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“I have to try,” I huff. “Please, Nate. Don’t you see that you’re punishing the both of us? You’re locking yourself in a loveless marriage. What? Forever? To hurt me? You’re going to hurt yourself down the road. I’ll hate you. I’ll make your life miserable. You’ll never be happy.”
“Will you?”
“What?”
Switching hands on the steering wheel, he rests his palm on my thigh. “Will you be happy, Kayla?”
“No! Of course not.”
He squeezes my thigh softly. “Then that's all that counts.”
My head falls forward. I don’t know why I thought I could reason with him. Maybe it’s the way his hate becomes so passive that I could almost mistake it as something else. It’s the sex. The lust we have toward each other made me believe that there was a side of him I could talk to. A side that would understand me.
“You’ll be my wife in less than half an hour, sunflower. Stop overthinking it.”
“I can’t do it.”
“But you will.”
He stops at a red light and wraps a hand around my jaw, forcing me to look at him.
My chest tightens to the point of aching. My breathing becomes ragged.
“Don’t freak out. Just go along with it. Be good and you’ll adapt to this life in no time.”
I won’t. I know I won’t. But I shut up because I have no way to say anything remotely agreeable.
His decision is made, and so is mine.
16
KAYLA
How Villains Are Made - Madalen Duke
Sam is already inside waiting for us. There were about a billion stairs to the entrance and my calves are burning from walking up with these heels.
Nate puts a hand at the small of my back, guiding us toward his friend. The second Sam sees us up close, his eyes go to my neck, then Nate’s. I suddenly feel too aware of the long, red cut that practically looks like a choker. Nate sports the same, maybe even deeper. I doubt either of them will scar, but it currently looks like we both almost had our throats sliced. Which we did.
Sam huffs, running a hand against his face.
“Nate?”
The concerned smiles brightly. “My bride and I had a small disagreement last night. Nothing to worry about, it’s sorted.”
Sam shakes his head, but I’m not looking at him anymore when I notice Emma Scott walking out of a room.
“He’s ready for us.”
My head snaps to Nate, but he already has a hand up. “We both need a witness. Don’t make a scene.”
“Don’t make a scene? Do you know how many other options you had for a witness?”
“Yes, and only one is aware of what I’m doing. I own a lot of people in this town, but we are talking about a forced marriage here. It’s not exactly easy to make something like this happen. Let’s go.”
This time, he grabs me by my elbow, harsher than he has been until now.
It’s a small room. Nothing too fancy, nothing that looks official. A man walks in, holding some paperwork. He’s middle-aged, his brown hair peppered with gray. Wearing an expensive suit, he strides to the desk at the back of the room. Nate hurries me along as the man speaks.
