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‘Because it isn’t working for me any more.’ She reached for a squishy cushion and cuddled it to her belly, hoping the comfort would quell the butterflies raging inside. ‘We agreed from the start that if either of us wanted to leave we could, without any fuss. Nico, I want a fresh start. I want a divorce.’
Nico remained still as he stared hard at the woman he had married, his eyes flickering down to the gold band she wore on her finger. A ring he had put there.
‘I am well aware of what we agreed, Rosa. However, it is unreasonable for you to suddenly state you want a divorce and not give me a valid reason.’
‘There is no single valid reason.’ She tugged a stray lock of her ebony hair behind her ear. ‘When we agreed to marry it seemed the perfect solution for both of us—a nice, convenient open marriage. No emotional ties or anything messy…’ Her husky voice trailed off. ‘I don’t know exactly what I want from a marriage—I don’t know if I even want a marriage—but, Nicolai, I do know I want something more than this.’
It was the use of his full first name that convinced him she was serious. She had addressed him by his shortened name since they’d exchanged their wedding vows. That, and the fact they were speaking in English.
Rosa adored the Russian tongue. They rarely spoke her native language when together.
His hands tightened around his glass and he took a long sip of the clear, fiery liquid. Rosa was a lot like vodka. Clear and pure-looking, but with a definite bite. In her own understated way she did not take crap from anyone.
He pursed his lips as he contemplated her, sitting there, studying him with an openness he had always admired. He had admired her from the start.
After his PA had gone into early labour he’d had no choice but to approach an employment agency to fill the role. There had been no one in his employ suitable for it.
The agency had duly sent six candidates—all of whom, they’d assured him, were fluent in Russian. By the time he had interviewed the first five he’d been ready to sue the agency. The candidates had been useless. Never mind that their Russian had been far from fluent, he doubted they could have organised a children’s party.
And then in had walked Rosa Carty, the model of calm efficiency.
Her Russian was flawless. Perfect. He would trust her to organise a state funeral.
He had offered her the position immediately and she had started on the hoof, with no training or guidance. She had stepped into the breach as if she had always been there.
She had never flirted with him, had never dressed as anything but the professional she was, had never brought her private life to the office. She had been perfect.
Marriage had always been an institution he admired but one he had long accepted would not be for him.
Five months on and he had been in his office with Serge, his finance director and an old friend from his university days. They had been going over the figures for his buyout of a Californian mine when there had been a sharp rap at the door and Rosa had walked in.
He had known immediately something was wrong. She would never have dreamt of interrupting a meeting unless it was important.
‘We have a slight problem,’ she had said in her usual understated fashion. ‘There is a discrepancy with the output figures.’
She had lain the offending document before him and pointed to a tiny section highlighted in pink. The figure in question had been out by less than an eighth of one per cent, but in financial terms equated to over a million pounds.
At least ten pairs of eyes, including his own, had gone through the document. Rosa was the only person to have picked up on the error.
After agreeing on an action plan, she had set off to implement it. He’d had no doubt the whole thing would be rectified by the end of the day.
‘Your PA is really something,’ Serge had said with a shake of his head when she’d left the office. ‘When Madeline comes back from maternity leave can I have Rosa in my department?’
Nico had shrugged noncommittally. Even at that stage he had known he wanted to keep Rosa as his PA—had been busy strategising ways to keep her working directly for him without landing himself with a lawsuit from a disgruntled Madeline.
‘Is she married?’ Serge had asked with a sudden knowing look in his eyes. ‘She is exactly the kind of woman a man like you should marry.’
If Serge hadn’t been one of his oldest friends Nico would have fired him on the spot for insubordination.
‘There is nothing worse than a newly married man,’ he said drily.
‘Marriage has been the making of me,’ Serge countered amiably. ‘Seriously, my friend, Rosa would be perfect for you. She’s got the same coolness as you. You have mentioned breaking into the Middle East. Socialising is a big part of their business culture and marriage is very much respected. Rosa would be an asset to you. Besides,’ he continued with a flash of his teeth, ‘a man can’t stay happy all his life!’
Days later he had travelled to California with Rosa and an army of workers. As the days passed, Serge’s words had kept repeating in his head.
By their last day he had almost convinced himself that his friend could be on to something.
He had engineered things so that he and Rosa were alone after the celebratory meal, sitting in the balmy night air, drinking vodka. Usually his employees’ private lives and private time were strictly off-limits, but that night he had wanted to test if their compatibility in the office could be matched in a social setting.
The constant buzz of her phone had driven him to distraction. Well, it had been more the fact that she’d kept ignoring him to answer those annoying messages that had irritated him. And the fact that he’d disliked her responding to someone who was so clearly deranged. So he’d thrown her phone into the ocean.
She had simply glared at him, a small tick playing under her left eye. ‘That was unnecessary.’
‘Every time you respond you give him false hope,’ he pointed out. ‘The only way to be rid of him is to cut all communication. I will replace your phone. Now, drink your shot.’
For the breadth of a moment he thought she would throw the glass at him.
Instead she lifted the shot and downed it. In one. Done, she slammed the glass back on the table and eyeballed him with caramel eyes that swirled with amusement. ‘There. Happy now?’
A bubble of laughter climbed his throat. He had never imagined his starchy, temporary PA possessed a personality.
‘So you never contemplated marrying…?’
‘Stephen,’ she supplied with a hiccup. She put her hand to her mouth and threw him a wry smile. ‘No. Never in a million years would I have married him. Although I’d love to marry someone, right now, just to get him off my back.’ She shook her head. ‘I do like the idea of marriage, but I’d be a rubbish wife. I’m married to my work and I much prefer my own company.’
Nico nodded, understanding. ‘I like the idea of a wife who can accompany me to functions and hold an intelligent conversation.’ He chose his words carefully. ‘But the thought of all that emoting couples are supposed to do leaves me cold.’
‘Tell me about it,’ she agreed with pursed lips.
He looked, at her—really looked at her. Serge’s assessment had been right. Rosa would be an asset to any businessman. And he would be that businessman.
She could be a female version of him! Both were perfectionists. Both were dedicated to their work. Nico had long wanted marriage for the respectability it afforded, but after Galina—his one heavy entanglement and the only failure in his life—he had known he was not cut out for relationships. He was not made that way.
‘We could marry,’ he said idly, watching closely for her reaction.
The vodka Rosa had just poured into her mouth was spat out.
‘Think about it,’ he said, warming to his theme. ‘We would be perfect together.’
‘Yes,’ she said, pulling a face once she had finished choking. ‘And all those socialites would have to stop harassing you for marriage.’
‘More importantly, from your perspective, Stephen would get the picture that you are never coming back. But that’s neither here nor there. You are a woman of great intellect. We work well together. There is no reason we could not have a successful marriage.’
‘This all sounds fabulous,’ she said, with a roll of her eyes. ‘But there are a couple of slight problems.’
‘Which are?’
‘One: we don’t fancy each other.’
Even Nico was vain enough to bristle slightly at that remark. ‘That means there is no chance of us falling into bed and messing things up by letting emotions get in the way.’ Although, looking at her, he had to admit there was something appealing about her in a fresh-faced, pretty kind of way. Not that he would ever be tempted to do anything about it. No. Rosa was not his type at all.
‘Two.’ She ticked the number off on her fingers. ‘I don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure.’
‘Neither do I. But as this is a business proposal that would not be a problem.’
Her eyes suddenly widened. ‘My God, are you serious?’
‘Absolutely. Think about it, Rosa. We would be perfect together. We both want marriage…’
‘Just not to anyone who would expect us to compromise our lives for it,’ she finished with an unexpected sparkle.
‘This calls for a drink.’ He poured them both another hefty measure of vodka and chinked his glass to hers. On the count of three they downed them.
Done, Nico reached for his smartphone and started a search.
‘We can marry here, tonight, in California,’ he said, reading quickly. ‘As long as we’ve got our passports, we’re good to go.’
‘Excellent.’ She pulled her briefcase onto her lap and rummaged through it.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Looking for a pen and some paper.’
‘What for?’
She had looked at him, amusement written all over her face. ‘If we’re going to get married it’s only right we make a contract for it. Shall I write it in English or Russian?’
And that had been it. They had married, still slightly tipsy, the next morning.
Not once had he been given cause to regret their impulsive decision—the only impulsive decision he had made in his thirty-six years.
And now she had the nerve to sit there, eleven months on, and tell him she had changed her mind.
Not only that, but she had slept with her ex.
A wave of nausea rolled through his stomach—so violent he almost retched.
He was in no position to complain. He should be able to accept that. They had made an agreement that theirs would be an open marriage. As long as they exercised discretion they could sleep with whomever they chose.
Was he not a modern, twenty-first-century man? He had no right to feel possessive about a woman who was his wife in name only.
Intellectually, he knew all the right things to think.
Under the surface of his skin, though, his latent Neanderthal had reared up and punched him hard, right in the solar plexus.
She had slept with someone else. That little gem had lodged in his chest and was piercing into him with regular stabbing motions.
She had slept with someone else and had the nerve to think that she could call the shots.
He had bought her a birthday present. The first personal gift he had ever bought a woman. And she had slept with someone else.
Had she slept with her ex as punishment for him not returning in time for her birthday? With any other woman the answer would be a resounding yes. But Rosa was not made in the same mould as other women. Or so he had thought.
‘You should have told me you were unhappy.’ As he spoke, something rancid nibbled away at his gut—which he tried to quash with another sip of his vodka.
She threw him a wan smile. ‘I’m not unhappy—more lonely, I guess.’
‘That would not have been a problem if you had taken the job permanently when I offered it to you.’
It was an issue that still rankled. A week before Madeline, his original PA, had been due to return from maternity leave, she had dropped the bombshell that she would not be coming back. He’d hidden his delight, wished her well, and promptly offered the job to his wife.
She had refused to take it. She’d turned his generous offer down, just as she’d refused all subsequent offers of employment within the Baranski Mining empire.
Ever since he had accrued enough money to purchase Reuben Mining and turn it into Baranski Mining no one had ever refused him anything.
‘Nico, I was lonely when I worked for you.’
How was that even possible? They had spent nearly every waking hour together.
He took another long sip of his vodka. ‘I do hope this decision will not affect our trip to Butterfly Island,’ he said, struggling to keep an even tone. He must be more exhausted than he had appreciated, because his mood was darkening as rapidly as his musings. And the rolls of nausea were increasing.
She sighed and pulled out the band holding her ponytail, before immediately gathering all the stray locks and tying it up again, stretching her creamy skin taut.
He preferred it when she wore her silky black tresses loose, as she did on the occasions when they accompanied each other to social functions. With her hair loose, her angular features softened, her caramel eyes, under which purple smudges currently resided, became rounder.
‘We are due to fly there in a fortnight,’ he reminded her tightly. ‘We had an agreement and I expect you to honour it.’
The new PA he had appointed three months ago, when Rosa had refused the job, had proved herself to be spectacularly useless. And the one he had hired after sacking that one. And the next. As he had found since Rosa had moved on, when compared with his wife’s calm, dedicated efficiency, they were all useless.
Rosa’s eyes widened a fraction. ‘You expect?’ she questioned in that husky voice he usually found so soothing.
‘Yes. A commitment is a commitment. Like our marriage.’
Dimly he recalled a conversation one evening about how his plans for mineral mining in the Indian Ocean were firming up. He was readying for the contractual stage now, which meant he would need a Russian-speaking assistant to accompany him to Butterfly Island for the contract completion. He remembered complaining of the impossibility of finding someone and training them up in time, which was when Rosa had offered to accompany him instead. Just as he had hoped she would. She had landed a job working as a translator for another London-based Russian firm, but was willing to use her holiday entitlement to assist him.
‘I know.’ Her nose wrinkled. She gave a little shiver and rubbed her arms, pushing her full breasts together; unaware that the late-afternoon sunlight filtering in through the big bay window illuminated her white T-shirt, making it virtually transparent.
He averted his eyes and willed away the tingles of awareness spreading through him.
What the hell was the matter with him? His wife had told him she’d slept with her ex and wanted a divorce, and his body was still capable of reacting to her?
Although she was not his type, intellectually he was aware that Rosa was an attractive woman. That awareness had been growing in recent months. There had even been times when…
No. He had never allowed the idea of anything physical between them to take root. If it had been anyone but Rosa he would not have thought twice about acting on it, but he had never been able to shake the feeling that sleeping with her would be akin to opening a can of worms.
Maybe he should have done.
‘I would be grateful if you could take someone else in my place.’
Her words cut through his inappropriate meanderings.
‘Impossible. It is far too short notice.’
She arched an eyebrow. ‘Rubbish. You employ plenty of linguists of both nationalities.’
He fought to keep his tone even. ‘But none as good as you—as you well know. And even if I could find and train someone at such short notice, it is you I want.’
‘Really?’
The inflection in her tone made him pause. Somehow he didn’t think she was referring to work.
‘I’m sorry, Nico, but it’s out of the question. I know it is an inconvenience, but two weeks is by no means too short notice.’
Two weeks to find another Rosa was impossible.
‘I’ve been looking on the internet and we can sort the divorce out ourselves.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Our divorce,’ she said evenly. ‘There’s no point in us appointing lawyers. I don’t want anything from you, and unless you want something from me—’
‘I don’t recall agreeing to any divorce,’ he cut in, the grip on his glass tightening.
She had it all figured out. She seriously thought she could tell him she wanted a divorce and then waltz off into the moonlight.
The nausea rolled up into his throat and lodged there, burning his vocal cords.
She seriously thought he would let her go.
Her warm eyes chilled and narrowed. ‘Actually, you did. When we married. Remember?’
He forced his throat to work. ‘That was eleven months ago. My feelings on the matter have changed.’ Hell could freeze over before he let her leave.
‘Well, mine haven’t. As far as I’m concerned, my feelings on divorce are the same as they were then.’ She got to her feet and stood as tall as her short, curvy frame would allow. ‘I’m sorry if my decision somehow inconveniences you—I had assumed you wouldn’t be bothered—and I’m sorry if somehow I have disappointed you, but, Nicolai, I can’t stay in this sham of a marriage for a second longer.’
Sadness rang in her eyes before she turned and headed for the door.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
Her spine became rigid. ‘To collect my belongings. I packed earlier.’
‘And where do you intend to go? To Stephen?’
As he spoke her lover’s name the glass in his hand shattered.
CHAPTER THREE
ROSA VACUUMED THE last tiny shard of glass from the thick carpet.
Her hands had finally stopped shaking, but her heart still thundered painfully against her ribs.
Nico’s face…
When that glass had shattered there had been a moment when she had thought his face would crack too.
Other than the usual business talk, it seemed he had barely noticed her existence in months. He might not have cared that she had slept with someone else, but she had been a fool to hope he would give her a divorce without putting up a fight.
She should have known better. If there was one thing she knew about her husband it was that he did not like to lose. At anything.
She had known Butterfly Island would be a problem—after all, he seemed to spend the majority of their limited time together bitching about the latest unfortunate to be appointed the role of his PA—but she had put that down to his being miffed that she had refused the job. Her husband’s success and power had put him in the unfortunate position of seldom being denied anything he wanted. He had not taken her refusal to continue working for him well—had taken it as a personal slight. Which, of course, it had been—but not in the way he assumed.
By the time her contract with Baranski Mining had expired Rosa’s feelings towards him had become far too complicated for her even to consider staying on. She had fervently hoped some distance from him would settle the weird hormones unleashed by their working so closely together. It hadn’t worked. She had been left rattling round their huge home alone while he travelled the globe, rarely spending more than a couple of nights in London at any one time.
She had missed him. God help her, she had missed him.
She was wedging the vacuum back in the cupboard when Nico came out of the downstairs bathroom, where he had been washing shards of glass off his hand. Somehow the shattered glass hadn’t even nicked him. The man must be made of Teflon.
She had no idea what he had done to his hair, but even taking into account its usual messiness it was sticking up as if he’d rubbed a balloon on it.
For some reason this tugged at her.
The cool façade had definitely cracked.
His features were arranged in their usual indifference, but the pulse in his jaw was working double-time. This was the closest to angry she had ever seen him.
Closing the cupboard, she took a deep breath. ‘In answer to your question, I’m going to stay at a hotel until the lease on my flat expires.’ Thank God she’d had the foresight to grant her tenants only a short-term lease. She missed her cosy flat dreadfully. But at least in a hotel she wouldn’t be alone, and in the meantime she could start hunting for a new flatmate to share with.
If there was one thing she hated it was living alone. Marrying Nico had, at the time, been a godsend. With Stephen gone, she had been trying to find a flatmate—someone who was happy to share a home with her without wanting to spend every evening drinking wine and having girly chats.
Nico’s mad idea had been the answer to every prayer she’d had. He wouldn’t expect anything from her other than intellectual stimulation. In return she would have his name and a ring on her finger. Symbols that she belonged to someone. And he wore her ring. A metaphorical symbol that he belonged to her too.
‘I think not.’ His green eyes had darkened into an almost sinister gleam. ‘You see, Rosa, under no circumstances will I allow you to leave. I do not want a divorce. Go up to your room and unpack—you’re not going anywhere.’
Rosa reared back and stared at him. Surely he hadn’t just said what she thought he had? ‘You won’t allow me to leave?’
His mouth formed a thin, grim line. ‘You are my wife.’
‘Exactly. I am your wife—not your possession.’
‘In certain cultures that is one and the same thing.’
‘Well, luckily for me we’re in the UK, and not some backwards country where women have no voice.’
‘I will never agree to a divorce.’
She studied him carefully, half expecting him to crack a smile and say he was joking. Surely he could not be serious? However, she did have one more ace up her sleeve—no one could ever accuse her of being anything but thorough. ‘If you won’t agree to a divorce I will apply for an annulment. This marriage was never consummated. Therefore it is void.’
Not bothering to wait for a response, Rosa walked away. Determined to keep a cool head, she walked steadily up the stairs to her suite, placing a hand to her chest in a futile attempt to temper her thundering heart.
Thankfully she’d had the foresight to pack earlier—a job that had taken less than an hour.
Heavy footsteps neared her and mentally she braced herself.
Nico crossed the threshold into her bedroom, his features so taut he might have been carved from ice. His eyes, though…His eyes shimmered with fury.
‘You do realise you can’t stop me?’ she said coldly.
He folded his arms across his chest, accentuating the breadth of his physique. Nico really was a mountain of a man, filling the space around him, dwarfing everything in the vicinity. ‘I think you’ll find I can.’
‘By using force?’ She didn’t believe he would do that. Not for a second. He might be over a foot taller than her, and packed full of solid muscle, but she knew perfectly well he would never use that to his advantage.
His lips curved into a cold smile. ‘I don’t need to use physical force, Rosa. I have other advantages to stop you leaving.’
‘Why are you being like this?’ She forced her voice to remain calm. ‘Why can’t you just accept I want out?’
‘I’ll tell you why,’ he said, stalking towards her, his eyes glittering. ‘You see, daragaya, I have just learned that not only have I been cuckolded but, to add insult to injury, you want to humiliate me too.’