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“But how do I know that?”
He’s doing nothing to hide his frustrations with me now. Yet, he at least is answering me.
“Your issues with not trusting me are yours. I’ve been nothing but honest with you from the beginning. I’ve done nothing to make you think you can’t trust me, and I will continue to do so until my last dying breath. I don’t like liars; therefore, I am not one. There is nothing I can do to make you trust me. You have to do that on your own. All I can do is be me.”
That is—wow.
But no. No, I won’t let his nice words make me feel bad or feel like I should give in. Enzo is charismatic. He’s in the mafia! Of course he’s used to bullshitting people. He’s like a professional bullshitter!
“But you are lying to me,” I argue. “You won’t tell me what I want to know.”
“Not giving you information you want and lying are two very different things.”
My mouth drops open, but I snap it shut, looking away so I don’t let my anger get the better of me. I hate that he’s right.
Focus, Jordan. You want him to trust you.
Trust. Trust. Trust.
“I guess that’s fair.”
The papers catch my attention again. I’ve considered signing them, if only to prove I’m accepting my fate. If he knows that, he’ll think I’m weak. That I’ll do whatever he wants. Trust, in a sense. But it isn’t enough. The thought of lying down and taking this makes me sick to my stomach.
I’m not signing those papers.
I swear he’s keeping them here and giving me the option only to mess with me. What other reason would he have for it?
“Can I ask you something?” I ask after a short bout of silence.
He sighs an annoyed sound. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing all dinner?” I hold his stare, not wanting to answer that, because my response won’t be nice. “What, Jordan?”
He used my name. He only uses my real name when he’s annoyed with me or being way too serious. Otherwise, it’s angel.
“What will being married to you be like?”
He winces but recovers quickly. Ah, so the man can be shocked. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting me to ask that. The moment he reacts, it’s gone, and back in place is his usual asshole self.
“Whatever you want it to be.”
“I want it to be non-existent.”
“Whatever you want it to be except that.”
I groan, dropping my face into my hands. I shake my head and take a few breaths before looking at him again.
“Enzo, I’m trying to be nice here. I’m trying not to argue with you because I’m tired of it, okay? Do you not understand I am only twenty-one? I have my whole life ahead of me. I want to get married and enjoy the marriage. I want to go on dates with my husband. Share meals. Be cuddled. Be told I’m loved and cared for. I want a family. I want to have children and go on family vacations.”
“You can have all that.”
“I want it to be real!”
My hands ball into fists and I hate that emotion clogs my throat when the words leave my mouth.
The first part of my spiel was meant to be a bunch of bullshit, mostly to see his reaction, but it is sort of the truth. I do want all those things, and I’m fine with him knowing it. The last part, though? That was way too honest, and I hate how vulnerable I feel under his scrutinizing gaze.
“Do you know how many people, even these days, still believe in arranged marriages? They happen all the time, and you know what?”
“What?” I croak.
