His Chosen Wife: Antonides' Forbidden Wife / The Ruthless Italian's Inexperienced Wife / The Millionaire's Chosen Bride. Susanne James

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      Not now.

      She was reminded again of how little she knew of him—of why he wanted her here.

      “So we’ll have dinner and get to know each other again, and that will do?” she asked.

      “Will it?” He took the steaks out of the butcher paper and set them on a plate, then began husking the corn.

      “Stop being cryptic,” she said, annoyed. “What do you want?”

      “What do you think I want?”

      “I don’t have any idea.

      “It should be obvious,” he said. “Time to think. I don’t move fast. I weigh all my options. And I never sign anything I haven’t thought over.”

      “Except our marriage license.”

      He blinked, startled, then he laughed. “Yeah. Except that.”

      “It’s not funny. And if you think it is, you can undo it the same way,” she said impatiently.

      “Too soon.”

      “It’s been ten years! Since when is there a timetable?”

      He shrugged. “I don’t have one.” He finished preparing the corn and, wrapping it in foil, added it to the plate, then carried it out the door to the back garden. “You’re the one who has the timetable.”

      “Because I have a fiancé,” she reminded him, dogging his footsteps.

      “And a husband,” he reminded her over his shoulder before lighting the grill.

      It all came back to that.

      Ally sighed. “Yes, all right. I know. I should have done it the other way around. My bad. Honest. But think about it, PJ. I didn’t even know where you were until the article came out. Was I supposed to put my life on hold until I found you?”

      “Did you look?”

      “I looked there. At the beach.”

      “Not very eager to find me.”

      She’d been very eager, in fact. And disappointed that he was gone. But she’d been philosophical, too. She’d never really expected him to wait around for her. They’d made no promises.

      And she wasn’t admitting anything now. “I would have been happy to find you,” she said politely.

      He turned his back to her and put the steaks on the grill. “Oh, right.”

      She stared at the hard shoulders, the firm muscles beneath his shirt and felt as rejected as he’d been accusing her of doing.

      “Did you?” she asked.

      “Did I what?”

      “Come looking for me?” Two could play that game.

      He turned back to face her. “You mean after you were so glad to see me at the opening? Hell, no.” The word was firm, forceful. No hesitation there.

      And that hurt more, even though she’d known what the answer would be. “So you should be glad to get rid of me now.”

      “Guess we’ll see, won’t we?” He tipped his beer and took a long swallow.

      “Is that why you invited me to dinner?”

      “Yep.”

      “And what can I do to convince you?”

      “Give it your best shot.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “Tell me about yourself now. I know what you do. I’ve seen your work. I didn’t have to track you down to do that,” he said flatly, she supposed in case she thought he’d been interested enough to do so. “But I don’t know why this sudden shift.”

      “What shift?”

      “From fiber artist and international businesswoman to little lady in search of a family.” His tone was almost sarcastic but not quite. And she thought maybe if she explained, it would help, that he’d understand.

      “I was in Seattle when my dad had his heart attack. I hadn’t seen him in ten years.”

      “Your opening—”

      “He didn’t come.”

      PJ swore. “What the hell was the matter with him?”

      Ally shrugged. “He wasn’t ready to let go of his views, still wasn’t ready to believe I could be someone other than the woman he thought I should be then. But he was actually glad to see me when I came home.”

      She’d been afraid he wouldn’t be. Afraid he would turn away from her and shut her out in the cold. “We talked,” she told PJ, “for the first time. Not a lot. But it was a start. And I … couldn’t leave after that. He was all I had. I realized how much I’d missed him. How much I missed family. Even when it was just the two of us.”

      PJ opened his mouth, then closed it again. He leaned back against the fence and waited for her to go on.

      “It was the first time I’d stopped moving, planning, ‘achieving’ in years.” She sipped her wine reflectively and recalled those days and weeks vividly. “Being there with him for days at a time, first at the hospital, then at home, I was forced to stop and think about what I had achieved and what was missing, and—” she shrugged “—I discovered that I wanted to be more than Alice Maruyama, fiber artist and businesswoman.”

      It was true. All of it. But Ally stopped, astonished that she had revealed so much. She shot a quick glance at PJ to see his reaction. He hadn’t moved. His eyes were hooded but focused directly on her. He nodded, listening.

      That was always the way it had been with PJ. He was also focused, always intent, always listening.

      “The steaks,” she said abruptly, seeing the smoke from the grill.

      He turned toward them. “I’ll deal with ‘em. Go on.”

      “And we talked—my dad and I—about family. About our relationship.” That had been difficult. Neither she nor her father were good at that sort of thing. “And it made me realize how much I’d missed. How much I would continue to miss if I didn’t— Anyway,” she said briskly, “that’s when I met Jon.”

      “And fell in love?” PJ said. The edge was back in his voice again.

      “And fell in love,” Ally confirmed. “Why wouldn’t I? Jon is great.”

      PJ flipped the steaks. He didn’t reply, just concentrated on the steaks, moved the foil-wrapped corn, totally absorbed in what he was doing. So absorbed that Ally wondered if he had even heard her.

      Or maybe he had no comment. That was more likely the case.

      And really, beyond “Where do I sign?” what did she want him to say?

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