'Sensitive—' 'But now you've had time to settle down—' 'You think so?' Stella breathed shakily. 'I think you've got no choice,' Dior delivered with sudden harshness, surveying her with cool dark eyes. 'There's always a choice, Dior.'
'Not on this issue,' Dior contradicted. 'I will continue to oversee Aria 's business holdings for as long as she wishes me to do so. Our meetings will also continue. She's a part of my life and you have to accept that.' 'That's not something I can accept.' Stella lifted her head high, color burning in her cheeks.
Suddenly she was furious with herself. 'What an idiot I've been!' she exclaimed. 'All my life I've stood up for myself, but I wanted our marriage to work and I didn't want to tear us apart.' 'What are you trying to say?' 'You refused to accept that Aria threatened me and tried to bribe me into having an abortion.'
Dior raked long brown fingers through his tousled damp black hair and groaned out loud. 'Oh, please, not that nonsense again!' 'You don't believe me. OK. Right. That's fine,' Stella said jerkily, punching the pillows and lying down.
'Nice to know where your loyalty lies, Dior. Nice to know that you married me thinking I was a liar—' 'But kind of cute with it,' Dior incised gently. 'Don't try to make a joke out of something this important!' Stella condemned.
'If you go to Paris tomorrow, I'm leaving you!' Dior stilled. 'No way would you leave me—' 'Yes, I would! You trust her more than you trust me. So you make your choice,' Stella told him bitterly.
'You get her out of your life, where she can't hurt us anymore, or I'm moving out! If you can't give me one hundred percent loyalty, I don't want you anymore!' 'No problem,' Dior said softly. Stella listened to him walking out of the room, and then she leaped out of bed and hauled the door open.
'I mean it, Dior!' Shorn of his towel and magnificently nude, Dior swung around and gazed back at her with outraged dark eyes. 'You do as you like, but I'm going to Paris and I won't be hurrying back.' All the pain inside Stella mushroomed.
'Dior...I'm not lying. Listen to me—' Dior stabbed a powerful hand in the air. 'No, you listen to me! You don't own me. You don't tell me what I can do, where I can go or who I can be with. Is that understood?' 'That—' 'And when you've got this jealousy jag under control, call me. But don't leave it too long.
After all, Aria is a lot of things you're not,' Dior whispered in derisive retaliation. The upset color drained from Stella's complexion. Stella slammed the bedroom door in his face and depressed the lock. 'Stella!' Dior thundered. 'Open that door!' Tears running down her face, Stella crawled into bed again and curled up in a tight ball.
'A lot of things you're not.' Well, trust Dior to state the obvious. Only it wasn't a matter of that, was it? In temper, he had revealed his true feelings, and the wounding comparisons he continued to make.
Stella shivered, acknowledging that the furious row that had blown up had drawn more blood than she had bargained on. Her own. Aria was rich, educated, classy, cool, controlled, clever. Her background was identical to his own.
Of course, Dior admired and respected her. Unlike Stella, Aria would have been a bride he could have been proud of possessing. 'English rely on love... It's more important to pick a life partner with intelligence,' he had told her that very first night on the beach.
But what had intelligence had to do with their shotgun wedding? Stella muffled sobs in a pillow. For the past few weeks, Dior had been very good at pretending to be happy.
All those years of smoothie womanizing, she supposed wretchedly. In his heart, Dior knew she was a very poor but pregnant second best. And the Elbe knew that she couldn't live with him knowing that...