Antonides' Forbidden Wife Read online

  And Ally remembered how incensed he’d been when she’d told him what her father had said.

  Now she had some perspective, understood her father better. But at the time she’d turned her back and walked away. Run away. And even now she tried not to think about the rift between them that had lasted so many years.

  “Yes.” Because her father had said that. Her fingers twisted in her lap. “When I went back, I…I thought he might still act that way. Might just turn away from me. But he didn’t.” She lifted her head and smiled at the recollection. “He was glad to see me. He reached out to me. Held my hand. Asked…asked me to stay.” She blinked back the tears that always threatened when she reflected again on how close she’d come to losing her father without ever having made her peace with him. “And I have.”

  “Stayed? With him?” PJ was scowling.

  “Not at his house. I think he would like that, but no—” Ally shook her head “—it wouldn’t be a good idea. I’m an adult. I’m not a child anymore. I have my own apartment in downtown Honolulu. I’ve been back there since May. I did…go back to the beach and…look for you.”

  His mouth twisted. “To see if I was still waiting for the perfect wave?”

  “I didn’t know you’d left Hawaii altogether.”

  “I can’t imagine you cared.”

  Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “I went to your place, too.”

  His brows rose a bit at that, but then he shrugged. “Did you?” His tone was indifferent. Clearly he didn’t care if she had or not. “There’s a high-rise there now.”

  “Yes, I saw. And Mrs. Chang…?” She’d wondered about his elderly landlady.

  “…went to live with her daughter before I left the island.”

  “Which was a couple of years ago?”

  He raised a curious brow. “I left Honolulu earlier than that. Oahu isn’t the only place with surf, you know.” He paused, and she thought he might explain where he’d been. But he only shrugged, then added, “I came back here two years ago if that’s what you mean. You’ve been doing your homework.”

  “I saw an article in the Star about some former local turned billionaire—”

  PJ snorted and rolled his eyes. “Blah, blah, blah. Newspaper writers like that sort of thing. Gives them a reason for living.”

  “Everyone has to have a purpose.”

  “Some people have better purposes than others.” He shifted in his chair. “We were launching a new windsurfer in a new venue on the island and—” he shrugged negligently “—my sister-in-law said we should promote it. Suggested I give them a local angle.”

  The PJ she had known wouldn’t have done anything anyone else suggested. Apparently her surprise was evident.

  “It was my choice,” he said sharply. “And look at its unforeseen consequence. I not only may have sold a few windsurfers, but my wife turns up on my doorstep.”

  Back to the “wife” bit again. “Er, yes. Something we need to talk about.”

  But before she could take advantage of the opening, there was a quick tap on the door and his assistant came in carrying a tray with glasses of iced tea and a plate of delectable-looking cookies.

  She was completely professional and efficient, but her eyes kept darting between PJ and Ally as if she were in a minefield and either one of them might explode at any moment.

  PJ didn’t seem to notice. “Thanks, Rosie.” He paused, then said, “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife. Not officially. Ally, this is Rosie. Rosie, this is Alice.”

  Rosie’s eyes grew round as dinner plates. “You mean, she really is? You haven’t been joking? I mean…”

  Rosie didn’t look like a woman who would be at a loss for words, but she seemed to be now. And Ally was at a bit of a loss, too, at the notion that Rosie’s surprise didn’t simply stem from her saying she was PJ’s wife.

  He’d told his secretary he was married? Ally was sure she had misunderstood.

  But then Rosie mustered a polite, slightly amazed smile and held out her hand. “I’m glad to meet you,” she said. “At last.”

  Ally blinked. At last? So PJ had spoken of her? She turned confused eyes his way.

  “Rosie runs the show here,” PJ said, not addressing her confusion at all. He smiled easily at his assistant. “Hold all my calls, please. And get Ryne Murray to reschedule.”

  “He’s already on his way.”

  Ally began to get up. “You’re busy,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to disturb you. I can just leave—”

  “Not a problem,” PJ went on, still talking to Rosie as if Ally weren’t objecting at all. “When he gets here, tell him we’ll need to get together another time. My wife and I have things to discuss.”

  “We don’t, really,” Ally protested.

  “And then set up a time early next week.”

  “Are you listening to me? I don’t want to upset your schedule. I don’t want to upset your life. The opposite in fact! I should have called first. I don’t want—” She started toward the door, but PJ caught her arm.

  “It’s all right,” he said firmly. Then he smiled at Rosie. “That will be all, thanks.” And he waited until she’d shut the door behind her before he let go of Ally’s arm and settled back into his chair again. “Sit down,” he said. “And tell all.”

  But she shook her head. “What did you do that for? Why do you keep saying that?”

  “Do what? Say what?” He handed her a glass of iced tea, then nodded toward the cookies. “My sister-in-law bakes them. They’re fantastic. Try one.”

  “I’m not here for a tea party, PJ! Why did you introduce me as your wife? Why do you keep saying I’m your wife?”

  He took a bite of one of the cookies and swallowed before he answered. “You’re the one who told her that. I just confirmed it.”

  “But why? And she already knew that you were married!” It was the last thing she’d expected. She’d imagined he’d be keeping it quiet. Instead every other word out of his mouth seemed to be the W word.

  “Yes. You’re my wife, so I’m married,” he said simply, and punctuated the reality by taking another bite out of a cookie.

  “Yes, but—”

  He wiped powdered sugar off his mouth. “You’d rather I’d call you a liar?”

  “No. Of course not.” Ally sighed and shook her head. “I didn’t imagine you shouted it from the rooftops. You didn’t say anything in the article about being married,” she reminded him. “On the contrary, the article said you were dating hordes of eligible women.” She could have quoted word for word exactly what it had said, but she didn’t.

  “Hordes.” PJ gave a bark of laughter. “Not quite. I escort women to business functions. Acquaintances. Friends. It’s expected.”

  “But they don’t know you’re married.”

  “Hell, Al, most of the time, I barely even know I’m married!”

  His exasperation relieved her and swamped her with guilt at the same time. “I know,’ she said, clutching the glass tightly in both hands. “I’m sorry. It was selfish of me, marrying you. We never should have. I—” she corrected herself “—never should have let you do it.”

  “You didn’t ‘let’ me,” PJ retorted. “I offered. You just said yes. Anyway—” he shrugged it off “—it was no big deal.”

  “It was to me.”

  Marrying PJ had given her access to her grandmother’s legacy. It had allowed her the freedom to make her own choices instead of doing what her father prescribed. It had been the making of her. She owed PJ for her life as she knew it.

  “Well, good,” he said gruffly. “So tell me all about it. We didn’t have much of a chance to talk…last time.”

  Last time. Five years ago when she’d come back to Honolulu for an art opening, when he’d showed up with a gorgeous woman on his arm. Ally gave herself a little shake, determined not to think about that. “It was a busy time,” she said dismissively.

  “So it was. You’re a household word now, I
gather.”

  “I’ve done all right.” She’d worked very hard, and she was proud of what she’d accomplished. But she didn’t want him to think she was bragging.

  “Better than, I’d say.” PJ leaned back in his chair and ticked off her accomplishments. “World renowned fabric artist. Clothing designer. International entrepreneur. Business owner. How many boutiques is it now?”

  Clearly he’d done some homework, too.

  “Seven,” Ally said shortly. “I just opened one in Honolulu last month.”

  She had gone to California to art school after leaving Hawaii—after their marriage—and to supplement the money from her grandmother’s legacy, she’d worked in a fabric store. Always interested in art, she’d managed to put the two together rather quickly and had begun to design quilts and wall hangings that had caught the public’s eye.

  From there she had branched out into clothing design and creating one-of-a-kind outfits. “Art you can wear,” she’d called it.

  Now her work was featured not only in her own shops, but in galleries and even a few textile museums all over the world.

  “Impressive,” PJ said now. He balanced one ankle on the opposite knee.

  “I worked hard,” she said firmly. “You knew I would. You saw that I had.” Five years ago, she meant.

  “I did,” he agreed, lounging back in his chair, and regarding her intently as he drawled, “And you didn’t need any more favors from me.”

  Ally stiffened. But she knew that from his perspective she was the one who had been out of line. “I was rude to you that night.”

  It had been the last time—the only time—she had seen PJ since the day of their marriage.

  She’d come back to Honolulu for her first local public art show. It had been in the heady scary early days of her career when she certainly hadn’t been a “household name” or anything close. In fact the show itself had doubtless been premature, but she’d wanted desperately to do it, to prove to her father that she was on her way to making something of herself, and—though she’d barely admitted to herself—she’d hoped to see PJ, too, to show him that his faith in her had not been misplaced. So she’d jumped at the chance to be part of the show when another artist backed out.

  She’d sent her father an invitation to the opening and had waited with nervous pride and anticipation for his arrival.

  He’d never come.

  But PJ had.

  Looking up all of a sudden to see him there across the room, big as life and twice as gorgeous as she remembered, had knocked Ally for a loop.

  She hadn’t expected to see him at all.

  When she’d known she was coming back, she’d casually asked a friend who had gone to the same beach with them about where PJ was now.

  May had shaken her head. “PJ? No idea. Haven’t seen him in ages. But you know surfers—they never stay. They’re always following the waves.”

  So the sight of him had been a shock. As had the sight of the woman on his arm.

  She was, in a blonde bombshell way, every bit as gorgeous as PJ himself. With his dark hair and tan and her platinum tresses and fair skin, the contrast between the two was eye-catching and arresting. The artist in Ally had certainly appreciated that.

  The woman in her didn’t appreciate him striding up to her, all smiles, hugging her and saying cheerfully, “Hey. Look at you! You look great. And your stuff—” he let go of her to wave an arm around the gallery “—looks great, too. Amazing. I brought you a reviewer.” He’d introduced the blonde then, took her arm and pulled her forward. “This is Annie Cannavaro. She writes art reviews for the Star.”

  He had not said, “This is Ally, my wife.”

  In fact, he hadn’t mentioned any relationship to her at all. Not that Ally had expected him to. She knew their marriage had been for her convenience, not a lifelong commitment. He’d done her a favor.

  But standing there, being introduced to the Star’s art critic, made her realize that PJ thought she needed another favor now. The very thought had made her see red. She was not still the needy girl she’d been when he married her!

  He’d been perplexed at her brusqueness. But Ally had been too insecure still to accept his freely offered help.

  And—a truth she acknowledged to no one, barely even to herself—seeing PJ with another woman, a far more suitable woman for him than she was, had made it a thousand times worse.

  She’d been stiff and tense and had determinedly feigned indifference all the time they were there. And she’d only breathed a sigh of relief when she’d seen them go out the door. Her relief, though, had been short-lived.

  Right before closing, PJ had returned. Alone.

  He’d cornered her in one of the gallery rooms, demanding, “What the hell is wrong with you?” His normally easygoing smile was nowhere to be found.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she’d replied frostily, trying to sidestep and get around him, but he moved to block her exit.

  “You know damned well what I’m talking about. So you don’t want to know me, okay. Maybe you’re too much of a hotshot now. Fine, but that’s no reason to be rude to Annie.”

  “I wasn’t! I’m not—a hotshot.” Her face had burned furiously. She’d been mortified at his accusation. “I just…I didn’t mean to be rude. I just don’t need your help. You don’t need to keep rescuing me!”

  “I’m not bloody rescuing you,” he’d snapped. “I thought you’d like the exposure. But if that’s the way you see it, fine. I’ll tell her not to write anything!”

  “You can tell her what to write?” So it was true!

  He’d said a rude word. “Forget it. Sorry I bothered.” He spun away and started out of the room.

  But she couldn’t let him go without calling after him, “Is that all?”

  He looked over his shoulder. “All? What else could there be?”

  Ally’s mouth was dry. She had to force the words out. “I thought…I thought you’d be bringing the divorce papers.” She’d feared there was a quaver in her voice, but she tried not to betray it.

  PJ stared at her. She met his gaze even though it was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

  “No,” he said at last, his voice flat. “I don’t have any divorce papers.”

  “Oh.” And there was no accounting for the foolish shiver of relief she’d felt.

  Still they’d stared at each other, and then she’d dragged in a breath and shrugged. “Fine. Well, I just thought…whenever you want one, just let me know.” She’d tried to sound blasé and indifferent.

  “Yeah,” PJ said. “I’ll do that.” And he’d turned and walked away.

  She hadn’t seen him again, hadn’t heard from him, hadn’t contacted him—until today.

  Now she said carefully, “I apologize for that. I was still trying to find my own way. I’d depended on you enough. I didn’t want another handout.”

  “Is that what it was?” There was a rough edge to his voice. The cool irony of his earlier words was past.

  Their gazes locked—and held—and something seemed to arc between them like an electric current.

  Or rather, Ally assured herself, more like a sparkler on the Fourth of July—bright and fizzing, ultimately insubstantial—and definitely best ignored.

  Determinedly she gave her head a little shake. “I’m sure that’s what it was,” she said firmly. “I shouldn’t have done it, though. Anyway, I’ve found out who I am and what I can do. And I owe it to you. So I came to say thank you belatedly and—” she reached down and picked up the portfolio she had set by her chair and opened it just as she’d rehearsed doing “—to bring you these.”

  She slid a file of papers out of the portfolio and held it out to him.

  He took the file, looked at it, but didn’t open it. “What are they?”

  “Divorce papers. About time, huh?” She said it quickly, then shrugged and grinned as brightly as she could, willing him to grin back at her.

  He didn’t. His gaz
e fixed on the file in his hand, weighing it, but he didn’t say a word.

  “I know I should have done it sooner,” she went on, papering over the awkward silence. “I’m sorry it took so long. I thought you’d do it. You could have had one at any time, you know. Well, almost anytime. After I turned twenty-one anyway. I told you so, remember?”

  He still didn’t speak. He didn’t even blink. His face was stony, his expression unreadable. And so she babbled on, unable to help herself. “I know it’s past time. I should have taken care of it ages ago. It’s a formality really—just confirming what we already know. I don’t want anything from you, of course. No settlement, naturally. But,” she added because she’d already decided this, “if you want a share of my business, it’s yours. You’re entitled.”

  “I don’t.” The words cut across hers, harsh and louder than she expected.

  “Well, I wanted to offer.” She took a breath. “Okay, then it will be even easier.” She reached inside her portfolio for a pen. “In that case, all you really need to do is sign them. I can take care of the rest.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The rough edge was gone now. PJ’s voice was smooth and cool, like an ocean breeze. Ally looked up, startled.

  He was sitting up straight in the chair and was regarding her steadily.

  “Well, of course I’ll understand if you want a lawyer to look them over….” Still she fumbled for the pen.

  “I don’t.” Still cool. Very cool.

  She frowned, rattled. “Well then—” Her fingers fastened on the pen at last. She jerked it out and thrust it at him, giving him one more quick smile. “Here you go.”

  He didn’t move. Didn’t take it.

  And of course, she realized then, he didn’t need one. He already had a pen in his shirt pocket. She felt like an idiot as she gestured toward it. “Of course you have your own.”

  But he didn’t get it out. Instead PJ dropped the papers on the table, then looked up and met her gaze squarely. “No divorce.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “WHAT? What do you mean, no divorce?”

  “Seems pretty clear to me. Which word didn’t you understand?” He raised an eyebrow.