Inconveniently Wed. Yvonne Lindsay
is a two-way street, is it not?” he asked gently.
“Always. You never had any reason not to trust me, Valentin. Ever.”
“Whereas you feel you cannot trust me. That’s what you’re saying?”
“Based on past experience, what else can I say? You broke our marriage vows, not I.”
The old frustration and anger bubbled from deep inside. She wouldn’t listen to him back then; he doubted she’d listen to him now.
“So that leaves us at a stalemate, doesn’t it? Unless you’re prepared to put the past aside.”
Imogene looked at him incredulously. “You think I should just forget you screwed another woman in our bed?” She deliberately chose strong language, not prepared to soften what he’d done by describing it with any moniker associated with the word love. “Just put it aside as if it didn’t matter?”
“It doesn’t matter because it never happened. Did you see me that day, Imogene? No, because I wasn’t there. You wouldn’t give me a chance to talk to you before having that lawyer serve papers on me. Perhaps you will at least do me that courtesy now.” He pressed on, knowing he had a captive audience. It had bothered him intensely that Imogene never allowed him the opportunity to present his side of what she thought she’d seen. If anything it had underscored how wrong they’d been for each other that she’d been prepared to cast him in the villain’s role so immediately. “Look, I know you were shocked to discover Carla in our house, let alone our bed. When I gave her the key to the place it was supposed to be so she could get some sleep between shifts because the doctors’ lounge had been appropriated for more patient beds. You know the crazy hours we were working and the volume of patients we had to deal with. Carla was overdue a break and I said she could use our place because it was close to the hospital. I didn’t know she planned to have company. Imogene, I barely got to see you. If I had free time, why would I have spent it with her?”
“Why indeed,” Imogene answered with an arch of her brow and a lift of her chin.
He let go a huff of irritation. “I wasn’t the one with her that day.”
“That’s not what she led me to believe.”
“She told you I was there?”
Imogene hesitated. Replayed the words in her head as she’d done so very many times before.
“Not in so many words,” Imogene conceded.
“And yet you still don’t believe me.”
“I don’t. I can’t.”
Hearing the underlying pain in her words made Valentin think again. She sounded as though she were in an internal battle. That maybe, just maybe, she wanted to believe him. He wondered how he’d feel in the same situation. Torn. Confused. And facing the realization that if she believed him, then that would have made the past seven years of loneliness and sorrow, the end of their marriage, all her fault. But it wasn’t. While he had never been unfaithful to Imogene, he knew he should have done more at the time to fight for their marriage—followed after her, insisted she see him instead of letting her hide in the only decent hotel in town until she flew out.
He knew Carla could be intimidating. The woman had a confidence many women he’d met lacked. She’d set her sights on Valentin as soon as he’d arrived on his volunteer service and they’d had a brief, intense fling. It wasn’t until Imogene came on the scene that Carla had begun to eye him again, and she’d made it clear to everyone, Imogene included, that he was hers for the taking. But Carla had been wrong. From the minute Valentin had seen Imogene there had been only one woman for him.
She still was that woman.
Admitting that didn’t come easily. Pride had always been an issue for him. A child prodigy, he wasn’t used to making mistakes. His world had been filled with successes, each more glowing than the last. His failed marriage to Imogene had been the one black mark on the pristine blotter of his life. It was something he felt bound to rectify. If he could persuade her to give him, them, another chance, then maybe they could make things work.
His grandmother’s words repeated in the back of his mind. Be certain that you won’t spend the rest of your lives wondering if you should have given each other another chance. Would he regret it if he didn’t try again? Looking at Imogene now, resplendent in her bridal gown—the same woman who’d stood with him in a hurried civil ceremony all that time ago, and yet different in subtle ways he ached to explore—he knew the answer to that was a solid, unequivocal yes.
He chose his next words carefully. “So is there nothing I can do to persuade you to consider marrying me again?”
“I can’t believe you even want to think about us marrying again,” she shot back.
“Why not? Let’s remove emotion from the equation and try to look at this logically. We both approached marriage this time in a more clinical fashion, and yet look at us. Here together again. Let’s not discount the science that went into our pairing.”
“Science!” She snorted in disbelief. “More like your grandmother’s tampering with the results.”
“And why would she do that if it would only make us unhappy?”
He knew he had made his point when she conceded.
“So what are you suggesting? That we give this a go? I’ll be honest with you, Valentin. I don’t hold hopes for things being any different than they were the first time. We may have gotten along in bed, but we had very little in common outside of it. Carla aside, and as difficult as it is to admit, I don’t think we’d have lasted the distance. We met in a hothouse of extreme circumstances. It wasn’t a normal relationship in any sense of the word.”
“Then why not give it a chance and see how we do in a more traditional setting? We’re unlikely to find another match that can make us both feel like this,” he said, before reaching out one finger and tracing the line of her lower lip.
Shock and desire warred with each other as he felt her softness. Her warmth. The gasp of heated breath as her lips parted. Every muscle in his body clenched in anticipation of closing the distance between them. Of tasting that tender flesh and discovering if she was still as sweet, and as tart, as she used to be. Valentin watched as a light flush colored Imogene’s cheeks and as her pupils dilated to almost consume her irises.
While she battled with her emotions, Valentin pressed on. “Imogene, look at it this way. We have a rock-solid prenup in force. We have a three-month out clause. What have we got to lose?”
He saw her internal battle reflected in her eyes. Heard it in her every ragged breath. Sensed the moment of weakness, the chink in her armor, and took the opportunity to drive straight through it.
“And children, Imogene. Think about the kids we would have together if it all worked out. The family we always wanted. I promise you, if you agree to marry me again, you won’t regret it. I will be faithful to you. I will see to it that I meet your every need as your husband and your life partner. I failed you last time. I never fought for you the way I should have, so I’m fighting for you now. I realize that I had tunnel vision when it came to my work, which left very little beyond the physical for you. I never saw the cracks when they appeared in our marriage. Never saw how vulnerable you had become. If I had been a better husband, you would never have jumped to the conclusion that I had been unfaithful. I won’t let that happen again if you give us another chance. What will your answer be? Will you marry me?”
She said yes.
Alice Horvath couldn’t even begin to describe the sense of relief that overtook her when Valentin came out of the office and informed her the wedding would go ahead. She hadn’t wanted to believe it wouldn’t—she did, after all, trust her instincts wholeheartedly—and persuading