The Wrong Wife (Morally Grey Billionaires #5)(77)

He twines his fingers through mine, then takes my other hand in his and holds both of my palms between his. The warmth from his touch seeps into my blood. My heart skitters, and my stomach flutters. A shivery feeling coils in my belly. He’s playing a part. That’s all it is. I may have gone to drama school, but he’s the consummate actor here.

Then he goes down on one knee. "Penelope Mary Easton, will you be my wife?"





45





Knight





"You did it, huh?" Adam jogs up until he’s abreast with me.

I increase my pace, but so does he. We run in silence for a few seconds, then he chuckles.

"What?" I growl.

"Nothing."

I hear the smirk in his voice. "You may as well spit it out," I say through gritted teeth.

This time, he chuckles, I come to a stop, then turn on him. "Okay, that’s it. Either say what’s on your mind or get out of here."

"Whoa, whoa, is that a crack in the Iceman’s facade I detect?"

"You done?" I cross my arms across my chest.

"No need to be defensive; it happens to the best of us."

"The fuck you talking about, man?"

"It’s love, baby," he sings out. " Penny and Knight sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g." He smirks.

"What are you, five?"

He looks me up and down. "What are you? Still denying your true emotions for her?"

"I have no feelings toward her." I set my jaw.

"That’s why you asked her to marry you?"

"I asked her to be my wife because one"—I hold up a finger—"I need a wife to consolidate my claim on my company, and two"—I lower the first finger and hold up the middle finger—"you’re the one who pointed out she might be pregnant with my child so—" I shrug.

"So, are you telling me this to justify yourself, or because you’re trying to talk yourself into believing your own bullshit?"

"What’s bullshit is that I’m standing here talking to you when I should be—"

"Running back to your little fiancée?" He laughs. "Aww, you’re so in love, it’s cute. And the way you’re trying to deny yourself would give the rest of the unit a real hard-on." The moment the words are out of his mouth his face falls.

I hunch my shoulders. "If only they were alive to rag me about the situation I’ve gotten myself into…"

"Fuck, I’m sorry I brought them up, man." Adam rubs the back of his neck. "Old habits—" He sets his jaw.

"Do you ever wonder why it is that you and I were the only two to get out alive?"

"Only all the time." His lips tip up, but the smile is sad. "But I do believe I’ve been spared for a reason."

"You mean, to make my life miserable?"

He scoffs. "That, too. But I’ve been given a second chance. I’m not going to waste it."

"You mean, I am?"

He shrugs.

"So, you do think I’m wasting the opportunity I’ve been given."

"Any one of the rest of the group sent in with us would give anything to stand here. But they’re not, and you and I are."

"Your point being?"

"Don’t faff around. Pull your finger out of your arse and tell her how you really feel." He reaches up to grip my shoulder, but I pull away.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about. You weren’t conscious to see what they did to my men."

"My men, too."

"You didn’t lead them."

"And you’re being too hard on yourself."

"Am I?" I search his features and glimpse the pity, and also, the anger in them. "So, you do hold me responsible for what happened."

He holds up his hands. "I didn’t say that."

"You don’t need to. The look on your face is enough."

"You’re mistaken."

"Am I?" I glare at him.

He holds my gaze, his own steady. "That’s your guilt speaking, Lieutenant," he murmurs.

Anger punches my chest with such force I can barely breathe. "Fuck you, too, arsehole." I turn and jog away, my ribcage so tight, each breath feels like I’m drawing knives down my throat. I increase my pace, my feet pounding into the footpath by the Thames. I could throw myself off and into the depths of the river—oh wait, I’m a fucking good swimmer, the curse of being a Green Beret. We’re put through our paces and need to be excellent swimmers. After all we marines are part of the navy. So, that won’t work. I could shoot myself, but that would be too messy for the person who finds me—besides, I can’t put my family through that. I’m not that cruel, am I? Not after what I went through. Seeing the people you care for die is worse than facing death yourself. It’s worse than having the skin peeled off you when you’re alive, worse than the abuse you’re subjected to when you’re— "Hey, motherfucker!" A new voice calls out to me. Footsteps pound behind me, then Rick pulls up on my left.

I groan, pretending not to notice him.

"Aww, you upset with me, darling?" He makes kissing noises, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.