see.”
“That expression is beginning to annoy me.” She stepped into the elevator and tried to ignore the woodsy scent of him.
He mumbled, “Second floor,” and they descended.
Shaking her head, she said, “I wouldn’t have started with anything that easy.”
He turned to look at her, his brow arched. “By the way, how did you manage to get up there?”
She smiled. “I stumbled on the password.”
“No more stumbling,” he warned.
“But—”
“No buts, either.”
She placed her hands on what used to be her hips. “You know, you’re not supposed to argue with a pregnant woman.”
“Who says?” The look he tossed her was somewhere between irritated and interested.
“It’s in the book of pregnancy rules.”
“And the author of that book is…”
“Gosh, can’t remember.”
The elevator stopped and the door opened. “That’s convenient.”
Laughing, she followed him through the jungle room, past a small dining room and then into a large, open-air kitchen with beamed ceilings.
Much like the other rooms in Michael’s house, the kitchen boasted floor-to-ceiling windows that left you nose to nose with the hillside and snowy landscape, separated only by glass. All the appliances were black and very modern. No buttons or dials. And she couldn’t help but wonder just how long it had taken his housekeeper to remember the vocal commands for everything.
But the most interesting thing in the room was happening on top of the center island. Under several glass domes and UV light, herbs grew hydroponically. The setup was incredibly progressive with a small computer attached to each dome. She could actually read the internal temperature and how many hours, minutes and seconds the herbs needed to mature.
It was little wonder that Michael was a millionaire, she thought as she sat down at a green glass table.
She was getting a little tired, and those pricking pains in her back were intensifying. But little twinges were expected in the last month of pregnancy. She just needed a good soak in the tub. Maybe after dinner.
“You know,” she began, arching her back a few times, “that book I mentioned also states quite clearly that all pregnant women should receive chocolate-chip ice cream once a day followed by an hour-long foot massage.”
He poured her a glass of milk and set it down in front of her. “And husbands actually buy this?”
Her heart tripped awkwardly. “The book or what’s in it?”
“Either.”
“If they love their wives enough, I guess,” she said softly, taking a swallow of the cold milk.
Michael began to assemble a sandwich. “Did your husband own a copy of that book?”
A profound sadness poured through Isabella. Michael probably thought that she and Rick had had a great relationship, typical loving husband and wife. And why wouldn’t he? She was pregnant, after all.
She glanced up at Michael. “I don’t imagine he did.”
“I wasn’t thinking, Bella,” he said, expelling a breath. “It’s none of my business. I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry.” She took another swallow of milk, trying to think what to say next. For so long, she’d had to pretend that her marriage was a loving union, that her husband was content and satisfied with his life and with her. But she just couldn’t lie anymore. “Rick didn’t really want to be a husband. I think I was a challenge to him. The last virgin in Minnesota or something. So once he had me, once that wedding night was over…” She shrugged, heat creeping up her neck and dispersing into her cheeks.
Michael’s fierce stare was unyielding as he finished her sentence. “He forgot just how lucky he was?”
She smiled. “Something like that. I kept trying, though. You know, I came from a family that stuck together through thick and not-so-thick.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Beneath his words, Isabella detected a hint of longing, but she wouldn’t press him. “Well, Rick wanted a reason to leave, and when I told him I was pregnant he had one.”
“You weren’t trying to have a baby?”
She shook her head. “It just happened.” She smiled as she rubbed her stomach. “After he left, I felt so unbelievably angry. I held on to that anger for a while, then I realized that it wasn’t healthy for me or the baby, so little by little I let it go. As easy as it would’ve been, I don’t hate him for his weakness of character.”
“Well, you’re a better person than me.” Michael brought her the turkey sandwich he’d made, but he didn’t sit down. just stood against the counter. “I hate him and I never even met him. He left you, Bella.”
“Yes. But look at what he left me with.” Grinning, she touched her stomach.
He nodded, then looked away.
Isabella took a bite of the sandwich and switched gears. “Where did you go after you left Fielding? I always wanted to know.”
He paused, and she wondered if he was going to open up to her the way she just had with him. After all, it was a safe subject. But he didn’t reply. “Michael, if you don’t—”
“Minneapolis,” he said, opening a drawer on the outside of the fridge and grabbing a beer. “I went to Minneapolis.”
“And what did you do there? I mean, you were only sixteen.”
“I was old enough to take care of myself.” He popped the top of the beer and took a swallow. “I used the skills your father taught me. You know, even though he worked on video games, the things he showed me opened my mind to what was possible. And opened doors for me in ways I couldn’t have imagined.” He paused to take another swallow of beer. “That’s why I owe him.”
She had to ask. “And why do you owe me?”
“Let’s just say that you were my guardian angel, Bella.”
Lord, she didn’t want to be his angel. “Look, Michael, you don’t owe either one of us anything. We both did what we did because we cared about you. Not because we were looking for a payoff later on.”
“Everyone wants a payoff.”
She shook her head. “You don’t believe that.”
“Yes, I do.” He opened the fridge and started rifling through it. “Whether the payoff is emotional, physical or monetary, everybody expects one.”
“Maybe
