His Chosen Wife. Anne McAllister

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 gaze 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.

      Ally stared at him, unable to believe her ears. “Ha-ha. Very funny. Come on, PJ. You’ve had your joke. You made your point. I was rude. I’m sorry. I’ve grown up, changed. Now just sign the papers and I’ll be on my way.”

      “I don’t think so.”

      “Why not?” She was rattled now. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

      “Sure