On One Condition

“Of course it’s not a bloody order,” he spat, skidding to a halt at her side. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I heard you two talking about me. Tell me the truth.

What’s going on?”

“The truth?” he echoed, rubbing his neck. “I have no bloody idea what you’re talking about. That’s the truth.”

“Is this all a setup? Planned by him to make me look like a fool?”

Damon threw his hands up in the air. “Are you insane? I never even met the man until I met you. Why would I agree to some sort of sick agreement with your ex?”

“You tell me!” she shouted, face red. “I knew you couldn’t be the real thing. You’re nothing but a liar. And I slept with you!”

Fury pounded in his head. He clenched his fists tightly. He needed to stay calm. In control. “Why are you doing this to us? Why are you pushing me away?”

She held herself, rocking slightly. “There is no us. There never was. This thing we call a marriage? It isn’t right.” She wrung her hands. “Can’t you see we’re not good for each other?”

“You’ve not given me a chance to be good for you.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “You won’t let me near you. Why?

Do you hate me so much?”

“Hate you? I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you,” she whispered.

“Then why are you refusing to let me love you? Why are you making crazy accusations to push me away?”

“You need a real wife! One who will love you back.” Her jaw tightened.

“Why won’t you bloody listen to me? I want you. Not someone else,” he insisted. Desperation clawed at his chest.

He couldn’t breathe. He could really lose her right now, if he couldn’t convince her to believe in him.

She shook her head. “You can’t have me. I’m not yours to keep.”

His hands dropped to his side, numb. The fight drained from him. “You’ll never believe I love you, will you? I can’t make you see what’s right in front of your face.”

“No. You can’t fix me. I’m not a charity project. I’m real.

And I can’t love you. I’m sorry.”

He glanced out the bedroom window. He couldn’t even stand to look at her right now. Her cold face staring back at him; her bitter heart crushing his. “Did you ever care about me? Or is this all a game to you?”

“I did what I had to do.”

“That’s not what I asked,” he snapped.

“I can’t answer.” She shook her head frantically. “Don’t make me.”

“Coward,” he said. “I’m beginning to wish that I’d never bid on you on Valentine’s Day. None of this was worth it.”

He spun on his heel, stomping down the stairs and straight into his office. He closed the door, leaning against the wood. Johanna’s papers rested on the table, covered in glue and obnoxious amounts of sparkles. Even here, in his sanctuary, he couldn’t escape her.

Blood pumped in his ears as he charged toward his desk.

Roaring, he shoved everything off of it, sending his business papers flying. Not satisfied, he picked up a chair and chucked it against the wall. It crashed into pieces.

Footsteps pounded overhead. Probably Johanna. She’d be wondering at the noise, no doubt. He couldn’t stand for her to see him like this—broken, angry, and bitter.

The last thing he needed was Johanna knowing how much he was hurt right now. He glowered at her papers— untouched and still sparkling merrily—and stormed out of the room, past a pale Jeff, and out into the snow. Screw it.

He didn’t need to suffer through this. Didn’t need to torture himself any longer.

He was going home.

…

Johanna wandered down the stairs and cringed. Two servants were carrying out bits and pieces of what appeared to have once been a chair, while another cleaned up broken glass with a broom. A mournful silence covered the whole house, bearing down oppressively. The butler overlooked the cleaning crew, his lips pinched tightly. She tapped him on the shoulder.

He met her eyes, then he reached into his pocket. “I have a letter for you, my lady.”

“Johanna,” she reminded him. “Thank you.”

She took the letter and tore it open. Could it be a letter from Damon? No; the writing didn’t match up. Her world titled beneath her feet with each word she read. How could this be happening? And why now, of all times?

“Are you well, my lady?” the butler inquired. He grabbed her elbow to steady her.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry. Do you know when Damon will be back?” she asked.

The butler dropped his gaze to his feet and cleared his throat. “He didn’t say, my lady.”

“Johanna,” she corrected absently. Where was Damon?

She really needed to talk to him about what they had said— and his reaction to it. “Where did he go?”

“Er, he booked a flight to London.”

“London?” she whispered. “He’s gone to London?”

Numbness spread over her body, leaving her weak. She felt like a fist had reached into her chest, squeezing until there was no feeling left for her to spare.

The butler flushed. “Yes, London.”

“I see.”

Her feet felt weighed by iron as she backed away, then fled. She wouldn’t stay here. Couldn’t be in this house that wasn’t hers and never would be. How could she remain in this sham of a marriage when it only proved what she’d known all along? No one could be trusted—not even him. He’d left her.

Right in the moment when she needed him most.

Wait. Since when did she need him—or anyone, for that matter? She’d always done fine on her own. Been fine on her own. All she ever needed was people like Sara. Someone she could laugh with on her lunch break, but who didn’t get involved in her personal life. No true friends. No confidantes.

Certainly not lovers.

And certainly not Damon.

So why did it hurt so much to know he’d left, when she’d done everything she could to push him away?

Because she did need him. More than anything. Johanna pressed her knuckles to her mouth. She was a fool. A selfabsorbed, cowardly fool who’d hurt the one person who’d proven he would stand by her, no matter what. She couldn’t do this alone. Couldn’t handle life without him, but it was too late.

She’d pushed him away, and he’d left her for good.