He waited until they were in the back of the car to say belligerently, “I didn’t like what he said.”

“I didn’t like what you said. Can I push you in the pool?”

“Will it get us over this spat as quickly as possible?”

“Is that what this is? Tell me I’m overreacting, Saint. I dare you.”

He waited a beat, then spoke in an ultra-calm voice that was so condescending, she wanted to hit him. “The news was going to come out eventually.”

“I asked you for one thing.” Fliss’s voice shook despite her best efforts to keep it level. She removed her necklace and earrings and dropped them into the cup holder that was closest to him in the console between them. For good measure, she toed off her shoes and pushed them toward him with her foot.

“Really? You’re going to go barefoot to prove a point? It was his disrespect toward you that got under my skin.” Saint was speaking through his teeth again. “Now they know where you stand in my estimation.”

“Do they?” she cried. “You have no idea how hard this is for me, do you? That I have to use your money to pretend I belong here when I absolutely do not and everyone knows it? They see straight through me, but I soldier on, pretending for your sake that I can’t tell they can barely bring themselves to speak to me. I’m trying not to embarrass you. And I keep telling myself that it’s okay that you don’t know how hard this all is because you can’t know. You’ve never been in this situation. So I accept your ignorance.”

He opened his mouth, and she held up a finger.

“It’s the part where you don’t care how hard this is for me—and just went ahead and made it harder—that I can’t forgive. Yes, I know exactly where I stand in your estimation, Saint. Guess where you stand in mine?”

They didn’t speak again until they were back in their suite, but all Fliss said was, “I’m going to bed.” She removed her makeup and did just that.

She was so tired she fell into a deep sleep immediately, but after a few hours, her turmoil of emotions conjured an old dream that was nightmare and memory combined. Granny was gathering her into her arms, speaking before she’d fully awaked.

I’m sorry, pet. I’m so sorry. At least you were safe here with me and not in the car with them.

“Fliss, wake up.” Saint’s voice was a hard snap that had her gasping and fighting the blankets and his arms, trying to sit up. “Are you okay?” His hand slid across her back as he gathered her closer, but she pushed away from him, heart pounding, skin clammy.

“Don’t.” She realized her cheeks were wet and reached to the nightstand for a tissue.

“Was it just a nightmare or...?”

Just? All of this was a nightmare!

She grabbed her pillow and swung it around, managing to catch him by surprise enough that he took a face full of silk and feathers before he cursed and grabbed the pillow, throwing it off the bed.

“You sounded like you were in pain,” he said with fresh frustration. “Tell me you’re okay. Is the baby okay?”

“The baby is fine. I am not okay. I thought I could count on you a little. But all you did was tell everyone the only reason you’re keeping me around is because your previous lover sabotaged your birth control.”

“I did not say that. No one knows that part of it.”

“I know it!” And recalling that particular detail provoked a fresh sense of abandonment that was so acute she could hardly bear it.

Fliss rose and went into the bathroom for a robe, tying it over the pajamas she wore.

“Where are you going?” he asked as she ghosted through the dim room toward the sitting area.

“I want some tea.”

“I’ll phone for some.”

“Oh, my gawd. This maid is already up.” She slid the belt of the robe higher on her waist so it was more comfortable. “There’s no use waking another to boil a kettle.” She resisted the urge to slam the door on her way out.

By the time she was filling the kettle in the kitchen—which was such a beautiful space of cornflower blue and daffodil yellow it shouldn’t even be cooked in—Saint was arriving.

She pretended to ignore him, but how could she when his white T-shirt hugged his shoulders and chest and his pajama bottoms lovingly draped the firm muscles of his buttocks? How dare he be so mouthwatering and such a complete toad at the same time?

Since she’d already had her daily allotment of black tea, she searched out the peppermint and dropped a bag into a cup while she waited for the kettle.

He clicked the button to warm the griddle, then opened the fridge to take out cheddar cheese. He buttered two slices of sour dough, then set them face down on the griddle, topped them with cheese, then topped each with another slice of bread, butter side up.

“I didn’t know you were a chef,” she said with only a hint of sarcasm.

“Grilled cheese, eggs and I can stick a banana in a bowl of ice cream and call it a sundae.”

“If you plan to cook that sundae, I have notes. Do you want tea?” she asked as the kettle started to whistle.

He shook his head and stayed at the stove while she sat down at the island with her cup. She wasn’t hungry—or any less mad at him—but she was fascinated enough by his economical movements to watch him fry a sandwich. He plated them, cut them in half, then added a blob of ketchup to each plate before sliding one toward her.

“I am on your side, Fliss,” he said as he took the chair next to her. “You can count on me.”

She winced, pained at how much she wanted to believe that but just couldn’t.

“You can,” he insisted.

“Don’t sound so insulted,” she mumbled, blowing across the cup she cradled in her cold hands. “Life happens. I should have been able to rely on my parents, but they were struck by a drunk driver on a blind corner.”

And were gone. Just gone. Then she’d moved in with Granny, which meant the friends she’d had at school were also gone. Making new ones had felt impossible when she’d been so sad. As a teen, she’d finally gotten in with an in-crowd—who had turned her out after her breakup with her puerile knob of a boyfriend. Then Granny had gotten so sick and died on her, and even her loose friendships in London had evaporated after her scandal.

Counting on people had been stamped out of her DNA. She had herself. That was the only person she really believed in and, honestly, she made some pretty stupid decisions sometimes, too.

“I’ve already started the paperwork to ensure you’ll be taken care of, should anything happen to me,” Saint said gravely. “Dad has accepted that the baby is mine. Our child will inherit everything that is coming to me. You’ll always have access to whatever you need, Fliss.”

“This is not about money, Saint.” She set down her cup. “Granny was right there, holding me when she told me my parents were dead. I still felt abandoned. That’s why I wanted to do this on my own. So I wouldn’t count on you, then wind up disappointed.”

His cough-curse sounded as though it had been punched out of him.

“You’re self-sufficient,” she pointed you. “Why do you begrudge me wanting that for myself? Instead you want me to rely on you. You made me come live with you and become dependent on you, then you threw away my trust like it doesn’t even matter.”

“I brought you here because I want you here,” he insisted.

“For the baby, I know,” she said on a sigh that was more a sob of anguish. “I can see how important it is that our baby grows up like this so they don’t feel like I do—as though they’re visiting another planet. I’m trying to adapt, Saint, I really am. And I’m trying to keep my expectations low where you’re concerned. I don’t expect you to love me. I don’t expect anything from you except—” She cut herself off.

“What?” he prompted.

“Nothing,” she decided, pushing her plate away. “I thought I could expect...kindness? Regard? But I have to find those things in myself. I know that.” Why was life so bloody lonely? “I’m going back to bed.”

“Did you hear what I just said?” His gritted voice stopped her. “I brought you here because I want you here.”