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"You would've been bored," I lied. I didn't want her to know any details of my discussions with some of the guests. I wasn't sure where her loyalties lay. If she told her father everything she heard, he'd be able to put two and two together and I didn't needthatman anywhere near Archer Arts & Antiquities.
She arched an eyebrow. "I see. Being left alone to deal with men like Pascal Fournier was definitelynotboring. So, thank you."
"For Christ's sake, Elsa, I said I was sorry," I yelled.
"You need to work on your apology, Duncan."
I shook my head. This wasn't going to be my life. I wasn't going to be one of those men who fought with their wives; be part of a couple that bickered.Fuck no!
"You're lucky to get an apology,ma douce," I told her calmly, and her eyes filled with confusion. "I do what I want to do and when I want to do it. If you don't like it, that'syourproblem, not mine."
"You're seriously saying this to me?" she whispered.
"Yes. I'm not in the market for a nagging wife," I retorted coolly. "That's not the kind of marriage I want."
She raised both her eyebrows in shock. "Alors, quel genre de mariage tu veux, bon sang?" Then what the hell kind of marriage do you want?
She was shifting to French as she did when she was stressed.
"A peaceful one, Elsa. Not one where you're needy and clingy. You live your life, and I live mine."
I had not done a good job telling her about my boundaries, and I should have. I'd just been mesmerized by the honeymoon period, that's all. Now that was over, and therealmarriage where my wife yelled at me and made me lose my temper had begun. I wasn't going to allow that.
"Peaceful?" she shook her head in disbelief.
"Yes."
"By that you mean that I shut up when I have a problem with you, don't you?"
"Yes," I said sternly. "That would be much appreciated.Youhave a problem withme.I can't solve that for you."
She slumped into her seat, and I saw her shoulders droop as if all the joy and life had been sucked out of her.
"That's not a marriage; that's an arrangement," she breathed.
"We have an arrangement,ma douce, or did you forget that?"
She closed her eyes, and I sighed. What was I doing? I didn't want to hurt my wife. I wanted her happy and smiling like she always was. She was in love with me, and I wanted us to have a good marriage where we lived like friends and lovers. Was that too much to ask?
"I did forget, Duncan." She smiled wanly at me. It was pathetic, and I despised the empty look in her eyes that followed. "Thanks for reminding me."
We fell silent, her words hanging heavily between us. I didn't know what to say, and I was deathly afraid that I'dcontinue to say the wrong thing. I'd reduced our marriage to an arrangement, and now my beautiful wife looked like she'd eaten something that didn't sit well with her.
She had both her hands on her stomach, stroking as if she were comforting herself and our baby.
I rubbed a hand over my face. I didn't know how to fix this. I didn't want to keepfixingthings in our marriage. It needed to justwork,and for that to happen, Elsa needed to know the man she was married to.
By the time we reached her apartment in the Marais, the tension between us had reached a boiling point.
She unlocked the door and turned to face me, her expression a blend of hurt and dejection. "I think you should move back to your place. If you stay here with me, I'm going to keep forgetting that what we have is not real."
Fucking hell!How many times could a man apologize before it stopped meaning anything? Because I was already there.
"I may have misspoken." I ushered her into the apartment and locked the door behind me. She just stood there, frozen, staring into space. I put a hand on her cheek. "Elsa, I'm not leaving."
"Why not?" she asked as if coming back to reality.
"You're having our baby. Wearemarried."
