I hold up one hand. “Please don’t. I’m miserable, Snowflake. You can’t possibly know how sorry I am.”

Something flashes in her eyes and for just a second I see . . . sympathy? But then it’s gone, replaced by her steely reserve. And that’s the precise moment I know I’m fucked. It’s one thing to imagine how she was feeling, but it’s quite another to see the hurt still burning in her eyes, to hear the venom in her voice. This isn’t going to be easy.

“Were you really going to do it? Get me pregnant without including me in the decision?”

I swallow and loosen my grip on the wheel. “I’m not going to lie to you. The thought crossed my mind. But then I knew I couldn’t. Wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did something like that.”

“And when I caught you in the bathroom?”

“It was a moment of confusion. Weakness. Desperation. I promise you, I wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

She nods once, then looks down at her hands. “Just take me home.”

“I have somewhere better in mind.”

• • •

When I roll to a stop in front of the Cane family estate outside the city, Olivia unbuckles her seat belt and climbs from the car without a word. I called Fred on my way here and asked him and Prescott for a quick meeting.

Fred’s standing in the foyer. As we approach, he shifts nervously.

“Hi, Dad,” Olivia says, giving him a brief hug. She might be pissed off at him too, but he’s a sick old man, and her father. Something tells me her forgiveness will come a lot quicker for him than for me.

Fred tips his head toward the study. “Go have a seat. Prescott and I will be right there.”

As we head toward his office, I swallow the last of my pride because I know this conversation is going to be a difficult one. I’ve taken advantage of Fred’s trust in me—tricked his little girl. I feel about two inches tall.

We take our seats at opposing ends of the mahogany table and settle in to wait.

Olivia’s gaze cuts over to mine. “Why in the world were you fucking me with condoms if you were supposed to get me pregnant?” she hisses.

“Because it was what you wanted.” My voice is soft and Olivia’s eyes are wary, like she wants to understand my true motivations. I hate this part of our relationship. I hate that I lied to her, and that I don’t know how to fix it. “You asked to begin a physical relationship. Of course I wanted that too, but you were in the driver’s seat. I tried to give you what you wanted. And as far as getting you pregnant without your consent, I never could have gone through with it.”

Her mouth turns down into a frown. Now she doesn’t look angry so much as confused. She stares at the platinum wedding band on her left hand, turning it over and over while we wait.

Chapter Three

Olivia

Prescott arrives about ten minutes later and takes the seat next to Dad. We’re evenly spaced around the conference table, as if nobody wants to get too close to anyone else.

I used to play in Dad’s study as a child, under this very table. Its familiar mahogany surface is smooth and cool beneath my clammy palms. With every slight move of my hand, my wedding band ticks against the polished hardwood like a clock. Counting up or counting down, I’m not sure. I’m even less sure about why I haven’t taken off that damn ring and thrown it in the Hudson River.

With us four the only attendees, the atmosphere should be relaxed; we’re family, after all, with the exception of Prescott. But it’s even stiffer and stuffier than a typical business meeting. I can’t quite look any of these men in the eye—especially Noah. Every time I try, my emotions start roiling again, threatening to spill over, churning so ferociously that I can’t even tell what I’m feeling. I shouldn’t have sat across from him, but the alternative would be going near him.

The way Noah finagled a chance to talk to me today, when I’d already made it clear I didn’t want to talk, I still can’t believe he had the balls to do that. I was already ultra-pissed at him for hiding the truth about the heir clause. Telling me that Dad was on death’s door was just piling lies upon lies. Did he really think that more deceit would help his case?

I saw right through his plan, of course, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is how deep Noah seems determined to dig himself. (Although I couldn’t help but be a little insulted by the obviousness of his lie. How stupid does he think I am? I called my father the second we hung up.)

And then to top it all off, he started interrogating me the instant he set foot in David’s place, accusing me of letting all sorts of strange penises into my vagina. What the fuck? He acted like I was the one who’d done something wrong and needed to account for my behavior. Even if I had screwed David, my sex life wasn’t Noah’s business anymore. He forfeited all husbandly rights the instant he chose to conceal my own inevitable pregnancy from me.

He didn’t even tell me anything when he barged in. He just kept insisting that he’d never do anything to my body without my consent—totally contradicting the scene I stumbled into that night—and bitching about how much his regrets hurt. I could tell that he was genuinely sorry about damaging my trust, but that didn’t mean my trust wasn’t still damaged. I wasn’t going to forgive his stupid, selfish decisions just because they backfired on him. The asshole made his bed, and now he can lie in it . . . far, far away from me.

Although, speaking of bed, one thing he said did give me pause. When I asked him why we were using condoms if he was trying to knock me up, I was struck by the plain way he said, “Because that’s what you wanted.” As if the reason was obvious. As if my wishes, my desires, were his first priority. I’m still not sure what to make of that, in the context of everything else that’s happened lately.