While everything had been under discussion and was being fine-tuned by their legal counsel, it had seemed to be a reasonable trade-off. Financial security for her parents and job security for herself in exchange for marriage to a handsome, wealthy, charming man who she simply didn’t happen to love. But perhaps love would come later, she had thought at the time.
Burton had made no secret of his attraction to her from the day she’d started working at the research facility that bore his name. They’d had the occasional date now and then. Nothing serious—or so she’d thought. But then he’d surprised her with his proposal of marriage. Shanal had avoided giving him an answer straightaway, certain that she’d have to tell him no, but wary of what her refusal might do for her chances of advancement within Burton International. But then her mother had taken her aside one day and disclosed the dire position that she and Shanal’s father were in.
Shanal knew that the medical-negligence claim against her dad about five years back had cost him heavily. A proud man, proud in particular of his skill and sterling reputation as a physician, he’d hidden the early symptoms of motor neuron disease, to his cost and, even worse, to the cost of the life of one of his patients. After that dreadful episode, he’d been forced to give up his cardiovascular practice. No one wanted a surgeon whose muscles were systematically wasting away, leading to unexpected twitching. And certainly no one wanted a man who’d let his pride stand in the way of someone’s life.
His malpractice insurance had covered some of the costs of the suit that had been brought against him. But bowed by guilt, and with his funds tied up in long-term investments that were time-consuming and expensive to convert into cash, her father had taken out a short-term loan to make a large private financial settlement on the family of his deceased patient. Using his home as security had seemed a good idea at the time, and he’d had every intention of paying the loan back out of investment income. Until the truth about his investments had been revealed.
He’d trusted his old school friend who ran a financial-planning company. A friend who had, unfortunately, turned out to be running an intricate Ponzi scheme. Shanal’s parents had lost every last dollar. Shanal had given up her rental and moved back home immediately to help them out.
While she earned a good salary and had some savings, she knew it wouldn’t support the three of them forever. For the time being, they were able to afford the loan payments and living expenses, but those expenses would soon rise beyond what she could handle, especially as her father’s disease took greater hold on his body and he grew more dependent upon assistance. It struck Shanal as cruelly ironic that while her father had paid dearly to buy security for his patient’s family, everyone in his own was now paying for it.
In a weak moment she’d shared her worries with Burton, who’d immediately proposed marriage again, saying he’d planned to make her his wife all along and that the timing was perfect now, since as her husband, he’d be able to help her and her family. For starters, he’d insisted on taking over her parents’ mortgage and offering a financial settlement to relieve her and her parents’ stress when they married. She had honestly believed she could go through with it.
The reality, however, had been an unwelcome shock. Once she’d agreed to become his wife, Burton had shown himself to be intent on taking over much more than just her parents’ mortgage. The overwhelming sense of loss of self that had struck her when she’d been standing at the altar still lingered like cold, bony fingers plucking at her heart—at her mind. She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head to try and rid herself of the sensation.
When she opened them, Raif was looking at her again with those piercing blue eyes. She felt as if he looked right through her, but at the same time couldn’t see what twisted and tormented her inside. She wanted to break free of that gaze—to do something, anything, to keep herself busy, even if only for a couple minutes.
“I’ll make us some coffee, shall I?” she said, her voice artificially bright.
“Sure. Black for me.”
Of course his coffee would be black. Deceptively simple, like the man himself, yet with hidden depths and nuances at the same time. Shanal familiarized herself with the well-appointed kitchen, finding the coffeemaker and mugs tucked neatly away.
“How long have you known Mac?” she asked, determined to fill the silence that spread out between them.
“About five years.”
She waited for him to be more forthcoming, but may as well have been waiting for the polar caps to melt.