bring himself to push too much. He was supposed to be good with people. If he earned her trust maybe she’d confide in him. When he knew the details he was convinced he’d be able to find a way to ease her pain.
Alina stretched as the final credits rolled, then carried their plates to the dishwasher. Ethan followed with the glassware and caught her yawning.
‘Ready for an early night? It’s been a full-on day for you.’ Sympathy showed in his eyes, warmth in his tender expression.
A restful soak in the bath with an intrigue novel appealed more than bed. Did that seem rude? As if she wanted to get away from him?
As if sensing her confusion, he gently took her in his arms, hugged her and let her go.
‘Goodnight, Alina. Thank you for being so cooperative. I know it wasn’t easy. Sleep well.’
‘I survived. Goodnight.’ She walked away.
‘Alina?’
She turned at the doorway.
‘I swear I’ll take care of you and our child. Believe me?’
She looked into sincere blue eyes and her doubts subsided. ‘Yes, I do.’
This time he didn’t stop her, and went back to the lounge. Trying to read reports was a futile exercise. A few strides along the hall was a beautiful woman who stirred him as no one ever had. A woman whose soul-destroying sorrow influenced every decision she made.
Today she’d begun to react naturally—the way he needed her to if they were to convince everyone they’d been lovers. Their supposed affair might have been short, but their mutual attraction had to be evident. On his part it was becoming less of a pretence every time she was near. And from her tentative responses he suspected her buried feelings were beginning to emerge.
* * *
Ten past nine. Past morning rush hour. Alina leant on the island, checking her notepad, and glanced down at her well-worn jeans. Added two items to her list. She drank her ice-cold juice, scrunched her nose. Pushed the credit card Ethan had given her in a circle on the granite. Having it didn’t mean using it.
He’d knocked on her door early this morning to tell her he was going to his office. Drowsy, needing to use the bathroom, she’d barely acknowledged his remarks. When he’d leaned in to brush her hair from her eyes, his unique smell and the touch of his fingertips had blown her lethargy away, leaving her wide-awake, tingling.
She dropped the pen. This was ridiculous. What could be simpler than writing a list of clothes and accessories to be worn by the wife of a hotshot billionaire? Or was he even richer? Any woman he dated would have no problem filling the page. But she was a nomad, with a meagre pile of cheap, easy-care clothing. Her serviceable underwear would never grace a magazine page or stir a man’s libido.
Hey, what was she thinking?
Focus. You only have to buy enough to be presentable for a few weeks.
As she put on weight she’d have to shop again. More expense.
For a second her mind flashed to the investment account. Another buried secret.
* * *
Sometime after twelve she sank wearily into a window seat of a busy café. Two bags containing the pathetic results of her attempted retail therapy took the chair beside her. This was hopeless. She’d chickened out every time she’d tried to enter any of the high-fashion boutiques she’d found. Embarrassing Ethan in clothes from the stores she normally frequented wasn’t an option. At this rate she’d be in track pants and baggy jumpers right through autumn.
She needed help...didn’t know who to ask. She was used to working; now she had all day with nothing to do. Or did she? She’d meant her reference to taking courses as a joke, but now she deemed them a plausible time-filler.
As the waitress walked past, carrying two plates of fish and chips, another idea popped into her head. Taking out her notepad, she began a new list, pushing it aside when her order arrived.
Indulging in a gooey cream-filled pastry didn’t solve her wardrobe problem but it tasted good. Drinking Viennese hot chocolate while writing the final items lifted her spirits. Surely he’d give her plenty of notice before expecting her to meet his friends or accompany him to functions?
* * *
Ethan sniffed appreciatively as he entered the apartment—later than he’d intended due to an impromptu meeting with his second-in-command. The sooner he implemented the new changes in his workload, the better.
It was a surprise to find the table set for two, even though he’d called, asking her to order dinner from the hotel. There was a bowl of fresh garden salad in the centre, and a bottle of Shiraz waiting to be opened. His home was warm and welcoming—a pleasurable new experience. He shed the trials of his day and moved forward.
‘Mmm, smells good. Mushroom sauce, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘Hi.’ Alina came around the island, carrying water and glasses. ‘Dinner will be ready by the time you wash up.’
Placing his laptop on the end of the table, he moved nearer, breathed in flowers and sunshine—perfect for her, enthralling for him. If this were real...
It wasn’t.
This morning she’d been dreamy-eyed, and he’d come close to kissing her. He hadn’t thought, had merely acted, something he’d need to curb if they were to build a trusting relationship.
‘Give me five minutes.’
Alina arranged steak with foil-wrapped baked potatoes on warmed plates, placed hot crusty rolls in a serviette-lined basket. Smiled with satisfaction. Everything looked appetising, hopefully tasted as good. If she could convince him to let her cook and clean she’d feel so much better about their arrangement. Support for the child was one thing—her being totally dependent on him another.
No way was she going to compete with his qualified chefs. She’d serve recipes she felt capable of, even if they weren’t gourmet standard. The cookbook she’d bought was for inspiration.
Ethan had already poured his glass of wine when she set down his plate, along with the gravy boat. When she returned with her meal he was waiting by her chair, studying his food across the table. She held her breath while he took his seat.
The sparkle in his eyes when they met hers was unnerving. ‘This didn’t come from my hotel kitchen, did it?’
‘No.’ She broke eye contact, her heart sinking. Took a sip of water. If the difference was so obvious she’d already lost.
‘Hmm...’ He poured gravy, put sour cream on his potato and began to eat.
Her breath caught behind the lump in her throat. Her whole body felt primed for his reaction. She so wanted his approval.
‘It’s good.’ His smile caused her lungs to deflate, the lump to dissolve.
‘Not what you’re used to?’
‘Better.’
She
