Marrying My Billionaire Hookup - Nadia Lee Page 0,47

dad.”

“He’ll find some other person you care about and threaten them next. People who like to manipulate others don’t quit unless you make them stop.”

I didn’t think about that. But I don’t want to believe it can happen. Defensiveness and self-recrimination mingle together, fueling my anger. Whether that emotion is directed at me or Aaron or Edgar—or even all of us—I can’t say. “Come on. You don’t know that.”

A bleak pain flashes through his eyes. For a moment, I feel like a jerk for putting that look in them. He’s not the enemy here.

“Actually, I do,” he says. “There are people who’ll dangle a hope that if you’ll just do this one thing, everything will get better. But it never does. There’s always one more thing you need to do. People who control you like that are never satisfied. And your ex—Aaron—will find a way to abuse you like that over and over again.”

There’s so much rawness in his voice that I’m pretty sure he’s speaking from experience. Just what happened to him and who hurt him like that? It seems impossible, given how solid and strong he is now. “I’m sorry, Edgar. It sounds painful.”

An impenetrable shutter comes down. “No need for sympathy. I was making a point, Jo. You should’ve told me the whole truth when I came to see you at the barre studio.”

“Why? Didn’t you understand what I meant when I left Anthony’s mansion without a word? It was supposed to be one time only. And I planned to keep it that way until you popped back in my life, thanks to my meddling cousin. Actually, I still prefer to keep it that way, especially when our circumstances haven’t changed since that night.”

You said you didn’t love me, and I don’t love you either.

“We slept together—made a baby.” He’s saying it so firmly that I shouldn’t have wasted my breath explaining all this.

“The sex was just one time. And the baby doesn’t mean I’m going to spill all my problems out to you on our second meeting. We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

Edgar pauses and stares at me like he’s trying to look straight into my heart.

My pulse throbs. My nerves are unsettled, but it isn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation. It’s just too vulnerable—like a hedgehog without her quills.

“Am I that disagreeable?” he asks finally. “I know I’m not the most…entertaining person, but I thought I could at least be someone a woman could depend on.”

I shake my head, not wanting him to think there’s anything wrong with him. That was never my intention. “You’re perfectly fine. It’s me. I’m just terrible at picking the right man.”

The moment I say it, I know I screwed up. You’re fine, but I suck at picking men…? Why don’t I also add that he’s on par with a fashion failure not even the Salvation Army could give away for free?

Edgar’s face is glacial now, although he’s doing a remarkable job of restraining his temper. He shoves his hands into his pockets, probably to ensure he doesn’t strangle me. I am pregnant, after all.

“What was the initial attraction between you and your ex?” Edgar asks.

The question surprises me. I thought he’d yell at me for insulting him. On the other hand, didn’t I think he’s one of the most controlled men I’ve ever met? It probably takes more than what I said to get him riled up.

“Um.” I clear my throat. “He was a great dancer. And he didn’t take himself seriously and made me laugh with a few jokes.” Silly, corny lines that seemed funny with a few drinks in my belly.

Edgar’s expression grows more serious…almost thoughtful. “I see.”

I hurriedly explain, “But it ended pretty quick. Romance in general doesn’t last for me. The average is about four months.”

“And?”

I shrug, feigning nonchalance even though I’m feeling a growing urge to shift my weight. “And then…either I realize I’m not in love with the guy, or I fall out of whatever infatuation I was in.”

“I see. And where do I stand?”

“Uh…” This is worse than an algebra pop quiz. No one’s ever asked me this. The guys I dated didn’t want to know or care enough to want to know. But I can’t quite put Edgar into a neat category like I did with my exes.

He arches an eyebrow. “Well…?”

“You’re…” I lick my dry lips. I can list a hundred different shades of yellow, but I can’t come up with anything to properly describe what I’m feeling for him.