiveness she’d felt, kneeling on the bathroom floor with him. That he was hers.

  She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. She would deal with the emotion stuff later. For now, she just had to focus on the positives. She was having a baby; she and Eduardo were doing the best thing possible for their baby. She had a plan.

  She inhaled and exhaled slowly. Yes, she had a plan. And when she made plans, she kept them. A plan always fixed things.

  Suddenly everything felt much more doable.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HANNAH hit the send button on her email and whimpered inwardly. She’d resigned from her job in San Francisco. Not the first job she’d resigned from. But she’d liked the job. She’d contacted a removal company about clearing out her apartment the day before, and had her now-ex-assistant working on listing the furniture and home for sale.

  She was used to leaving, but it still felt strange. Sad.

  The door to her new and now-more-permanent office at Vega opened and Eduardo entered on a loud and virulent curse.

  “Why are you swearing? I’m the one that just resigned from my job.” They’d been back in Barcelona for the whole week and they’d kept things very civilized and organized between them.

  There was no mention of resuming a physical relationship. No mention of the future. And no mention of the migraine. She could handle that. Was using the time to try and heal, to try and rebuild her walls. To get a grip on the soft gooeyness that seemed to be overtaking her.

  They had their system in place, her in her room, he in his, and they came to work together. And, it had even been decided she would be the new financial manager at Vega.

  So, all in all, a good week. Even if she did feel confused and lonely. And a little nauseous.

  “There’s a … charity dinner tonight and I forgot about it. I had it in my calendar but then I forgot to sync the calendar and so it didn’t end up on my phone.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes, after work.”

  “Well, that’s not so bad. Go put on a tux and mingle for a couple of hours. It won’t kill you.”

  “I’m not fun.”

  “You’re not … boring.”

  “You have to come with me.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Hannah Vega, you have to come with me, because you are my wife. And my company and the success of it, is very important to you. Which means, the appearance of stability in my life should be very important to you. This is your son’s or daughter’s legacy, after all.”

  “Don’t be a bear, Eduardo.”

  “I don’t know another way to be. I told you, I’m not fun.”

  Her cheeks heated as she thought of some of the ways she’d had fun with Eduardo. Oh, no, she was not going there. No, no, no. “You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Not sure I’m up to go
ing out, looking saucy and conspicuously avoiding drinking the champagne, but hey, why not?”

  His expression lightened suddenly, concern filling his dark eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t consider you might not be feeling up to it. I … forgot.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m more worried about you. You’re up to it?”

  His expression darkened. “I’m fine.”

  “Good. Just tell me what color to wear, and I’ll be ready by … when do you need?”

  “Eight.”

  “Eight. I’m good at these kinds of things.”

  “I know you are,” he said, his eyebrows drawing together a bit.

  She wanted to go and touch him, comfort him. She wasn’t all that great at comforting people, not historically anyway, but she wanted to. Although, she wasn’t sure what was allowed in the neutral zone that was their relationship. They weren’t any closer than they’d been a week ago. They hadn’t fought more, either. She actually missed fighting with him. Missed the spike of passion that had been between them in some form from the moment they’d met.

  She missed the sex even more.

  “So, just reap the benefits then and stop looking like the world is crumbling all around you.” She stood up and took her purse off the hook behind her desk. “So, what color do you need me to wear?”

  “Why?”

  “I need to go shopping.”

  Something in his expression changed, darkened. Went back to how it had been before. And she liked it. “Wear red,” he said.

  She looked him up and down, heat firing in her blood. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  She swept past him and walked out of the office.

  Eduardo was in hell. He was with the hottest woman in the room, in any room on the planet, he was certain, and yet, she was off-limits to him. Because she needed time to think about where things would go between them. Hell, he needed time. They weren’t in a position to have a fun, heated affair. They were married. They were going to be parents.

  It wasn’t that he couldn’t touch her. He had to touch her. She was his wife, and they were playing the reconciliation game. He realized that in many ways they were now playing it for life. No one was to suspect they weren’t the loving couple they appeared to be. That he slept alone, with a hard-on that wouldn’t quit.

  Everyone had to see a committed, devoted couple. The press, most especially, had to see a committed, devoted couple.

  But with Hannah dressed in a slinky red dress, with only one strap that gathered at her shoulder like a bow and made her look like a particularly tempting present, her curves hugged close and displayed perfectly by the close fit of the gown, the game was torture. And a simple touch wasn’t enough.

  “That dress makes quite the statement,” he said, his eyes on the elegant curve of her neck. She was scanning the room, looking for the most influential people. At least, he imagined that’s what she was doing. She had that way about her. Like she was always on alert. Always on show.

  “That was the idea. And it matches your tie.” She turned to face him, feathering her fingertips over the silk fabric of his necktie.

  “I doubt anyone has noticed my tie.”

  “It’s impossible not to notice a hot man in a great suit,” she said, blue eyes raking over him, the appreciation in them open and undisguised. “So trust me, you’ve been noticed.”

  “To what do I owe the compliment?”

  “Just honesty.” Her smile widened and she took a step forward, bringing him with her as she intercepted an older man with a date some twenty years his junior.

  They made casual conversation with him, Hannah enquiring after the man’s grown children, asking him about his business. Eduardo followed her lead and managed to engage both the man and his date, whom he introduced as Laura, in a steady conversation for a few moments before they both moved on.

  When they left, he frowned and leaned in to Hannah. “Why didn’t he introduce himself?”

  Hannah looked at him, her eyes wide. “That was Carlo Caretti.”

  He knew the name, and worse, he had the sinking feeling he’d met the man. On more than one occasion. In fact, several occasions. “He’s placed some very large orders with Vega for exclusive mobile phones for Caretti International,” he said, everything slotting into place.

  “Yes. He’s a very big client for you. Has been for years.”

  “I haven’t seen him since …”

  “I know. It’s fine. You covered fine.”

  He set his glass of champagne down. Hannah wasn’t drinking; she couldn’t drink. So he shouldn’t, either. Which reminded him that he’d forgotten to ask how she felt.

  “How are you?”

  She waved her hand. “I’m fine.”

  “Not tired?”

  “No. I like parties. Well, parties like this.” She laughed. “Sort of over the whole high school undercover kegger.”

  “Been to a few, have you?”

  She tossed him a look. “My former self? Yes. She enjoyed them. They made her forget how sad she was. Hannah Weston? No, she doesn’t like them much.”

  Her admission hit him hard. More aching sadness for the strong, beautiful woman he called his wife. “What about Hannah Vega?”

  “I haven’t changed my name.”

  He frowned. “Will you?”

  She blinked rapidly. “I … I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  Another couple stopped and chatted with them for a while and thankfully, he’d never met them so he didn’t feel stupid when they left. “I really didn’t know them, right?” he asked, checking with Hannah.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. If you did, I don’t know why, so they can’t be that important. Ack, that sounds mean.”

  “Well, that’s how you see things isn’t it? In terms of business value.”

  She frowned. “Generally. I’m not sure I like it.”

  “I don’t mind it.”

  “I don’t see everything that way,” she said, and he knew she meant the baby.

  “I know you don’t.”

  She bit her lip and nodded slowly. He wrapped his arm tightly around her waist and led her deeper into the opulent ballroom. People were milling around, looking at the artwork on the wall, placing written bids that were much higher than any of the work was worth. But proceeds went to a children’s hospital charity and that meant generosity was high, and very few people actually cared what it was they were bidding on.

  Hannah stopped in front of a painting of a woman. The woman was on a busy street, in a crowd. She was facing a different direction to everyone else, and there was space around her, while all the other people in the picture nearly blurred together into an indistinguishable mass.

  “She’s special,” he said. She certainly stood out. She reminded him of Hannah. A woman who could never simply blend.

  “She looks lonely to me,” Hannah said.

  He turned to look at her. She was staring at the painting, her attention rapt. “No one is touching her. No one’s going with her.”

  “But she stands out,” he said.

  “By herself.”

  He extended his hand and brushed his thumb across her cheek. She turned to face him, eyes wide. “She’s not alone.”

  She blinked. “I … I want to bid on this one.” She took a slip of paper from the podium and wrote down a number she hid from him, then dropped the folded white square into the box.

  “I think I’ll place a bid, too.” He got his own slip of paper and wrote his own bid on it. He was certain he would beat her. And then he would give it to her.

  “You look confident there, Eduardo.”

  “I am,” he said, dropping his bid into the box. “I think I’ll win.”

  “Do you?”

  “I do.”

  “A wager then.”

  “A wager then.”

  “Mmm-hmm. If I win, I get a favor. If you win, you get a favor.”

  “A favor?”

  “A foot rub, a half day at work. Somet
hing. Be imaginative.”

  “I don’t know if I’m imaginative.”

  “I’m sure you can be,” she said.

  “All right then, I take your bet.”

  She extended her hand and he shook it, then he leaned down and pressed his lips to her knuckles. Heat shot through him, down to his gut, gripping him tight with fiery fingers.

  “Good,” she said, her tone light, breathless. “When do they announce the winners?”

  He checked his watch and the sign on the podium. “Bidding is closed in five minutes and it looks like they’ll take about thirty minutes to announce the winners.”

  “Then we have some mingling time.”

  He could have groaned at that, but he kept his mind busy thinking of just what he would ask of her when he got his favor. A kiss maybe. More. The image of her lips on his body, on his shaft, as she’d done the first night they were together haunted him, intoxicated him.

  They’d been strictly hands-off for the past week, and for good reason. And it was likely she hadn’t intended the favor to be sexual, but damned if he could think of anything else.

  He would ask for something else when he won. But for now he would let his mind wander.

  The announcement was five minutes late, and in that space of five minutes he was more aware of the time than he’d been in his recent memory.

  The man who was orchestrating the evening started reading off the auction winners and directing them to go to the back of the room to write their checks.

  “Lot number fourteen goes to Hannah Vega,” he said, barely taking a breath before moving on to fifteen.

  Hannah shot him a triumphant smile. “I win.” She breezed away from him, going to write her check and claim her spoils, he imagined. He followed after her.

  “What did you bid?”

  “A lot,” she said, smiling sweetly.

  “Why?”

  “I can. I have a lot of money, Eduardo. But you know that.”

  “I know it, but I didn’t know you were the type.”

  “I very much am. I give a lot to charity. And I really liked the painting.”

  “It looked like it made you sad.”

  She shrugged. “I connected with it. I’m going to hang it in our house.”