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“No.”
“Maybe I’ll sell it, then.”
“Don’t expect a substantial revenue. It’ll take a lot of money and a few miracles to turn that place around and make it appealing.”
“You’re so smart.” Grace sighs, beaming at me. “We’ll revisit this subject after I take a good look at it. I’m sure you can help me out with that big brain of yours.”
I put my fork down, tired of this tedious charade. “What took you so long?”
She knots her arms over her chest defensively. “What do you mean?”
“I mean coming here. Don’t play dumb.”
“Nothing. I ... I don’t know.” She throws her hands in the air. “Can you blame me? I guess it’s hard, coming to terms with the fact thatyou’re in love with your stepbrother. A stepbrother you haven’t always been kind to. It’s been a pretty difficult month.”
“Inlovewith me?” I splutter.
The timing, the convenience of it, makes it all transparent. She isn’t in love with me. With my money, maybe. And as much as I want to marry her, her lies are transparent at best and offensive at worst.
“Of course I’m in love with you, Arsène. Why else would I be with you for so many years?”
Because you’re an attention-seeking Erinyes, and you simply can’t let a good marriage prospect go to waste.
Grace is thirty-three. Still young, but not so young not to think about who she’d want to procreate with one day. She is a calculating creature, always five steps ahead in the game. When it comes to profitable ventures—I am one.
“You love me?” I ask again, sitting back.
“Yes.” She narrows her eyes, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “Why is this so weird to you? Don’t you loveme?”
“I’m not sure.”
But I am. I’m sure and a half. I’m sure and fucked as a daytime hooker, because loving her brings me no joy. No fulfillment. I’ve come to think of love as a prison guard. Something you resent, not cherish.
“Your sudden declaration is awfully convenient. I’m going to need to ask for some receipts for this so-called love,” I drawl out.
“You literally had your cock in my mouth not even twenty minutes ago. While you were texting on your phone!” she thunders, her cheeks hot with fury.
I offer her a cold smile. “You like to feel a little manhandled. Helps you loosen up after being a ballbuster all day at work.”
She rolls her eyes. “You want proof, fine. What’d you have in mind?”
We are having this conversation like we are conducting business. I like it. How like minded we are.
“I want you to move in with me,” I say dryly.
She nods. “Okay. I can do that. What else?”
“You will also marry me,” I continue matter-of-factly. “Although I understand this can be delicate news to break, considering the timing and circumstances. I’ll allow you a few months to smooth out the rough edges. Prepare the soil, so to speak.”
“Marry?” Her eyebrows lift, her eyes widening with open, unabashed pleasure. She is keeping her excitement out of it, not wanting to acknowledge her own disadvantage in our negotiations. “I didn’t peg you as the marrying type.”
“Marriage is a perfectly pragmatic endeavor.” I pick up my fork and take a bite of the rare steak, its bloodied juice running down my tongue. “I’m a fan of institutions. They stand the test of time because they’re functional. Marriage is a good, low-risk investment. I need heirs, stability, and a house outside this goddamn city. The tax relief isn’t lost on me either.”
While this little speech is not going to win any romance awards, it hits the mark. Now that Grace knows Douglas didn’t make her a multimillionaire, I have my foot on her throat.
“Is this a marriage proposal?” Her dark eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets.
“It’s a declaration of intention.”
