How romantic. She bit back the sarcastic rejoinder. She didn’t want—nor expect—romance from Dimitrios. It was no surprise he wasn’t even pretending to offer it. In a small act of defiance, she moved into the kitchen and grabbed her own tea cup, taking a moment to replenish it with boiling water. She was conscious of his eyes on her the whole time, watching as she added more water and returned the original tea bag to the cup, using a spoon to hasten its brewing and to capture all the flavour she could from the single bag.
When she moved to the table, his eyes followed her, and as she sat down she looked at him properly, catching the frown on his face. No surprises there. He was probably wondering how to politely extricate himself from the parting statement he’d made the night before.
Politely? Who was she kidding? This was Dimitrios Papandreo. Having been on the receiving end of his barbed tongue, there was no need to expect kindness from him. Reminding herself of that, she straightened her spine, regarding him with icy patience.
‘Well, Dimitrios?’ she prompted, cradling her hands around the tea. ‘What would you like to discuss?’
It seemed to jerk him out of his reverie. He nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out some sheets of folded paper. The table wasn’t large—it could seat four at a pinch. He extended his arm a little, holding the papers to her. ‘I’ve had a pre-nuptial agreement drawn up. Nothing complicated.’ He looked around the apartment. ‘I presume you don’t have a lot of assets, but whatever you do have will of course be quarantined from me, for you to retain in your name only.’
She didn’t make any effort to take the papers. She was blindsided that instead of attempting to back-pedal on his marriage proposal he was instead doubling down.
‘Naturally, the terms are generous towards you. As for our son, he will inherit what you would expect, as well as have access to a trust fund incrementally—on his eighteenth birthday, his twenty-first and his twenty-fifth.’ Perhaps mistaking her silence for gratitude or acquiescence, he paused a moment then continued. ‘It’s as it was for Zach and me, and for my father. It works well. Better than receiving an enormous amount at eighteen, when you’re more interested in alcohol and women than being sensible with investments.’
Annie felt as if a rock had landed at the base of her throat. She couldn’t swallow properly; her tongue wouldn’t cooperate. She sipped her tea, which helped only a little.
‘As for where we’ll live, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I relocated to Singapore about four years ago. My house is more than adequate for you and our son and any other children—’
She spluttered, her butter-yellow shirt very nearly another casualty of the tea. ‘Hold on.’ She took a sip, then deliberately replaced the cup on the edge of the table, her fingertips shaking as the reality of what he was suggesting—and the fact he was clearly serious—overtook her.
‘I’m not marrying you, Dimitrios, so please stop making plans as though any of this is actually happening.’
He didn’t react. She realised then that he’d been expecting some opposition.
‘The amount of your allowance is, of course, negotiable.’
She flicked her gaze to the piece of paper he held, then shook her head. ‘There’s no price on my head. You can’t buy me.’
‘No?’ His teeth were bared in a smile, but it was born of anger. ‘I disagree.’
She stayed where she was even as she felt as though bees were flying into her. ‘I’m not mercenary. Not even a little. Don’t you think that, if money had been any kind of factor for me, I would have contacted you well before this? Do you have any idea how hard these last seven years have been for me? How I’ve struggled and sacrificed, all for our son? Who, by the way, is called Max. And don’t even get me started on how offensive I find it that you’ve been here ten minutes and haven’t asked me one single thing about him.’
A muscle jerked in Dimitrios’s jaw and his eyes stirred with unmistakable anger. ‘Do you think I want to hear about my own son from you? No, Annabelle. I want to get to know him, but for myself, not through your eyes. He’s my child, and I should have been a part of his life well before now.’
The rebuke was like a blade sliding beneath her rib cage, because he was right. She ignored that, though.
‘I see how you’ve been living, how you’ve been raising my son. Do you think any of this—’ he gestured around the room ‘—is good enough?’
Hurt simmered in her blood. She swept her eyes shut, so didn’t see the way he frowned and pushed back in his seat a little, shaking his head in frustration.
‘No.’ It was just a whisper. ‘But I’ve been doing my best. So don’t come in here and insult me, because I won’t have it, Dimitrios. You have no idea what this has been l
ike—’
‘And whose fault is that?’
She pressed her lips together, sadness flooding her.
‘I can’t change the past. If you want to be a part of Max’s life, I understand, but there’s no way we can just pick up and move to Singapore, nor that I would ever marry you. This isn’t the nineteenth-century. There’s no morality police set to charge you for having a kid out of wedlock, or whatever.’
‘There are my morals,’ he said simply. ‘And there is my son’s future.’
‘Your morals are your problem, not mine. And as for Max’s future—’ she inserted his name with determination ‘—that’s something we can discuss.’
‘I’m more than happy to discuss the minor details of our situation, but not the solution. We are getting married, Annabelle, so stop fighting me and start getting used to it.’ He leaned closer, bracing his elbows on the table. ‘Start preparing for it—be happy. All of your worries will be gone from the minute you become my wife.’
A shiver ran down her spine and instinctively she rejected that. All her worries would just be beginning if she became his wife—why couldn’t he see that?
‘Why are you being so insistent about this? You seem to have had a string of glamorous, high-profile girlfriends, and you’ve never married any of them, so I can only presume you feel as disinterested in being someone’s husband as I do in being your wife.’