Hired by Her Husband. Anne McAllister
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gone because he had had no clue who his cousin Christo was marrying and no interest in flying across the country to find out. To discover later that Christo’s bride was a second cousin of Sophy’s blew his mind. He wondered what would have happened if he’d gone to the wedding, if they’d run into each other there.
Probably nothing, he thought heavily. There were times and places when things could happen. It had been the wrong time before. And now? Now it was simply too late.
Yet even knowing it, he couldn’t help saying, “What about your business? My mother said it’s called Rent-a-Bride?”
“Rent-a-Wife,” Sophy corrected. “We do things for people that they need a second person to cope with. Things wives traditionally do. Pick up dry cleaning, arrange dinner parties, ferry the kids to dental appointments and soccer games, take the dog to the vet.”
“And people pay for that?”
“They do. Very well, in fact.” She met his gaze defiantly. “I’m doing fine.”
Without you.
She didn’t have to say the words for him to hear them. “Ah. Well, good for you.”
Their gazes locked, hers more of a glare than a gaze. Then abruptly she looked away, shifted in her chair and tried to stifle a yawn. Watching her, George realized she must have had to fly all night to get here from California.
“Did you sleep?”
She bit off the yawn. “Some.” But her gaze flicked away fast enough that he knew it for the lie it was. And he felt guilty for her having been called for no reason.
“Look,” he said roughly, “I’m sorry they bothered you. I’m sorry you felt you had to drop everything and fly clear across the country to sign papers. It wasn’t necessary.”
“The doctor said it was.”
“My fault. I should have updated the contact information.”
“To whom?” Her question was as quick as it was surprising. And was she actually interested in his answer?
George shrugged. “My folks. My sister, Tallie. She and Elias and the kids live in Brooklyn.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” Sophy shifted in the chair, sat up straighter. “I just wondered. I thought—” But she stopped, not telling him whatever it was she’d thought, and George didn’t have enough working brain cells to try to guess. “Never mind.”
“I’ll get it changed as soon as I get out of here,” he promised.
“No problem.” Sophy’s easy acceptance was unexpected. At his blink of astonishment, she shrugged. “You were there for me. It’s my turn.”
He frowned. “So this is payback?”
She spread her hands. “It’s the best I can do.”
“You don’t need to do anything!”
“Apparently not,” she said in a mild nonconfrontational tone that reminded him of a mother humoring a fractious child.
George set his teeth. He didn’t want to be humored and he damned well didn’t want Sophy patronizing him.
“Fine. It’s payback. So consider your debt paid,” he said gruffly. He’d had enough. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest. And,” he went on for good measure, “as you can see, I’m conscious and I can sign my own papers now. So thank you for coming, but I can take care of things myself. You don’t need to hang around taking care of me. You can go.”
As the words left his mouth he knew he heard the echo of almost the exact words she had thrown at him nearly four years ago: I don’t need you! I’m not a mess you need to clean up. I can take care of myself. I don’t need you doing it for me. So get out of here! Leave me alone. Just go!
And from the expression on her face, Sophy knew it, too. She looked as if he’d slapped her.
“Of course,” she said stiffly and stood up, pulling her jacket off the back of the chair and putting it on.
George watched her every move. He didn’t want to. But, as usual, he couldn’t look away. From the first moment he’d seen her on his cousin Ari’s arm at a family wedding, Sophy had always had the power to draw his gaze.
She didn’t seem to notice. Something else that hadn’t changed. She zipped up her jacket and picked up her tote from the floor by the chair. Then she stood looking down at him, her expression unreadable.
George made sure his was, too. “Thank you for coming,” he said evenly. “I’m sorry you were inconvenienced.”
She inclined her head. “I’m glad you’re recovering.”
All very polite. They looked at each other in silence. For three seconds. Five. George didn’t know how long. It wasn’t going to be enough. It never would be.
He couldn’t help memorizing her even as he told himself it was a stupid thing to do. And not the first, he reminded himself grimly, where Sophy was concerned.
She gave him one last faint smile and turned away.
Her name was out of his mouth before she reached the door. “Sophy.”
She stilled, glanced back, one brow lifting quizzically.
He’d thought he could leave it at that. That he could simply let her go. But he had to ask. “How’s Lily?”
For a moment he thought she wouldn’t answer. But then the smile he hadn’t seen yet suddenly appeared on her face like the sun from behind a bank of thunderheads. Her expression softened. And she was no longer supremely self-contained, keeping him determinedly outside the castle walls. “Lily’s fine. Amazing. Bright. Funny. So smart. We had her birthday party yesterday. She’s—”
“Four.” George finished the sentence before she could. He knew exactly how old she was. Remembered every minute of the day she was born. Remembered holding her in his arms. Remembered how the mantle of responsibility felt on his shoulders—unexpected, scary, yet absolutely right.
Sophy blinked. “You remembered?”
“Of course.”
She swallowed. “Would you…like to see a picture of her?”
Would he? George nodded almost jerkily. Sophy didn’t seem to notice. She was already opening her purse and taking out her wallet. She fished out a photo and came back across the room to hand it to him.
George took one look at the child in the photo and felt his throat close.
God, she was beautiful. He’d seen some snapshots that his mother had given him from the wedding so he had an idea of what Lily was like. But this photo really captured her.
She was sitting on a beach, a bucket of sand on her lap, her face tipped back as she laughed up at whoever had taken the photo. It was like seeing a miniature Sophy, except for the hair. Lily’s was dark and wavy and, in this photo, wind-tossed. But her eyes were Sophy’s eyes—the same shape, the same color. “British sports car green,” he’d once called them. And her mouth wore a little girl’s version of the delighted, sparkling grin that, like Sophy’s, would make the world a brighter place. Her fingers were clutching the sides of the sand pail, and George remembered how her much tinier fingers had clutched his as she’d stared up at him in cross-eyed solemnity whenever he held her.
He blinked rapidly, his throat aching as he swallowed hard. When he was sure he could do it without sounding rusty, he lifted his gaze and said, “She’s very like you.”
Sophy nodded. “People say that,” she agreed. “Except her hair. She has y—Ari’s hair.”
Ari’s hair. Because Lily was Ari’s daughter. Not his.
For all that George had once dared to hope, like