“Well aren’t you the great martyr,” he scoffed. “Excuse me for not being grateful when I wasn’t given a choice in the matter, was I?”
“Oh, you had choices. And you made them. I’m making the same one, which means getting on with my life without you. Ta-ta,” she sang in a jagged, off-key tone. “I have to get back to work now.” After bawling her eyes out over this stupid man and his complete lack of regard for her.
“That’s very cute. You know I have no choice. Neither do you,” he warned, chin low, brows flat and ominous.
That did it. Her heart broke along old lines and her eyes filled up with hot, fat tears.
“Right,” she said in a voice that cracked. “Your only choice is to be saddled with a woman you don’t want. A gold digger, obviously, who had her eye on your money all along.” She couldn’t do this. She started to leave the room.
“Don’t put words in my mouth.” He caught at her arm.
She shook him off and blinked rapidly, but her lashes were matted together and her composure was thinning to the breaking point.
“Don’t put babies in my belly.”
“I’ll confine it to one, trust me.”
“Too late!” It came out shrill and loud. She spun to leave again, but quickly found herself halted and turned back to face him.
Through her tears, he was a blur of ashen skin.
“What?”
“Oh, look at me, Henri!” she intoned. “Have you ever been satisfied with only giving me one orgasm? Of course, you had to give me two babies!” Her fists clenched and she wanted to pound them against him, against the wall of his chest, as if she could break past the invisible wall he presented to hold off everyone.
Including her.
Especially her.
Instead she found herself stumbling across the hall as he dragged her with him. He plonked himself onto the love seat in the parlor and tugged her to sit beside him.
She was shaking so badly she let it happen and sat beside him in stiff silence, trying to hold her threadbare self together.
He sat with his elbows on his thighs and his face pressed into his wide hands.
She reminded herself she’d had weeks to process her pregnancy and the fact it was twins. He’d had, well, she would guess a few hours on the first baby and about ninety seconds on the second.
Oh, she didn’t want to feel sorry for him! Maybe the idea of being a father was hard for him, but it didn’t change the fact he’d thought awful things about her and hadn’t tried at all to hang on to what they’d had.
What had they had? she asked herself for the millionth time. Sex. So much sex and yes, a few good laughs and many excellent meals. But while they’d been profoundly intimate physically, on an emotional level he’d held her off in a dozen subtle ways. Two years she had spent banging her head against that reserve of his and yes, she knew things about him like his taste in music and had a handful more facts on his family than the average person did, but he had never let her into his heart.
How many times had she counseled a girlfriend not to let a man own her soul without giving back a piece of his? Dear God, it was easier to give that advice than take it.
She reached for a tissue off the side table and blew her nose, fighting to pull herself together. She hadn’t realized how much poison she’d been harboring over all of this. At one point her mother had accused her of punishing Henri by keeping the pregnancy from him and Cinnia had denied it, vehemently.
Just as she had vehemently done her best to annihilate him in every possible way today, holding off on stabbing him with the fact it was twins so she could do maximum damage when his shields were down.
Because she was crushed and she wanted him to join her in her anguish. She wanted to know she could hurt him.
Taking a shaky breath, she started to rise.
His hand shot out and he kept her on the sofa.
“I have to use the toilet. It’s nonnegotiable.”
He released her and she went, then lingered after washing her hands, studying the profile of her body while avoiding her gaze in the mirror.
She had come from a loving, nuclear family. It was what she had always aspired to have for herself and had never been comfortable as Henri’s mistress. He had called her his friend and his companion, sometimes even his lover, but the lack of emotional commitment had always stung.
Part of her had wanted to believe Henri did love her deep down, but she had believed Avery had loved her because he had said the words and he hadn’t. Even her first boyfriend, who had possessed her whole heart, had let her down. So she had tried to hold off giving up too much of herself to Henri. Had tried to stay autonomous and strong.
Still, she had hoped they were moving toward something. When she had turned up pregnant, however, she had had to face how superficial their relationship really was. She hadn’t been able to stay with him at that point, not if she had any self-respect left.