Demanding His Secret Son. Louise Fuller

      Suddenly she was glad she hadn’t turned tail. Fingers curling into fists, she glared at him. ‘I think your memory must be playing tricks on you, Aristo. Work was always your thing—not mine. And, not that it’s any of your concern, but Edward Claiborne is a very generous man. He was more than happy to pay the bill.’

      She knew how she was making it sound, but it wasn’t quite a lie. He had offered to pay. And besides, if it made Aristo feel even a fraction of her pain, then why not rub it in? He might not have thought her worthy of his attention and commitment, but Edward had been happy to give her his time and his company.

      ‘And that’s what matters to you, isn’t it, Theodora? Getting your bills paid. Even if it means taking what isn’t yours.’

      He didn’t really care about the money—even before his ruthless onwards-and-upwards rise to global domination, the amount she’d taken had been a negligible amount. Now it would barely make a dent in the Leonidas billions. At the time, though, it had stung—particularly as it had been down to his own stupidity.

      For some unknown reason he hadn’t closed their shared accounts immediately after the divorce was finalised, and Teddie had wasted no time taking advantage. Not that he should have been surprised. No matter how pampered they were, women were never satisfied with what they had. He’d learned that aged six, when his mother had found a titled, wealthier replacement for his father.

      But knowing Teddie had worked her ‘magic’ on Edward hurt—and, childish though it was, he wanted to hurt her back.

      Her eyes narrowed. ‘It was mine,’ she said hotly. ‘It was ours. That’s what marriage is about, Aristo—it’s called sharing.’

      He stared at her disparagingly. The briefness of their marriage and the ruthless determination of his legal team had ensured that her financial settlement had been minimal, but it was more than she deserved.

      ‘Is that what you tell yourself?’

      She felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck as he shook his head slowly.

      ‘Just because it was still a joint account that didn’t mean you had the right to empty it.’

      ‘If it bothered you that much you could have talked to me,’ she snarled. ‘But I was only your wife—why would you want to talk to me?’

      ‘Don’t give me that,’ he said sharply. ‘I talked to you.’

      ‘You talked at me about work. Never about us.’

      Never about the fact that they were basically living separate lives—two strangers sharing a bed but never a meal or a joke.

      Hearing the emotion in her voice, she stopped abruptly. What was the point of having this conversation? It was four years too late, and their marriage couldn’t have mattered that much to him if all he wanted to discuss now was their bank account.

      And was it really that surprising? His whole life had been dedicated to making money.

      She breathed in unsteadily. ‘And, as for the money, I took what I needed to live.’

      To look after our son, she thought with a sudden flare of anger. A son who even before his birth had been relegated to second place.

      ‘I’m not going to apologise for that, and if it was a problem then you should have said something at the time, but you made it quite clear that you didn’t want to talk to me.’

      Aristo stared at her, anger pulsing beneath his skin. At the time he had seen her behaviour as just more evidence of his poor judgement. More proof that the women in his life would inevitably turn their backs on him.

      But he was not about to reveal his reasons for staying silent—why should he? He wasn’t the one who’d walked out on their marriage. He didn’t need to explain himself.

      His heart began to thump rhythmically inside his chest, and an old, familiar feeling of bitter, impotent fury formed a knot in his stomach. She was right. He should have dealt with this years ago—because even though he had succeeded in erasing her from his heart and his home, he had never quite managed to wipe her betrayal from his memory.

      How could he, though? Their relationship had been over so quickly and had ended with such finality that there had been no time to confront her properly.

       Until now.

      Teddie stared at him in appalled silence as, leaning back, he stretched out his legs. Moments earlier she had wanted to throw George’s existence in his face. Now, though, she could feel spidery panic scuttling over her skin at the thought of how close she’d come to revealing the truth.

      ‘So let’s talk now,’ he said, turning to nod curtly at a passing waiter, who hurried over with almost comical haste.

      She nearly laughed, only it was more sad than funny. He didn’t want to talk now any more than he had four years ago, but he knew that she wanted to leave so he wanted to make her stay. Nothing had changed. He hadn’t changed. He just wanted to get his own way.

      ‘An espresso, please, and an Americano.’ He gave the order without so much as looking at her, and the fact that he could still remember her favourite drink, as much as his arrogant assumption that she would be joining him, made her want to scream.

      ‘I’m not staying,’ she said coldly. She knew from past experience that his powers of persuasion were incomparable, but in the past she had loved him to distraction. Here, in the present, she wasn’t going to let him push her into a corner. ‘And I don’t want to speak to you,’ she said, glancing pointedly past him.

      He shrugged, a mocking smile curving his mouth. ‘Then I’ll talk and you can listen.’

      Cheeks darkening with angry colour, she sat mutinously as the waiter reappeared and, with a swift, nervous glance at Aristo, deposited the drinks in front of them.

      ‘Is there anything else, Mr Leonidas?’

      Aristo shook his head. ‘No, thank you.’

      Teddie stared at him, a beat of irritation jumping in her chest. It was always the same, this effect that Aristo had on people. When they’d first met she’d teased him about it: as a magician, she was supposed to be the centre of attention. But even when his wealth had been visible but not daunting, he’d had something that set him apart from all the other beautiful rich people—a potent mix of power and beauty and vitality that created an irresistible gravitational pull around him.

      She could hardly blame the poor waiter for being like a cat on hot bricks when she had been just as susceptible. It was still maddening, though.

      Some of her feelings must be showing on her face, for as he reached to pick up his cup, he paused. ‘Is there a problem?’

      She raised her eyebrows. ‘Other than you, you mean?’

      He sighed. ‘I meant with your drink. I can send it back.’

      ‘Could you just stop throwing your weight around?’ She shook her head in exasperation. ‘I know it must be difficult for you to switch off from work, but this isn’t one of your hotels.’

      Leaning back, he raised the cup to his mouth, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘Actually it is,’ he said mildly. ‘It’s the first in a new line we’re trying out—traditional elegance and luxury with impeccable sustainability.’ He smiled at the look of frozen horror on her face. ‘And a constantly rotating collection of contemporary art.’

      She felt her breathing jerk as out of the corner of her eye she noticed the tiny lion’s head logo on the coaster. Cheeks burning, she glanced furtively over at the Warhols.

      Damn it, but of course they were real. Aristo Leonidas would never have anything in his life that wasn’t one hundred per cent perfect—it was why he’d found it so devastatingly easy to abandon her.

      Her heartbeat stumbled in her chest. No doubt he’d only wanted