Beautiful Revenge (A Good Wife #1) - Sienna Blake Page 0,70
can’t seem to speak.
We stand there staring at each other, people sliding around us grumbling that we’re taking up half of the path. Neither of us seems to care.
I find my voice. “And you? How are you?”
“Good, thank you.” There’s a slight glimmer in his eyes, as if he’s pleased that I asked. As if he’s pleased that I care.
I want to know everything about him, where is he living, what is he doing, how has he been these last four months, does he think of me, does he miss me, but I settle for this appropriate question. “What are you doing here in London?”
“I…I live here. Sometimes, that is, when I’m not in the States for business.”
“Oh, I see.”
“My office is close by here. That’s why I’m in the area,” he says quickly, as if he wants me to know he has a legitimate reason for running into me in front of my publisher’s office. He runs his hand through his hair, something he does when he’s nervous.
He’s nervous. Could it mean…? Could he still…?
“You must know the area,” I say, confidence surging through me. “I’m staying at the Fifty-Four hotel nearby. Do you have recommendations for places to eat, perhaps?” I’m being obvious, I know, asking him for his food recommendations in order to give him an opening to ask me to dinner. I can’t help it. He’s being so nervous and adorable and kind. Not at all like he was when I left him at Worthington Manor. He is almost like the old Dimitri. I can’t help but let hope stretch her cramped wings again.
“I…” Something like pain flashes in his eyes. He tears them away from me. “I’m sorry, I’d love to keep talking but I just…I’m late. Excuse me. Congratulations again.” He brushes past me. Sparks shower through my body, making me gasp and sway in my ankle boots. I have to squeeze my eyes shut for a second to compose myself.
When I turn, he’s walking away fast through the crowd. Wait, I don’t know how to reach you. I don’t know where you live. I’m about to go after him when I realise what’s so different about him.
He doesn’t look angry. There’s not a glimpse of darkness in his eyes. No more rage. No more anger. He’s over me, I realise, and my heart sinks into my toes.
67
____________
Javier
“She’s here and you saw her and you said nothing?” I yell at Dimitri. I can’t help it. I’ve been watching him for months now trying to pretend he doesn’t still love her.
We’re both standing in his office in South Kensington. It’s taken him two days—two fucking days—to tell me he ran into her. He’s wasting time. She might be gone already. God, he didn’t even ask how long she’d be in London.
The only sign of Dimitri feeling anything is a slight press of his lips. “Calm down, Javier. We ran into each other on the street. That was it. She’s fine. I’m fine. End of story.”
I want to strangle the man with his own damn tie. This time last year I had to fight to reign him in, to control his emotions. In business, just like in life, he was always the risk-taker, the crazy one, the emotional one who ran at opportunities with the fury of a bull, sometimes based on nothing more than his gut feeling that something was a good investment. It almost always paid off, too. Now I’m lucky to get him to raise his voice at me. The man is completely devoid of emotions. He’s become like a pale version of who he was. Who he is.
I know it’s because he still loves her. He still hurts over losing her. Twice. Both times he now blames himself for. It’s like all that anger he used to throw out to the world, he now directs inward. Shutting off his feelings is the only way he can survive the regret.
“She’s single now.” I let out an exasperated cry. “And if she still loves you—”
“She doesn’t. She can’t love me, not after what I did to her,” he says, his voice seeping with bitterness. “She’s better off without me. Just let her move on with her life, Javier. I’ve done enough damage.”
“If she knew that you were the one to donate the money to the school so they could afford to hire her. If she knew you pulled your connections to get her husband back into business. If she knew you were the one—”