Marrying Mr. Right. Carolyn Greene
the power Greg had held over her at the time—and even now—she conceded their separation had been for the best.
“The lawyer said that since the relationship wasn’t...um...oonsummated, we can get a quick annulment rather than go through a lengthy divorce,” she said, trying to get her errant thoughts back on track. “All you need to do is sign the last page.”
“No!”
The ferocity of his statement made Christina jump. What was he suggesting? That he wanted to stay married to her? That he still had feelings for her? Against her better judgment, she felt inordinately flattened.
But the flattery was short-lived.
“You couldn’t have picked a worse time to do this.”
Greg yanked a chair out from the table, clattering the wooden legs together in the process, and lowered himself onto the seat. He sat with thighs apart, one knee thrust aside as if in invitation for her to sit on his lap. Christina jerked her gaze upward, forcing herself to focus on the vertical lines between his scowling eyebrows.
“If anyone finds out about this,” he continued, “it’ll mess up my plans. You’re going to have to wait a few months until I have everything in order.”
It was bad enough that he’d given her ego a beating, but now he was telling her what to do, trying to bend her to his will as if she were a malleable child.
Although he was seated and she remained standing, he managed to give the impression of power and authority over her. He acted as though, just because he spoke, she must do as he bade. Well, there was no time like the present to show him how much she’d changed since she last saw him. She would refuse to jump at the snap of his fingers...no matter how much she wanted to obey.
She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “Can’t do it. I’m getting married in two months, and our annulment needs to be final before then.”
Christina hoped she sounded more assertive than she felt at the moment. Since they’d been apart so long, and he’d made no attempt to contact her, she had assumed he’d be agreeable to putting an end to their mistake of a marriage. Under the circumstances, his resistance struck her as unreasonable.
She was about to tell him so when the kitchen door swung open and Donald burst into the room. Like a curious puppy, Trina tripped on his heel, catching herself with a hand on his waist
“All right, what’s going on in here?” Donald asked.
He was staring straight at Christina, looking to her for an answer to this relationship mess, so there was no way Greg could field the question for her. Not that she’d want him to.
“Well,” she began hesitantly, “it’s a long story.”
“Oh, goody. I love stories,” said Trina, making herself comfortable at the table with Greg.
Everyone waited for Christina to finish her explanation. She turned to Donald, aware that Greg had risen to his feet. She tried to put her husband out of her mind and concentrate on how best to tell her fiancé what she had put off breaking to him long ago.
How would she break the news to him without damaging—or even breaking—their relationship? Would the knowledge effect the agreed-upon terms of their engagement? Tension gripped her until it felt as though she couldn’t breathe, and their “audience” wasn’t making matters any easier. She could practically feel Greg’s gaze holding her in his grip.
“Maybe we should talk about this in private,” she suggested, attempting to steer Donald out of the kitchen and away from earshot.
“No, you don’t have to whitewash anything for me,” her fiancé said, lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders as if preparing for a physical punch. “Give it to me straight.”
Donald was a good man...a little intense at times, but his heart was in the right place. And he’d always treated her with gentleness and respect, not even complaining when she’d insisted on remaining a virgin until their wedding night. In fact, he had admitted to a similar lack of experience and suggested they make a pact to abstain until they were locked in holy matrimony.
Not that doing so was a sacrifice for either of them. In fact, it helped delay what would eventually be—for both of than—a potentially awkward situation.
More importantly, she was still technically married. And since Christina was a woman of her word, she could never bring herself to sleep with a man while married to another... even if it was a marriage on paper only.
“I don’t know where to begin.”
“Why don’t you start by telling your fiancé that you’re already married to me?” Greg intervened. His gaze bore into her, and he seemed to be standing much too close, even though they were a respectable distance apart.
“Oh my gosh, this is just like that soap opera, ‘A Million Tomorrows,’” Trina piped in. “Only Deiter Hawkins forgot to tell his fiancée about the baby he had by the nun who nursed him through his amnesia.” She paused to take a breath. “You two don’t have a child, do you?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“What?” Donald started to pace, an action generally reserved for times of high stress and low stock reports.
“Not exactly.” By now Christina’s stomach was knotted with tension. She leaned a hip against the sink and turned a shoulder to Greg in an attempt to discourage him from participating any further in their conversation. But she knew from experience that a simple act of body language would not be enough to silence him if he had something to say.
“A son, Murdock,” Greg said over her shoulder. Then, in a wistful tone, he added, “and we had such fun making him.”
Christina spun to face her tormentor. “You’re not—hic!—helping matters!”
“Hiccups again? Why don’t you sit down,” Donald suggested, “and I’ll get you a glass of water.”
“Water doesn’t help,” Greg said. “It’s better if you make her laugh.”
In all the time she’d known him, Christina couldn’t remember hearing her fiancé laugh. Odd that she hadn’t thought of that before now.
“No, water’s best,” Donald insisted, pushing the glass toward her. “We’ve dealt with her hiccups every day since we announced our engagement, so I ought to know what works best.”
“Hic!” Christina sat in the chair Greg had vacated a moment earlier. To distract herself from the memory of his open-legged sprawl in that very chair, she started chugging the glass of water.
“And I’ve seen her through at least a dozen high school book reports and oral essays, so I ought to know that laughter works best for Christina.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Christina said with a slam of the empty glass on the table. Now that she had their attention, she would attempt once again to tell Donald about her past. Their past. “Now do you want to hear—hic!—this or not?”
Trina raised her hand and bounced in her seat. “I want to hear it. You go, girlfriend!”
Christina took a deep breath. “Greg and I were assigned to be make-believe husband and wife in our Family Life course.”
“They must’ve started that course after my time,” Donald said. “I never did anything like that.” Thirty-five years old, he had graduated seven years before her.
“They did. The course was our principal’s attempt to teach students about life in the real world. During our role-playing as married couples, we learned to take care of a child, keep a budget, clean house and prepare meals.”
“We took our roles very seriously,” Greg interrupted with a grin.
He wasn’t helping matters at all! “Actually it was something