“All I ask,” she says, “is that you share that information with me.”
Ah. She wants power, something to hold over her husband’s head. Well, well. Ms. Zanetti is a game player.
“I need insurance,” she says. “For myself, you see.”
I do see. In the family, it’s always like a game of chess. The winner isn’t necessarily the one with the biggest muscles. It’s the one with the brains. Who am I to deny her a survival plan? In any event, my curiosity is piqued. I’d like to know what Leclerc is hiding from me.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll look into it.”
She holds out a hand. “Thank you.”
I don’t shake on it, because this isn’t a deal. “No more surprise visits.” If Alexis founds out she came to me, it won’t end well for her.
She opens her mouth, but whatever she was going to say is cut short when the door opens and my wife walks in.
What is this? Surprise me day? Not that I’m not happy to see my wife. Her dark hair is windblown and her cheeks red from the cold. Prettier than a princess. After all the avoidance she’s done lately, I can’t help but feel a spark of excitement because she looked me up. Isn’t that why I gave her space? To let her have some of her own power in our relationship.
Zoe looks between us, her lips parting in a silent oh. “I didn’t know you had a visitor.”
“I should go,” Izabella says, snatching up her bag from my desk.
She walks past Zoe with a straight back, not saying goodbye or closing the door behind her.
Zoe stares at me. She doesn’t say a word, but questions run through her eyes. Her expression is tainted with a hint of the pain she carried so openly on the day she caught Izabella and me making engagement arrangements.
“It was about Alexis,” I say.
Her mouth tightens. Swiveling on her heel, she says, “I don’t want to know.”
I cut her off before she can walk out the door. “I didn’t know she was coming.”
She moves to the right, trying to scoot past me. “I don’t care.”
I close the door and lean a hand on the wood. “Is that why you’re running, because you don’t care?”
She taps a foot on the floor. “I’m not running.”
“Leaving before you even got here doesn’t count as running?”
She motions at the door. “You’re blocking my way.”
Lowering my head, I study her through my lashes. She’s jealous. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t appreciate the attention, but she has no reason to feel uncertain of me. “I left her for you, Zoe.”
Her nostrils quiver. “I didn’t ask you to.”
“You didn’t give me a choice.”
Her blue eyes widen. “You don’t want to throw that accusation at me.”
I straighten. “It’s not an accusation. It’s a fact.”
“What choice did you give me?” She takes a step toward me and stabs a finger against my chest when I don’t reply. “Answer me.”
I grab her hand. “I’m not saying I regret it.”
“Don’t you? Can you honestly tell me you don’t miss the power and money? Can you honestly say you wouldn’t rather be living in your old house as Izabella’s husband and still get to fuck me?”
I think about that. I do miss the business. Not having the money certainly complicates matters and gives me sleepless nights. However, I do see it from Zoe’s point of view. I understand why such an arrangement would hurt her. Between the business and Zoe, there isn’t a choice.
“I’d do it again,” I say.
She jerks her hand from my hold. “That’s not what I asked. Do you miss it?”
“Of course I do.” Looking at her unhappy face, I feel a ping in my heart, an uncomfortable pull where there used to be nothing. “But you’re worth it.”
She blinks fast. “Do you regret not marrying Izabella?”
Yes, but only because it put us in this godawful position of financial risk. If the business goes under, I’ll lose everything. What will I have left to give Zoe? Yet I’d do it again in a wink just to have her. I’d do whatever it takes to keep her.
“Tell me, Maxime.”
This isn’t the kind of truth Zoe wants to hear. I can only answer it with a question. “Do you regret marrying me?”
The answer flashes across her face, raw and naked in her startling blue eyes before she manages to hide it behind a mask of indifference. We both have regrets. The difference is mine isn’t big enough to want to go back in time and change my decisions.
“I don’t regret marrying you,” I say again for what it’s worth. One day, I’ll earn enough money so that not marrying Izabella won’t be a regret. “She’s nothing to me.”
“It’s not her.” She looks away. “I have nothing against Izabella. It’s what she reminds me of.”