When she’d chosen steak frites and the waiter had poured their wine, he lifted his glass in a toast.
“To the most beautiful woman in London.”
Theresa rolled her eyes. “Is that who you’re sleeping with these days?”
“I have not slept with her since one morning more than three months ago in Rio de Janeiro.”
“Emile.” He hated the sadness in her voice. Hated more that he was partly responsible. He should have found a better way to play it. Should have understood that she still easily spooked and ready to run at the very mention of commitment.
“Theresa?” He winked at her, hoping that she might relax a little bit. “Drink your wine.”
She drew her glass towards her and fiddled with the stem, but she didn’t drink. “Just tell me what you want, because we’re not taking this case to court. It’s ridiculous. There’ll be legal fees and it’ll take forever and there’s no point. We’ll still up divorced, just a lot poorer and more frustrated.”
“I am hoping we will not end up divorced.”
He’d missed her every single minute since Rio. It had been hell, but he’d listened to what she’d said she wanted and done it. But when the divorce petition had landed, he’d just seen red. There was no way in hell he was going to let her go without a fight. He’d taken the petition to his own lawyer and announced that he wanted his wife back. The lawyer had recommended that he talk to Theresa. So here he was. Talking.
“If we don’t get divorced, we’ll still be married.” She sounded as though she was explaining something patiently to a very stupid child.
He grinned. “Well done.”
Her face dropped, and for an instant, he could see the deep weariness in her eyes. She’d been working too hard, and if there was any justice she wouldn’t have been sleeping well, either. He still woke at least once a night, reaching for her and finding the bed empty every time.
“Thérèse, eat your dinner. We’ll talk later.”
The waiter brought huge bowls of perfectly crispy, salty frites, with another dish of moules in garlic and white wine for him, and a rare steak for Theresa. She ate hungrily, he was glad to see. He took his time over his meal, simply enjoying being with her.
Eventually, she pushed her plate away and looked up at him with a smile. He’d pay anything to keep that smile on her face.
“Better?”
“Yes. Thank you, that was delicious.”
“My pleasure. Dessert?”
“Something with chocolate.”
“Of course.” He gave the order to the waiter and leaned back while the table was cleared. As soon as they were alone again, Theresa spoke.
“Emile, we have to get divorced.” God, he loved it when she used her lawyer voice. “It’s important that we don’t let it lie. What if you meet someone else?”
“What if you do?” What if she already had? His stomach clenched at the horrifying thought.
She shook her head. “I’m never getting married again.”
“Has it truly been so awful?”
Her eyes widened. “You were there. What do you think?”
“I think it was the best year of my life. But I know I let you down. I’m asking you to give me another chance, Thérèse. I want to start again. Husband and wife with everything that entails. No time limits, no restrictions. Living in one place and sharing everything, like a normal couple. I want us to try being married.”
She stared at him in utter shock. “You don’t want that. You can’t still want that.”
“Actually, I do.”
Whatever she’d thought he might say tonight, that wasn’t it. She’d thought he was just being difficult for the sake of it. Or maybe he had some objections to the details of the divorce that he’d wanted to talk about in person. But he was serious. His eyes hadn’t left hers, and she was struggling to breathe normally under the intensity of his gaze.
“You want to get married?”
He laughed gently and shook his head. “We are married, Thérèse. I want us to stay married.”
She barely noticed when the waiter put a plate of chocolate cake in front of her. Emile wanted to be married to her. Properly.
“What about Prada?”
He shook his head. “You know there was nothing.”
That was true, but there would always be other women fighting for his attention. “I won’t spend the rest of my life worrying whether my husband is being unfaithful.”
“You won’t have to. I promise. I shouldn’t have spoken to Prada that night. I’m sorry.”
She twisted her lips into a half smile. “I may have jumped to conclusions.”
He shrugged. “I was sending mixed signals. My head was all over the place. My only excuse was that I’d just won the World Cup.” He gave a little crooked smile, and her heart melted.
“That’s not a bad excuse.”
“Thank you. I was pleased with it.”
She kicked him under the table.
“No, I am sorry. I have thought about this a lot. I should have made my position clear beforehand.”
“I had no idea you were so serious about us.” She took a forkful of the chocolate cake, letting it melt in her mouth while she considered her answer. “I hadn’t dreamed that you expected to be together for more than a few months.”
He nodded. “You never forgot about the divorce, did you?”
“I wished I’d never mentioned marriage in the first place. It was a stupid idea, and I should have known better than to agree to it. It was my responsibility to get us out of it unharmed.”
“Unharmed?” His eyebrows rose. “What were you planning to do to me?”
“Not like that.” She shook her head, but she was smiling. “But there were other ways you could lose out. Financially. Or in your future prospects.”
“Huh?”
“Other women,” she specified. “If our relationship was a public disaster, it might make other women more cautious.”
“You were worrying about that?” He frowned. “Really?”
“Not exactly worrying. But it was a consideration.” She’d considered everything and she’d had to pull back. She couldn’t have done anything differently.
He nodded. “I hadn’t realized how much it weighed on you. I thought you were falling in love with me.”
He’d noticed that? She stared at him in horror.
“Like I was with you.”
Her jaw fell even further. Emile reached over and lifted her chin to close her mouth. His lips were twitching with a suppressed smile.
“You didn’t know, hm, chérie?”
He’d been falling in love with her? No, she hadn’t known that. Even on the beach, when he’d told her he wanted forever, he hadn’t said that. She shook her head.
“I should have said that in Rio. If I’d been thinking half-straight, I would have.”
He took the fork she’d been using to destroy her dessert and put it on the plate. Then he clasped his hand around hers, with his thumb tracing gentle circles against her wrist. She remembered the gesture from his time in hospital. She needed its soothing effect just as much now as she had then.
“And if I’d been thinking straight, I’d have known there were things we needed to talk about.”
She had no idea what. Emile was touching her for the first time in months, and it was taking all her available brain power to keep breathing.