The Wrong Wife (Morally Grey Billionaires #5)(110)

In a way, that’s why I was relieved when Penny told me she wasn’t pregnant. Not that I wanted the disappointment I glimpsed on her face, but considering I had to figure out the details of how I was going to push through the adoption, it seemed prudent not to rush into being a father of another child. So why didn’t you tell her about it? Bobbie escaping from the hospital and her caregiver that day and walking into my office provided the opportunity to clear the air with Penny, but I didn’t take advantage of it.

Fact is, I was a coward. It’s not that I don’t trust her, but I didn’t want her to feel burdened by the promises I made to my friend and teammate. That's my burden to bear. But isn’t that what marriage is about? Sharing your burdens? Sharing your most intimate secrets? Are you ready to share yours with her? Besides, how long did you think you'd be able to hide a child living in your house from her?

The absurdity of trying to keep this secret from Penny doesn't escape me. I'm an idiot.

I slump back into the cushions, legs kicked out on the sectional. I’ve turned down the volume on the television, so there’s no commentary. The screen shows images of the English countryside in autumn. Greens and browns and golds. The color of her eyes when she’s angry or when she’s experiencing high emotion. Everything reminds me of her. Pink roses of her favorite color, sunflowers of her sunny nature, dahlias of her delicate beauty, the symmetry of her features, and sweet, star-shaped asters of her good-nature. I took advantage of her.

She’s the very opposite of me. She lights up the corners of my existence, and I never once told her how much I appreciate it. Instead, I wanted to bury myself in her, draw from her grace and beauty and kind-hearted nature. I was greedy and selfish. I was drawn to her because I needed her to heal myself. And what did I given her in return? Secrets, disappointments…and orgasms… Which would have been so much more fulfilling if I'd told her I love her. If I’d opened myself up, mind and body and soul, and made love to her.

It’s not too late. You can tell her everything. You can drop the final walls you’ve put up between the two of you. You can trust her. You can— Tiny begins to bark.

“What’s wrong, boy?”

He barks again, then whines.

“It’s okay boy, there’s no one here but you and me, and—”

His ears perk. He jumps onto the floor and bounds toward the elevator doors. He barks even louder, then prances about in front of the elevator.

I frown and rise to my feet. “What’s up boy?”

I walk toward him and glance at the indicator to find the cage is on its way up. Tiny jumps up and plants his paws on the elevator doors, which are still shut.

“Sit, boy,” I grab his collar and manage to coax him back. He whines, begins to plant his butt on the floor, then changes his mind, and once again, straightens. He barks so loudly, the sound reverberates off the walls. It stabs that part of your ear that only responds this way to barking dogs and screaming children.

“Whoa, quiet down," I yell. "Whoever's coming up will here soon enough and—"

The doors slide open, and he straightens and leaps forward with such enthusiasm, my hold on him loosens. He half skids forward with a joyful bark as she steps into the hallway.

"Hey, boy, did you miss me? Uff—"

Tiny bumps his head against her, and she staggers back.

"Penny!" I move so quickly my feet don’t seem to touch the floor. I reach her and grab her waist, then draw her to me before she can fall over.

"Tiny, sit," I scold him.

His ears droop. I swear, his jowls hang more than normal, and with a whine, he plants his butt on the floor.

"Aww, poor baby. You didn’t mean it, did you?"

Tiny’s tail thumps with enough force that the ground seems to shake.

She pulls away from me; I release her. She steps toward Tiny, and bending only a little, throws her arm around the big brute.

So, the mutt gets a hug, and I— I’m greeted by the sight of her perfect, heart-shaped behind clad in sweats—pink, of course. She scratches him behind his ears, and his eyes roll back in his head. I know the feeling. Lucky bastard. He gets to feel her touch, to be at the receiving end of her limpid gaze, to feel her warmth as she hugs him, and whoa… Hold on, are you jealous of a dog? Get a grip, man. I shuffle my weight from foot to foot; she ignores me. I clear my throat.

Tiny woofs, and she makes an "awww" sound and pats his head. He, of course, plays it for all it’s worth. He places his paw on her shoulder and looks into her eyes and— "Okay, that’s enough."

I step forward and glare at the mutt. "Down, boy, and I mean it."

He looks from me to her, then back at me, before he lowers his head and lies down on the floor. He continues to watch us with those big, melting eyes, and that gets the intended reaction from her.

"Why did you do that?" She turns toward me. "I was petting him."

"And you’re done now."

She scowls. "I’ll say when I’m done."

"Oh?"

She firms her lips. "And I thought you’d changed."

Clearly, not enough. I throw up my hands. "You walk into my place. Then, you ignore me. You walk past me without acknowledging my presence and then, you shower this—this—mutt with affection."