The Marriage Proposition. Sara Craven
me think—just for a brief moment—one night long ago—that maybe this mismatch between us might work after all. That perhaps it could be more than just a business arrangement …
‘I think,’ she said, ‘that what you see is generally what you get.’ She moved restively, feeling at a disadvantage, standing there barefoot, with her sandals dangling from her hand. ‘Will you excuse me, please? My friends will be wondering where I am. And I’m sure your party will be missing you, too,’ she added pointedly.
‘You’re all consideration.’ He sounded amused, as if her inference wasn’t lost on him. ‘But we really do have things to talk about.’
‘Nothing that can’t wait a few months,’ she said. ‘I’ll get my lawyer to contact yours.’
‘Caribbean holidays and a divorce,’ he said meditatively. ‘You’re going to have an expensive time.’
Suddenly her antennae were alert and sounding an alarm. Because that—almost—sounded like a threat. Didn’t it?
Maybe it was something she needed to find out, she thought, her senses tingling. This confrontation might be galling, but she couldn’t end it quite yet.
She paused, choosing her words carefully. ‘A quick, no-fault ending of our arrangement? With no property settlement or maintenance involved? Surely not.’
‘You don’t count the shattering of hopes and dreams?’ His tone was mocking. ‘The laceration of one’s finest feelings?’
Her mouth tightened. ‘They weren’t included in the deal.’ And if there was any lacerating done, I’m the one left with the scars.
He said slowly, ‘Perhaps I’m looking to renegotiate.’
That insidious trembling had started up again, deep in her gut.
She said quickly and coldly, ‘No chance. The original contract stands, and even that isn’t for much longer. I want out, Nick, so don’t start playing games. I’m not impressed.’
He laughed. ‘Tough talk, honey, but talk is cheap. Are you really prepared for a fight?’
‘That wasn’t part of the arrangement either.’ Her heart was beating fiercely, erratically again. The chain round her throat seemed to be tightening, and she put up a hand and tugged at it mechanically, feeling the delicate links biting into her fingers.
He said laconically, ‘Call it an afterthought.’
She said huskily, ‘Then I recommend you think again.’
His gaze fastened on the nervous movement of her hand. ‘I see,’ he said, ‘that you’ve taken off your wedding ring.’
‘I’m not a hypocrite,’ she said. ‘I won’t—pretend.’
‘No,’ he said, and his voice was suddenly bleak. ‘I’ll grant you that.’
There was a brief uneasy silence, then she said, ‘Nick, there’s no need for this. Our marriage has never existed in any real sense—just on paper. Why make difficulties about ending it?’
He shrugged. ‘Let’s just say I dislike unfinished business.’
She thought wretchedly, How can you finish something that never began …?
Aloud, she said, ‘But you got what you wanted—a seat on the Harrington board.’
‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘Courtesy of that incestuous little family arrangement that should have been legally challenged and wound up years ago.’ There was an odd, almost angry note in his voice.
She said defensively, ‘It’s worked perfectly well, up to now.’
‘Then why did you have to come to me for finance?’ Nick demanded derisively. ‘Because your credit had run out elsewhere, my dear wife, and you know it. Harringtons may have been started by a giant, but there are only pygmies left now.’
She said hotly, ‘How dare you insult my family?’
‘Sometimes the truth hurts, Paige.’ He paused. ‘So does a bad investment.’
She drew a steadying breath. ‘I suggest you take this up with your fellow board members. I’m an employee now, and I really don’t want to discuss it any further. As for our non-marriage—that’s over. And nothing you can say or do will make the slightest difference.’
‘But that’s where you’re wrong,’ Nick said softly. ‘Because I haven’t finished with you, baby. Not by a long chalk. In fact—’ his voice deepened ‘—I haven’t even begun yet.’
They were both standing still, but the space between them seemed to have diminished in some strange way. She could almost feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. The brush of his body against hers.
Paige made a small inarticulate sound in her throat, then she moved, skirting round him, keeping him at arm’s length or more, walking fast, trying not to run.
Trying to maintain a safe distance between them—if there could be such a thing, she thought crazily as she went up the beach, stumbling a little, despising her own clumsiness. Hating him for being its cause.
She didn’t look back, but then she didn’t have to. She could feel his eyes on her back, burning like ice. Branding her.
Except that she was no possession of his—and she never would be.
‘So there you are,’ Brad greeted her jovially. ‘We were just going to send out a search party.’
‘It’s a pretty straight beach,’ Paige returned as lightly as possible. ‘Not many places to get lost.’ Except in some hell of my own making.
‘What’s going on?’ Angie hissed as Paige took her seat beside her. ‘One minute you’re dancing with Brad, the next you’re out beachcombing.’
‘I needed some air,’ Paige whispered back. ‘I’ve got a headache.’
‘What lousy luck.’ Angie was instantly sympathetic. ‘Do you want to call it a day?’
‘It might be better. I have to finish packing, and I’ve got a long flight tomorrow.’ Out of the corner of her eye, Paige saw Nick come up from the beach. For a moment she thought he was going to come over to their table, and tensed, but he walked straight past without giving any of them a glance. And Angie’s attention was fortunately centred on her.
I’m not getting out completely unscathed, Paige thought. But it could be very much worse.
On her way out, a few minutes later, she risked a brief look at Nick’s table to see if her departure had been witnessed, but he appeared to be completely engrossed in his blonde.
Which, Paige told herself vehemently, could only be a relief.
Brad held her hand for a moment longer than necessary as they said goodnight. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he promised, and she smiled and tried to feel interested and grateful.
But it was impossible. Her mind was in turmoil. Jack and Angie chatted quietly to each other in the front of the car, out of consideration for her headache, and she sat alone in the darkness almost obsessively going over and over the scene on the beach. Asking herself what he could possibly have meant and receiving no answer. At least none that satisfied her, or even offered a modicum of comfort.
But then Nick had always been an enigma, she told herself restively.
She wrapped her arms round her body, shivering. She was shaking inside, aware of a feeling of faint nausea. Of disorientation.
Shock, she thought. That was what it was. He was the last person she’d expected—or wanted—to see. And it was one of life’s terrible ironies that they should be on the same small island, in the same nightclub, at the same time.
If they’d spent the evening anywhere else she’d have avoided