The Day I Went Bankrupt, My Husband Gave Me Eight Billion

He glanced down at the divorce agreement in my hand and didn't take it.

Instead he lifted his head and looked at me. "A deal? Shirley, after all this time, you still think we were only ever a deal?"

The question caught me off guard.

"What else would it be? If not a deal, then what? We agreed when we married—once Gilbert was stable, we'd part on good terms. You went along with it."

He watched me standing there, lost, and gave a quiet little laugh.

There was something helpless in it, and an ache underneath I couldn't read.

"Five years ago you told me to keep clean lines between us. Polite, distant, an easy parting when it came. I agreed, because I was afraid that if I pushed too hard you'd just run. You said no interfering, so I didn't interfere. I was afraid you'd grow sick of me, so I lived under the same roof with you every day and never once let myself cross the line."

I was completely thrown, standing there, listening to him, my mind unable to turn the corner.

"Do you remember our high school prom?" he asked suddenly.

I blinked. The high school prom?

That was more than a decade ago. How could I remember.

I shook my head. "No."

"I remember." He looked at me, his eyes soft as water.

"You wore a pale moonlight-blue dress that night, and you sang a little love song on the stage. That was when I fell for you." Max took another step closer.

"Later, when the Hensons wanted the marriage alliance, I was so worked up I didn't sleep all night, because I knew it was the one chance I'd ever get in this life to bring you home as my wife."

There was a faint tremor in his voice he couldn't quite hide, five years of restraint and swallowed feeling surging up all at once.

I opened my mouth, my throat tight, and not a single word would come.

So all those things I'd taken for coincidence, those offhand kindnesses—none of them had ever been coincidence.

They had been Max, walking toward me on purpose, every step planned.

"That day the press photographed me with that actress, I rushed to explain it to you, and you said you weren't interested. Do you know what that felt like for me?" His voice dropped lower, carrying a hurt he couldn't quite mask.

"I thought you'd at least care a little. Instead you couldn't even be bothered to ask. Shirley, I waited five years. All this time, waiting for you to turn around and look at me…"

Outside, the thunder grew louder, the rain hammering against the glass.

I looked at the damp ends of Max's hair, at the heat he'd hidden in his eyes for five years.

And suddenly I remembered, from long ago, that there really had been someone like that, always trailing not far behind me.

I just never thought…

That someone had been Max.

"Why…" I finally forced out, my voice gone badly hoarse. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"If I had, would you still have married me?" He smiled, and the ache in it finally spilled over. "Back then your eyes were only on the company. All you wanted was someone to marry to escape the pressure to wed, and then a clean parting. If I'd told you I liked you, that I wanted to spend my whole life with you, you might have backed out on the spot… I didn't dare gamble on it… I really didn't dare…"

He raised his hand and brushed his fingertips lightly against mine.

Then, afraid I'd recoil, he pulled them back just as quickly.

"I know things are hard for you right now. I'm not trying to force an answer out of you. I'm only telling you—five years ago you pulled the Gilberts up, and now it's my turn to pull you up. Whether or not you still want to divorce me later, this injection is happening!"

Then he added, "And the divorce agreement you drew up—I won't be signing it. Not unless the day comes when you truly can't stand the sight of me. Only then will I go."