She had marched in here, demanding an explanation for so ludicrous a proposition.
Her eyes went to the man now unfolding his tall, lean frame, the same way he had that fatal day.
How on earth had he persuaded her to marry him?
Why the hell did I agree? There must have been another way
for Aristides to accept Theo’s investment! It was just ludicrous—ludicrous to go along with what I did!
But she had, and that was all there was to it.
You made your bed…
The echo of the familiar proverb stung in her head, and with an awful hollowing of her stomach she heard not the metaphorical meaning but the literal one.
Bed. Sex. Theo.
That had been what had gone so hideously wrong in their brief, disastrous marriage. And it had been entirely and totally Theo’s fault.
If he’d just bloody left me alone…
But he hadn’t. And so, without the shadow of doubt, without the slightest sliver of any other possibility, this whole ugly, vile business was his fault.
The emotion she had felt building up in her since he had dropped the cheque for her money beside her naked body slashed through her again. Powerful, unstoppable—and now roiling in her like a black tide.
Her chin went up. Theo was on his feet.
His face was tight and taut. His eyes dark with cold, icy anger.
‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’
His voice cut at her like a knife.
For a moment, just a moment, Vicky felt a new emotion go through her. She buckled under it, reeling from the vicious hostility in his voice. Memory came at her again, with sickening vividness. This was how Theo had spoken to her on that hideous, hideous day when she had arrived back at his mansion from Jem’s and he’d tossed the paparazzo’s revealing, condemning photos of her and Jem down on the table in front of her shocked, appalled face.
She felt her throat spasm. Why does he have to be so angry with me? Why?
Her throat tightened. There was almost pain in it.
But what was the point of pain? Pain just made her weak, defenceless. She had stood there while Theo carved her into shreds that awful day. Her stammering attempts to justify her actions had been scathingly demolished even before she could get them out. Theo had not listened—had only attacked. Savagely, ruthlessly, totally.
Then thrown her out.
Thrown her out and taken his petty revenge by refusing to hand her over the money she had been promised.
And then—her stomach hollowed—then he had taken a revenge that had not been petty at all…
She felt her spine stiffen. When Theo had thrown his outrageous demand at her in London, her only thought had been how she could protect herself from his vengeance.
But he had not let her do so. He had imposed on her exactly what he had planned all along—her humiliation, at his skilled and expert hands. Allowing her no quarter—no hiding place.
Her eyes hardened.
Well, now it’s my turn. My turn for a little revenge. And I will really, really enjoy sticking the knife in you this time around…to give you back what you paid out to me, night after night…
This is just a fraction of what you did to me!
She walked forward. Strolled forward. Her high-heeled sandals moved her hips, the fine material of her dress eased over her body. Her freshly washed and styled hair lifted from her shoulders. Her outfit might have taken an uncomfortably large bite out of her credit card, but she didn’t care right now, she just didn’t care—she felt and looked exactly the way she wanted.