Johanna could handle Cecile’s disdain.
“It’s okay, Damon. Some people just don’t have any manners.”
Cecile glowered, teeth bared. “You have no idea who you’re up against.”
“We can go home, though, if you’d like,” Johanna continued. Holding Damon’s hand tightly, she squeezed until his eyes met hers. His expression softened as he focused on her. “Let’s go crawl into bed.”
His mouth twitched. Standing, he offered her his arm.
“Our obligation is done. I find the dinner company…less than appealing. Shall we?”
Johanna rose, chin held high. “Let’s go.”
While Damon retrieved their coats and made their excuses, Johanna waited at the door, fuming. How dare that woman insult her at a public dinner, where she couldn’t fight back? Bitch.
Heels clinked on the marble floor behind her. Cecile.
Digging her fingernails into her palms, Johanna spun to face her with a fake smile.
“Come to finish what you started?”
Cecile stalked closer, smiling snidely. “You know you’re nothing but a distraction, right? He’ll come to his senses soon enough. Money marries money. Class marries class. You’re nothing but a gold-digging American whore.”
“Am I?” Johanna asked. “Thanks for letting me know. I had no idea.”
“Tell me, peasant. Where does he go every Sunday?”
Cecile whispered, eyes gleaming.
Johanna flinched inwardly, but attempted to remain calm.
“You? Really?”
Cecile hesitated, her smile faltering, then smoothing over again. “Yes. Me.”
“I can’t believe it,” Johanna whispered.
“He’ll divorce you soon, and come running back to me. Men like him don’t stay with women like you.” Her eyes flashed and she dug her nails into Johanna’s bare arm, squeezing hard. When she spoke, Johanna recoiled from the stench of booze on her breath. “We laugh at men who marry beneath their status in life. Call them stupid and foolhardy.
You’re nothing more to him than a whore!”
Something inside of her snapped. She jerked her arm free, advancing on the “lady.” “He didn’t marry me because he loves me, you idiot. It’s an arrangement. Nothing more than a business transaction. If he runs back to you after we’re through with our contract, I pity him. Hell, he can even bang you now, for all I care. I don’t love him, so you won’t break my heart.”
She spun on her heel to retreat, but ran into a solid chest instead. Damon glowered down at her, jaw tight. Shame churned in her gut, her stomach turning until she thought she might throw up. His searching stare turned hard—cold.
Cecile’s eyes glowed in triumph. “I knew it.”
Johanna shook her head, swallowing past the lump in her throat. She couldn’t talk, or she’d shame herself by crying in front of the bitch. Damn it.
“Cecile? Go to hell.” Damon grabbed Johanna’s hand, dragging her outside. When they reached the car, Damon ushered her in before slouching down beside her.
Johanna closed her eyes, fighting for control. Why had she allowed Cecile to get to her? Why would she let her temper out to play? She knew better. Worse, she knew Cecile was right.
Soon, whether at the end of the year or before, Damon would realize she wasn’t good enough for him. He’d move on with his life and his money. She’d become the forgotten ex-wife he’d married to save his fortune. Maybe he’d occasionally remember her with fondness. But nothing more.
While Johanna?
Johanna was the idiot who’d gone and fallen in love with him.
Chapter Nine
Damon watched the hotel in the rearview mirror, glowering at Cecile’s condescending smile. He itched to wrap his hands around her scrawny little throat. How dare she accost his wife?
And therein lay the other problem. His wife.
The past few weeks, he’d allowed himself to think maybe she would come to care for him, even just a little bit.
But tonight, she’d let him know loud and clear that he would only ever be her business partner, and she’d have no problem walking away from him.
He couldn’t blame her. He’d never asked her to love him…or even to like him. Why, then, did he shake from the need to scream? Why had she ripped his heart out and cut it into tiny pieces?
Hand unsteady, he ran his fingers through his hair while covertly studying her. At his movement, she faced him, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears.
Shit.
“I’m sorry I lost my temper. Embarrassing you isn’t something I’m supposed to do as your—” She thumped her fist on her thigh. “—wife.”
“I never asked you to be perfect,” he snapped. He couldn’t help himself. She’d hurt him. “It isn’t in the contract.”
She flinched, looked down at her hands, and sighed. He fought the urge to wrap his arm around her shoulder and comfort her. He needed to distance himself from her. He’d gotten too close. Too fast.
“I know. But still, I’m sorry for embarrassing you.”
Her voice sounded like she might be crying, and he clenched his jaw. He bit his tongue. Didn’t she know she apologized for the wrong bloody thing? She should be apologizing for breaking his heart, not for yelling at a bitch who deserved everything she’d gotten. Control. He needed control.
“Don’t mention it. I’m fine,” he managed.
Tears ran down her face. “No, you’re not. You’re mad at me.”
No, I’m not bloody mad at you. I’m mad at me. “No. I’m just tired. I have a headache, remember?”
The car pulled in front of the house, and she shook her head. “You’re not being honest. I can feel it.”
Honest? She wanted honesty? “Fine,” he spat. The car door opened, and he yanked it shut. “I’m pissed because you told her about our arrangement. I’m pissed you told her she could have me. I’m even more pissed I let your words matter to me so much.”
She reached out to grab his hand. He jerked away.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I don’t need to hear your apologies. You’re right. We have a business arrangement. Nothing more.”
She swallowed heavily, nodding. “Right. Just like we said.”
“Now, can you go inside? I find myself in the mood for a drink.”
“We have wine inside. I can grab the bottle,” she said, reaching for the door handle.