I gulp. “But… you said you would help me.”
&
nbsp; “And I will. If you help me. You be my wife for three years. Once Sophie is off to college, we will quietly divorce and go our separate ways. You can return to your schooling, or travel the world. Whatever you decide to do with the money I offer is up to you.”
My mind whirls with confusion. It’s a crazy plan, but I can understand Jayson’s reasons. Sophie absolutely needs to come first right now, and he’s honest enough to acknowledge he can’t do it all on his own. I admire the fact that Jayson hasn’t just sent the girl to Greece, or hired a nanny to watch the fifteen-year-old, and then gone about his business.
Still, no matter how much I’ve fantasized about him in my life, this is never how I thought my wedding would be.
After a long moment, I nod. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“Let’s get married,” I say with a forced smile. I never let myself even dream about any sort of real relationship with Jayson, yet here I am, about to become Kyria Jayson Satyros.
Surreal, to say the least.
Chapter 21
JAYSON
I look up from my laptop at the sound of Sophie and Harper giggling loudly. Again. How can a man get any work done with those two carrying on? I’m about to chew them out when their conversation catches my attention.
“…has an excellent pre-med program, but they’re in Virginia. Maybe I should go to a university somewhere around New York City. William & Mary is so far away.”
“You’ll be fine, if that’s where you decide to go,” says Harper. “Selfishly, I’d rather have you in New York, but you have to do what’s best for you no matter what anyone says.”
“NYU has a good pre-med program too.” Sophie nibbles on her lower lip, clearly undecided. “And you? Are you going to NYU in the fall?”
As I’m listening for Harper’s answer, I click some random keys into the search bar so she won’t know I’m eavesdropping on their conversation. “I’m not sure. I might return to Adamsville and finish my botany degree, or I could go to another school. Maybe a couple of universities around New York.” Harper shrugs. “My decision depends on your decision.”
“Would you be happy at Adamsville?” asks Sophie. “You said it was an all-girls’ school, full of girls you don’t have anything in common with anymore.”
“Which is exactly why I’m thinking about other options,” says Harper, ruffling Sophie’s glossy black hair.
“Quit it,” says the girl, a hint of whining in her voice. “You know I hate when you do that.”
I allow my attention to return to the laptop, letting their conversation fade into the background. The words on the screen blur, and I realize it’s hopeless. I can’t concentrate. I planned to finish this project before we landed on the island, so that I could fully enjoy this vacation, but the girls are so distracting.
I snap the laptop shut and turn to stare out the window of the Satyros jet. In truth, it’s not the girls who are distracting me. It’s Harper. Harper, who is most definitely not a girl. Her body with its new soft curves, the full breasts that could so easily fit into my palm. Her messy bun, which she put up carelessly and still fell so perfectly around her face. Her flaring hips, her round ass in the soft blue jeans she wears.
I imagine running my fingertips over the soft seams of her back pockets, as I pull her close. Maybe grip her belt and jerk it against me so she can feel how hard I am from just looking at her. Her green eyes would darken with passion just before I press my mouth to hers to taste those sinfully full, pink lips.
I groan softly, doing my best to wipe the images from my mind. It’ll never happen. Harper will never be in my bed, because she treats me with friendly distance and nothing else.
My wife.
I brood about that word. It’s maddening. Sure, Harper is my wife in name only, but for months now I’ve been wondering how stupid I was for marrying her when I can’t touch her. I can pinpoint the exact night when I suddenly realized my wife was an attractive, desirable woman: we were at a party for some charity function, and she was wearing a stunning red dress. The silk caressed her curves, making me notice just how much she has changed in the three years since we were married. Harper went from an unsophisticated college girl to a polished, poised woman. My woman.
Except she’s not my woman. Our marriage is going to end in three months. The end of summer. Sophie will head off to university, and Harper and I will go our separate ways. The whole goddamned plan was my idea, after all. We even signed a contract, to make everything official.
What a moron I’d been.
Harper, unsurprisingly, is preparing to move on. I’ve known for a while now. In fact it’s hard to miss, with various college catalogs appearing here and there around the apartment. She’s checking property in the boroughs, and I even watched over her shoulder one night as she surfed Craigslist and other proper furniture stores, adding different things to her wish list.
She clearly has no doubts about ending this farce of a marriage. For me, the business deal is simply coming to a close. She fulfilled her part, and I have to do the same.
I groan softly again, but this time it’s at the idea of letting her go. I never go back on my word, but the idea of letting Harper walk out of my life pains me. She’s my wife. And I’ve finally figured out what I wanted from her, just in time for her to become my ex-wife.