Save Me, Daddy

Jayson frowns. “Has something happened? Is Sophie ill?”

I shake my head. “No.”

He walks closer, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling my back against him. “What’s the rush? I thought we could stay a while longer, just the two of us. It could be the honeymoon we never had.”

I stiffen at his touch, and now I jerk away. “The honeymoon we never had that went with the marriage we never should have had.”

With a sharp exhalation, he turns me around to face him. “What happened? You’re angry.”

“Yes, but more than that, I’m just done.” I don’t like the hint of defeat bleeding through in my voice.

His face reflects his bewilderment. “Done with what?”

“This.” I wave my hand vaguely. “The whole situation, Jayson. I’m through with this sham of a marriage.”

He frowns. “What happened to extending our arrangement?”

“What happened to honesty?” I advance toward him, spurred by anger. “You lied to me. You kept my share of the company shrouded in paperwork, taking advantage of my grief to take over the stocks, knowing I was in no state to realize what you were doing.”

Jayson flinches. “What are you talking about?”

“Ask Maia,” I toss out glibly. “She knows everything about your motivations for the marriage. More than I do, but I’m just your wife.”

“I had no motivations beyond Sophie’s welfare,” he snaps.

“I don’t believe you, Jayson.” I turn away from him. “I can’t trust you, and we can’t have a relationship if there’s no trust.”

“You’re leaving, just like that?”

I nod, glad he can’t see the tears pushing against my eyelids. “It’s over.”

“No, not yet.” Jayson strides to the door. “You are not going anywhere.”

“Try to stop me.”

A nasty smile makes his lips curve. “Gladly, agape mou.” He slams the door behind him. I rush toward it as I hear a key turn in the lock.

“What are you doing?” I pound on the door. “Jayson?”

“I am making sure you stay put.”

I yell his name as the sound of his footfalls fades. “You bastard.” I hit the door again before sagging against it, drained. I planned to avoid a confrontation, at least until I was back in New York. My racing mind supplied a few scenarios for how it would go when I told him the marriage was over, but this particular one never occurred to me. I would never have dreamed my husband would lock me in our bedroom. Like a prisoner.

Like a prisoner? I am a prisoner. Trapped in his bedroom, in his house, and in his country, I’m at Jayson’s mercy.

The minutes creep by, and I pace the room while waiting for his return. At one point, I go onto the balcony, but one look down confirms the drop to the ground would be extremely dangerous. The longer I pace, the more I seethe. When the lock finally turns in the door, I turn to face him as he enters the room, my feet solidly planted, bracing myself.

“What do you think you’re doing? You can’t lock me in this room. I’m leaving.”

His face tightens. “Not yet, you aren’t.”

“Stop me.” I straighten my spine and stride forward. His hand clamps around my arm as I try to pass him. “Let me go, Jayson.”

“If you want to leave, then you can—once you take this.” He shoves a bag into my hand.

Taking it automatically, I open the plastic bag to find a three-pack of home pregnancy tests and a specimen cup. I blink, looking up at him with confusion. “What is this about?”

“It is about you not leaving until I know if you’re carrying my child,” says Jayson, his expression unreadable.