The Last Eligible Billionaire(39)

I’m still glaring at her as I leave the honey mess on the floor and stalk out of the kitchen, playing the part of the doting boyfriend because I have to, ignoring the whisper in the back of my mind that if I couldn’t sleep before Begonia overheard this, there’ll be no sleeping for an eternity if I don’t make sure she’s okay.

Despite my best intentions, I think I might like the woman and her spirit.

“Gone,” I tell my mother. “All of you. Before Begonia’s out of bed in the morning. Understood?”

“Hayes—”

“Understood?”

The house alarms blare to life, honking and shrieking and leaving no doubt that Begonia’s attempting to remove herself from the situation instead of standing up for herself.

“And handle that first,” I yell over the noise. Security will undoubtedly be rolling into the house in moments.

The door off the study is open, and I pause long enough to enter my code and kill the alarm before stepping out into the night. “Begonia?”

She doesn’t answer in the darkness, but her dog bounds toward me, skitters to a stop inches from my bare feet, and plops into a sit, tongue lolling, eyes reflecting the interior lights. I hear Amelia or Charlotte inside—the entire household is apparently awake now—but I leave the questions to my mother and pull the door shut behind me.

“Where’s Begonia?” I ask the dog.

He leaps to his feet and jerks his head, like he’s saying follow me, which he probably is.

I caught the damn animal trying to pull toothpaste out of a vanity drawer in the bathroom earlier this evening, and I surreptitiously listened in from the study while everyone was making breakfast, and the dog very clearly growled when Begonia said she was adding a little mint for spice to the egg catastrophe that everyone pretended was delicious.

I could like the dog if he didn’t make my eyes water and my nose plug.

He disappears into the gardens, and I switch on my phone’s flashlight app to follow his progress, until he leads me to Begonia sitting on the porch swing overlooking the sea, her knees tucked up under her nightgown as the swing sways slightly in the breeze.

“You sh-sh-should g-g-go b-b-back in-inside.” Her teeth are chattering.

Naturally.

Summer evenings on the coast here tend toward the chilly side. It’s usually a comfortable chilly, but not for a woman in a thin, spaghetti-strapped nightie.

I pull my own T-shirt over my head and plunk it over her, trapping her arms and all, then settle onto the bench swing beside her. “Apologies. My mother—”

She sniffles.

I freeze.

“Thank you for the sh-shirt.” Her voice is small, as though it’s shrinking with her personality, and thick too, like her throat is full of unshed tears. “But you’re c-cold too. You should—”

“I prefer the chilly weather. It matches my cold, dead heart.”

I’m reasonably certain she’ll tell me my heart isn’t cold or dead, but that’s not what comes out of her mouth.

What she says instead may be infinitely worse.

“I divorced Chad because he didn’t defend me to his mother when she called me stupid and a waste of his intellect.”

I study her profile while her words fully sink in. “Seems her accusations were misplaced.”

“We were trying to have a baby, and she blamed me for us not getting pregnant too. The doctors said I was perfectly fine and healthy, but his sperm had motility issues, and she managed to twist that so that it was also my fault for not feeding him enough fruits and vegetables, and for nagging him until his swimmers went into hiding. He didn’t argue with her when she said that either.”

I know the line I’m supposed to say.

I’ve heard it come out of my brother’s mouth at least a dozen times in various different Razzle Dazzle films.

But telling Begonia her ex-husband and former mother-in-law don’t deserve her isn’t my place.

I’m not her hero. I’m the man trapping her into pretending to be my girlfriend so that my mother can insult and degrade her.

“I apologize for my mother.” My hands are lying in my lap. I don’t have the right to hug this woman, to offer her physical comfort. It’s my fault she’s here, if only because I didn’t make sure this property was being cared for as well as I assumed it was. It’s my fault she’s reliving the reasons she got divorced. It’s my fault this odd little ray of sunshine is hiding in the dark. “Regardless of what she suspects we are, she was wrong to speak ill of you.”

“For two years, I waited for my husband to do what my fake boyfriend did in under two days. The man who’s supposed to love me couldn’t do for me what the man only pretending to love me would do to keep up the ruse. That’s really pathetic, isn’t it?”

“Love isn’t rational, but it’s not pathetic either.” Christ, I hate how many Razzle Dazzle films have all the cheesy lines. It’s hard to be real when you feel like you’re reciting a movie script. How the devil does Jonas have relationships in real life without feeling like he’s faking all of it?

“Do you know the worst part?” She’s whispering so softly now that I have to crane to hear her.

“It bothers me that your story can get worse.”

“My mom didn’t understand. Doesn’t understand. She thinks I shouldn’t have divorced him and that I should ask him to take me back because Begonia, he didn’t hit you, he provided for you, and he let you spend time with your friends. That’s what my mom thinks a good relationship is.”