With those events buoying his decision-making, Cyrus had mapped out a new life for himself. He’d bought a house with the intention of getting married and starting a family by the age of thirty-two. Yet here he was at thirty-four years old and not a child in sight.
Plenty of potential wives had crossed his path, but he hadn’t had time to date, so he’d hired a high-end dating service to find him a spouse. Around the same time, Johnson Enterprises had been going through a redecoration. Daniella’s company, Beaux-Arts Galleries, had met with their facilities manager to work on the new decor. He’d only needed to meet her once to know she was the right woman, and a background check had confirmed it. There had been no skeletons in her closet.
After he’d gotten rid of her boyfriend, Roland, they’d connected easily because they understood each other’s work ethic. Their courtship had been short, but established they were compatible enough to get along, and then they’d been married. A strong attraction to each other helped, but the marriage itself had been a practical matter, without the emotional trappings of declarations of love. More or less a business arrangement that fit their lifestyles and happened to extend into the bedroom.
They’d enjoyed a few good months of marriage when he noticed the change in her. That’s when the problems started. Some days she simply watched him, her eyes filled with reproof. Other times, she questioned his business decisions, the way he treated members of his family, and the tactics he used to get the outcomes he desired. Rather than getting better, their arguments escalated. Not a surprise, considering both he and Daniella were stubborn.
None of that mattered. She was his wife, and now the allotted time had passed, he expected her to follow through on her promise to give him a child.
****
Daniella walked briskly past Roxanne and down the hallway toward the elevators that would get her out of the building and away from Cyrus. She didn’t say a word to the receptionist she passed in the main lobby of the executive floor. She stabbed the elevator button and waited, blinking back tears of frustration.
He was a Neanderthal. He was a selfish prick.
She wished there was someone she could call and complain to, but his request—no, his demand—was too outrageous, and she had trouble digesting the enormity of it. Even though right before they’d separated he’d told her he wanted a child, she hadn’t believed he was serious. Now she knew how serious he was. How could she possibly explain his angry ultimatum to anyone?
There was no way she was going to have a baby because he said so. He could hold his damn breath until he turned purple.
She rode the elevator to the atrium on the first floor, relieved the erratic beat of her heart had lessened to a slower pace. Her brisk walk slowed as she neared her white CL-Class Mercedes coupe in the parking garage.
With her brain no longer smothered in frustration and what she unwillingly admitted had been panic, she could think clearly.
“I want children, and I need a wife,” he’d told her what seemed like ages ago.
As proposals went, it was tragically unromantic, but she’d said yes. For the most part, they wanted the same thing out of marriage—companionship. Combined with a mutual respect, it had been sufficient. Her parents had proven love didn’t mean you’d have a happy marriage. The whole sordid story of how her parents’ relationship fell apart was never far from her mind.