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“So marriage in name only, a baby, a parenting partnership, and that’s it?”

He frowned. It sounded so cold when she put it like that.

“It wouldn’t work,” she murmured.

“But it is working. What we were in the UK was a team. We were two people who understood each other, fought for a shared future…”

“We were two people having sex,” she refuted emphatically. Defensively? “You just haven’t done it in so long you think it means more than it does.”

He shook his head. “I think—” But what could he say? He didn’t want to dispute it. Sleeping with Tia had meant something. ‘Having sex’ was way too clinical a description for what they’d shared. “I think two people who like and respect each other slept together,” he contradicted, not willing to let her misrepresent what they’d shared. “And that they did it by agreement, and found a way to make sure it didn’t change anything between them.”

“Right.” It was a tremulous whisper. “I see.”

“What do you see?”

“That this would never have worked.”

“You’re not making any sense. We work. We’re the definition of it. I’ve never known anyone who views the world as I do, who wants the same things as me. This just works.”

“Until it doesn’t.”

“Start saying words that mean something,” he ground out. “I want to help you through this but I can’t if I don’t know what the problem is. I told you about Cressida because I wanted you to know you could trust me, that I would always be honest with you. Don’t I deserve the same courtesy?”

Her lips parted in surprise and her eyes narrowed in hurt. Yes, hurt. But even knowing he’d been the cause of that hurt, he didn’t apologise, because he could see something shifting in her expression, like she was going to say something important. He stood there, very still, careful not to so much as breathe the wrong way in case it changed her mind.

“We wanted the same thing,” she said, after a long pause. “At first, anyway. But the more I’ve gotten to know you, the more I’ve realised we were lying to ourselves.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not uncomplicated. What I feel for you, what I want from you, it’s a big, fat mess, Hamish. Don’t you understand?” she asked, spreading her palms wide, pleadingly. “I want more.”

“More? Or nothing?”

“More,” she shouted, then pressed her palms to her eyes, took in a deep breath and expelled it on a shudder. When she looked at him, there was something in her features that made him think of her as a lost little girl. She looked terrified. “I want more than we agreed, okay? When we were at your estate, pretending to be married, I knew it was fake, and just for show, but somewhere, somehow—and so fast—I kind of forgot. It was so right it felt real, and I can’t do that. I can’t.”

His heart lurched because finally she was starting to make sense. And she was right. It had felt real to him, too. “Why not?”

But she just shook her head, as though he’d suggested she walk a mile over broken glass.

“Why can’t we spend time together and see what happens?”

She wrapped her arms around herself, eyes huge. “Because it might not work out.”

He frowned. She was right. He’d known the certainty of love before, and then had to learn to live with the sting of betrayal.

“In fact, it probably won’t. Most things don’t. So we should just cut our losses and forget this ever happened.”

“We’re married,” he reminded her.

“In name only.”

But that wasn’t right. “It’s more than that. You’re right. Running away from this isn’t going to solve the problem.”

She flinched.

“We like each other,” he said, moving towards her then, wondering why her face flickered with a deeper sense of hurt. “We can go slowly, be careful.”

“I don’t like you,” she whispered, lifting a hand to his chest. “I’ve fallen in love with you and I’m absolutely scared out of my mind about what that means. Do you get it now, Hamish? Do you understand why I decided to end it?”