Innocent in Her Enemy’s Bed

“I expect honesty at all times,” he shot back.

Her chin briefly wobbled before she firmed it, but she held his gaze without flinching.

“Very well. I see value in the fact it’s available immediately. It meets our basic requirement for separate bedrooms and a convenient location to our work. If we close today, we won’t have to waste time on further searching. I don’t love the decor, but it will impress guests and has enough room for entertaining large crowds. It’s not meant to be our home, only something we’ll occupy for three years, so perhaps I should have said, ‘It will do.’”

Three years. She wasn’t looking for a father to actually raise her child, only support it and give it a name?

“‘Large crowds?’” he repeated. “What happened to not wanting people in your space?”

“I thought entertaining was a legal requirement once you marry. While my father was alive, my stepmother threw dinner parties two or three times a week. She had several larger holiday bashes and charity galas throughout the year.”

“Good God. Is that something you want to do?”

“Not in the least. After a busy day at work, I might entertain the neighbor’s cat, but that’s about all the interaction I’m up for.”

Not the neighbor. The neighbor’s cat. He didn’t let himself be diverted by that whimsical little revelation, but he did enjoy it.

“I typically buy out a restaurant when I’m required to host anything. Or use my yacht.”

“We could continue to do that. Or...” She went back inside where she looked around thoughtfully. “We could buy this as an investment. It could serve as a venue for our own events, but villas like this are in demand for destination weddings. It could provide an income when we don’t need it.”

That was actually a solid proposal.

“We could marry here,” she continued, brightening. “Feodor would love that. He’s having trouble finding a suitable location.”

“Seriously, why do you keep him?” Leander asked with exasperation. “He seems completely incompetent.”

She paused at the top of the stairs, jaw slack. Then her chin came up.

“It’s not his fault. My stepmother keeps undermining him. She threatened two designers with ruin if they worked with me and fired one of her favorite caterers from a standing lunch contract simply because they submitted a quote for our reception.”

“Which sounds like they’re available. Where’s the problem?” he drawled.

“That’s not the point I’m making.” She started down the stairs. “Odessa is going out of her way to be obstructive. As I just explained, she made a career of entertaining. She knows everyone and put the word out that she will punish those who work on—or attend—our wedding. The invitations haven’t even gone out, but Feodor has already received a dozen regrets.”

“Why would she do that?” He moved to catch up with her, expecting Midas was behind it.

“Because she can. My relationship with her has always been difficult.” Her lashes shielded her eyes as she continued downward.

“Why?” He kept his tone conversational, taking all of this with a grain of salt. She was clearly trying to discredit her stepmother in order to undermine any rumors that had reached his ears from that quarter.

“Why do you think? My father had an affair with my mother and, when she died, had the bright idea of insisting Odessa raise his bastard alongside her legitimate sons.” Her profile was the deep carving of a cameo, still and sharp.

She stopped again and released a hiss of consternation.

He paused two steps lower so he was eye level when she pensively bit her bottom lip, reminding him how plump and lush it had tasted when he had roamed his tongue across it.

Why the hell did she have to be so enticing and so impossible to trust?

“I should tell you...” Her throat flexed. “Odessa is spreading some very ugly rumors about me. The most tasteless is that I’m pregnant. She’s telling people that’s why we’re rushing this marriage, but that it’s not even yours.”

And there it was. She was attempting to get ahead of it by telling him herself, but he steeled himself against giving her any sort of credit for that.

“Are you?” he asked, forcing a tone of vague interest.

“Pregnant? No!” She was taken aback. Then, as she read his skepticism, her mouth pressed into a line of grim resignation. “I see. This isn’t new information. You already heard it and you believe it.”

“She knows you better than I do.” He canted his head. “I’d be a fool to discount it, especially given how quickly you agreed to marry me. If something seems too good to be true, it usually is.”