Wriggling, I whispered, “I need to get to work.”
“Nobody is going to fire you.”
“There are worse things than being fired,” I answered as I tipped my head to button my blouse.
He cupped my chin and lifted it. “Once we’re married, you won’t have to worry about things like that.” Brushing my hands aside, he took over the job I had started.
A tiny chill buzzed through my system. Had I just made a huge mistake by saying yes? “What exactly does that mean, Shane?”
“You won’t have to work.”
“Maybe I want to work.”
“Hmmm.”
Already I was regretting my hasty, hormone-induced acceptance of his marriage proposal. When we were having sex, Shane and I worked. We worked perfectly. But once we stepped out of the bedroom (or dungeon), things got more complicated.
If I’d just made the mistake of a lifetime, I needed to un-make it. Now. Before it was too late. But first, I wanted some answers. I wanted to know the truth. About everything. “I need to clear up a few things,” I said as I smoothed my skirt back in place.
“Go ahead.”
“First, I read you’re engaged to Alexis.”
“The Tribune.” At my nod, he explained, “That’s a rumor. I’ve already spoken to the individual who was responsible for starting it. You won’t be reading any more articles like that one again.”
Something made me trust him on that one, maybe because of the conversation I’d overheard. I suspected Alexis was the “individual” to whom he referred. “I also heard you were responsible somehow for your first wife’s death.” I tucked my shirt into my skirt and tried to smooth out the wrinkles.
His lips pressed together, and I wondered if he would tell me the truth if it wasn’t what he thought I wanted to hear. I waited, a big lump collecting in my throat. Please, please, don’t let him say he killed her.
“I was responsible. But not intentionally. I didn’t kill her. I ignored the warning signs. I didn’t take them seriously. My wife was struggling with depression. She committed suicide. She hung herself. I’ve always blamed myself. I still do, to a certain degree. She had told me she was going to do it, and I ignored her, thinking she was trying to manipulate me.”
“Oh, God,” I whispered. The pain in his eyes was almost unbearable to witness. It was no wonder he’d been so afraid to be in a relationship again. To hold someone’s life in your hands…he didn’t know if he could trust himself. “I’m so sorry.”
“My first wife had a disease. I know that now. But it still doesn’t take away the fact that I might have been able to stop her if I’d taken her threat seriously.”
“A lot of people make that mistake. You can’t keep punishing yourself for the rest of your life for that one mistake. An honest mistake.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced. Perhaps he never would be able to forgive himself or trust himself. “Is that it? Have I answered your questions?” he asked as he fastened another button.
I wished that was it. “There’s one more. God, I hate doing this—“
“No. Ask me. Ask me anything.”
“I heard you’re still legally married to another woman. Is that true?”
His jaw clenched. “Who told you that?”
Did it matter who told me? I didn’t want to risk anyone being fired. “I…overheard a conversation. I…don’t remember who. But it doesn’t matter. Are you married? Or not?”
His jaw clenched harder. His lips thinned too.
Oh God. It was true. My insides twisted into a one big knot.
He shoved his fingers through his hair, mussing it. “That’s not exactly a yes or no question. It’s a little more complicated than yes or no, black or white.”
More complicated? How? The way I saw it, a person was either married or not. Kind of like pregnant or not. There was no in-between or kind-of.
I inched back, tried to put some more space between us. If my brain was going to function, I needed air, distance. Gently, I pushed his hands away, to finish buttoning my blouse myself. “I don’t like the sound of this.”
“Okay. I’ll try to explain. I married a woman I met while I was traveling. The woman I married is a legal resident of San Marino. I am not. I’m a US resident. There was some conflicting information about which country’s laws we were being held to because I did not acquire residency of San Marino after marrying.” He took my hands in his and eased them down to my sides. For some crazy reason, I let him. He went back to buttoning my shirt. “But my attorneys have looked into it. They told me in the US the marriage is not legal. In San Marino it is.”
What did this mean? I was so confused. How could he be married in one place but not another? “I don’t understand. Please, put it in plain English.”
“Technically I am still married if I return to San Marino. But I have no plans of returning there.”
“What about divorcing?” I suggested as I tried to piece all this confusing information together. “Couldn’t you file for a divorce?”
“As the legal resident, the woman I married there must be the one to file. She won’t.” Having finished the last button, he tugged on the bottom of my shirt, pulling it out of my skirt again and smoothing it out. “There you are. As good as new. Except the panties. I’ll buy you more.” Placing his hands on my shoulders, he leaned forward and brushed his lips across mine. “I love you, Bristol. I love you so much it hurts. I tried to stay away. My life is so f**ked up. I knew you’d be better off. But I couldn’t.”
I didn’t respond. I wanted to say I loved him too. But something was clogging my throat.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is it because I didn’t call or come over? I did that because I knew if I saw you again, I wouldn’t have the courage or strength to walk away.”
I glanced at my watch. Ohmygod, I was over a half hour late. “I have to go.” I lunged for the door.
“Don’t worry about the time.” He caught my shoulders and turned me around to face him. “No one is going to say a word to you about being late. If we need to talk, then we’re going to talk. This is too important to put off. This is more important than business.”
It was. I didn’t disagree with that statement, but I couldn’t shove aside the worry that my coworkers were going to be furious once they found out the boss was covering for me. “We can talk later.”