He heard the quick, angry steps that crossed the entry. There was a stir of air, and then the door to the study slammed shut. Setting down the decanter, he turned.
“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, barging in here and barking at me like that!”
His gaze traveled slowly from his wife’s belligerent expression, down over her trim athletic form, and back again to her face. Indifferently, he noted that she was still beautiful, except that her lush mouth was set in an angry line. She had folded her arms across her generous chest and her toe tapped soundlessly on the wool Gulistan carpet.
“Well, Michael?” she snapped.
“I have filed for divorce,” he said baldly. It had been a hell of a morning. Actually, it had been a hell of a week. He swirled the aged scotch before lifting the glass to his lips. The aroma of the liquor hit his nostrils, triggering a kaleidoscope of unpleasant memories. He set down the glass, untouched, with a clink.
His abrupt announcement had caught his wife off guard. She stared speechlessly, but the sound of the glass hitting the silver tray roused her. “Divorce! Don’t make me laugh!” She tossed her platinum hair over her shoulder with a derisive snort.
Michael paid no attention to his estranged wife’s hostility. It was no more than what he had expected. “Bennett will be contacting you. You’ll probably want to retain your own attorney.”
She narrowed china-blue eyes. Her pretty mouth thinned. “You’re bluffing! You know that I’ll fight to keep the house. I’ll claim abandonment. I will take you for everything you’ve got!”
They both knew that she had uttered the ultimate threat. Possession of the house had been the only thing that had ever really stopped Michael from putting an end to things before. He was the one who had envisioned the house, commissioned and worked with the architectural firm on every detail to bring a cherished dream to reality. When things had unraveled between him and Morgan, he had not wanted to risk losing what the house represented. He now knew, after all of this time, that it had been a hollow dream, because it had been built on the rotting foundation of their marriage. The house had also been the bludgeon that she had wielded to retain his name and a portion of his income. None of it was important anymore. He merely shrugged. “So what?”
“So what? Have you lost your mind?” Her voice rose stridently. She stared at him in shocked disbelief.
Michael ignored her question. It was quite possibly true. He was overturning his life for a woman who might refuse to ever see him again. But that was something that he would never discuss with this woman. “Are you still with Peter?”
Morgan threw back her head as though struck. Then defiance hardened her expression. “Of course I am.”
Michael leaned his buttocks against the hard length of the credenza. He had acquired the wife and the perfect house. He had reasoned he would one day have the family, too. He regarded her with detached curiosity. “If we had had a child, Morgan, do you think it would have made any difference? For us?”
She snorted again. “You know that we agreed we didn’t want any kids.”
“It was you who actually made that decision,” he reminded her in a steely voice.
Her slim nostrils flared. “You’ll never forgive me for that, will you?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to try.” Michael answered as honestly as he was able. The painful history between them had tainted his life. He had carried the poison around for too long. If he couldn’t come to terms with what Morgan had done, if he couldn’t forgive her for her betrayal, how could he ever expect Catherine to forgive him?
She advanced on him, a speculative gleam in her eyes. “Michael, what’s going on? We’ve had our differences, but…”