A Proper Wife

It was hard to know who she was angrier at, this... this overcoiffed, underdressed femme fatale or Ryan, standing like a big gorilla at her side.

How dare Ryan let this... this Sharon creature pull this disgusting act? She was his wife; why wasn’t he acting as if she were?

But she wasn’t his wife, Devon thought suddenly. A cold hand seemed to dig inside her chest and seize her heart. She wasn’t his wife at all. She knew it, Ryan knew it—and, now that she thought about it, Sharon seemed to know it, too. It was the only reason she’d try this sort of routine.

“You know, sweetie,” Sharon said, leaning closer, “you snatched this man right out from under my nose.”

“Sharon,” Ryan said, clearing his throat, “I don’t think Devon is interested in—”

“He spent a weekend with me—well, of course, there was nothing unusual in that, was there, Ryan? You and I had spent dozens and dozens of weekends together.” Sharon sighed. “And then, on Sunday, you said goodbye and that was that. A week to the day later, I opened the New York Times and read that you’d been married.”

“Sharon,” Ryan said, his voice sharp and chill, “we don’t want to keep you.”

“Oh, you’re not keeping me, Ryan. Honestly, I’m so pleased to see you—and your lovely wife, of course. Lavonnne? Do ask Ryan for my number and give me a call. We’ll get together, for lunch perhaps.” She tossed back her mane of red hair and shot Devon a dazzling smile. “And we’ll compare notes about Ryan. Won’t that be fun?”

“Loads of fun,” Devon said through her teeth.

Ryan’s arm tightened around Devon’s shoulders.

“Goodbye, Sharon,” he said, and he urged Devon swiftly up the street. Hell, he thought, bloody hell. Heaven only knew what Devon thought now.

They stopped at the corner as the light went to red.

“Vicious bitch,” Ryan muttered.

“I don’t know why you’d say that,” Devon said sweetly. “I thought she was very friendly.”

Ryan snorted. “She’s about as friendly as a cobra.”

Devon glanced at him. His jaw was set, his mouth thin.

“She must have been very upset, reading about our—about your marriage that way.”

The light changed to green, and she stepped off the curb, shrugging off Ryan’s arm in the process.

“It wasn’t the way she made it sound,” he snapped.

“Wasn’t it?”

“No, dammit, it was not! Our—relationship—had ended before you and I—before we—”

“Strange, that you never mentioned her.”

“It isn’t strange at all,” Ryan said coldly. “I never asked you about any relationships you might have had before we ... we signed our contract, now did I?”

No, Devon thought, he certainly had not. Why would he? Their marriage wasn’t a marriage. Even now, after a night of incredible intimacy, neither of them could bring themselves to use the word.

Devon’s throat constricted. Besides, what could he have said even if he’d wanted to say it? That there’d been a sexy, gorgeous woman in his life? That

he’d been involved with her, right up to the minute his grandfather had forced him into a marriage he didn’t want?

All these months she’d been so angry at Ryan, so angry at herself, so busy denying that she’d fallen in love with him ... and not once, in all that time, had it occurred to her that Ryan might have left a woman behind when he signed his name to that damned marriage contract.

Oh, she’d assumed there’d been women who’d wept a bit when they read the announcement in the Times. A man as handsome, as virile, as Ryan would surely have had women.

But there was a world of difference between the singular and the plural of that word. “Women” were faceless, but this “woman” had not just a face but a name. She was a beautiful, sophisticated, sexy creature named Sharon who’d made her feel stupid and ugly.

“Listen,” Ryan said brusquely, “just forget about Sharon, OK?”