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I’m not a woman who does things halfway. I’m simply a woman stuck in the worst possible position who needs a bit more leverage than I had to ensure my freedom from my ex and ensure that the future of Monroe Securities stays in safe hands.
I try to push my fear and ire back down, but the bitches won’t relent.
“Marrying me doesn’t mean I want you to speak for me. It doesn’t mean I’m some damsel in distress who doesn’t know how to handle her business. I’m learning. I’m adapting. I’m a fucking midwife thrust into the tech world. I went from vaginas to computers. I went from having two parents who love me to one. I went from having a guy who I thought I’d spend my life with to needing to marry someone else, so I don’t have to spend my life with him. I’m questioning everything and everyone right now. So excuse me if I need a bit of a learning curve. That doesn’t make me weak. That doesn’t mean I’m not strong. And that doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to tell him I’m married when I’m actually married.”
His hand dives into my hair, and before I know how it happens, his forehead is practically pressed against mine, his wild eyes ensnaring me. “You believe I think you’re weak?” he snarls. “Georgia, you’re a ruby in a world of simple diamonds. They’re clear, colorless, and boring. That’s never been you. You are durable, surprising, and fucking radiant. You are impossible to let go of. Which is why he won’t do it unless forced to, and I know you. You’re sweet and kind and don’t relish being intentionally cruel or hurtful. It’s not a flaw, but there is no room for that kind of devotion to gentility, as he will not return the favor. You need to remember that you are not the sort of woman to be held down by the weight of men and their schemes. Do you hear me? Because he will not take this easily or lying down and you have to be ruthless with this.”
I swallow, my throat working, but I manage a nod.
His eyes vacillate back and forth between mine before they bounce down to my lips and hold. All at once I’m hyperaware of our proximity, along with his heat, the firm press of his hand in my hair, and the scent of his skin since Lenox is never one to wear cologne. Suddenly the notion of his weight over mine doesn’t feel so caging or awful. It feels almost freeing. Like his is the weight I’ve been missing all these years, all the while trying on others that never quite fit right.
Only I know that’s not the case.
Nothing about Lenox ever fit right on me.
I just tried to make it so, and in doing that lost sight of the woman I am at my core. Or more importantly, the woman I wanted to be. I sacrificed everything for him. My head and my heart were a price I was willing to pay for whatever I could get from him. I told him I was fine with what we had, all the while silently believing he’d come around.
The sad truth is, I was willing to do anything to keep him.
It wasn’t his fault. It was mine. He told me from the start and never swayed. Just sex. Just our bodies. Nothing more.
Mistakes are meant to be learned from and not repeated. So while his words about my strength and how I’m a ruby in a sea full of ordinary diamonds might hit the vulnerable part of me that recently lost her father and lived with a man who treated her like a trophy or an expensive watch—something to be kept in a case, looked at and admired, but never allowed out—longer than she should have, I know better than to allow them to linger in my mind.
He used to say things like that to me. During quiet moments when our lust had been sated, and our breathing was once again calm, and our bodies were sleepy. His hands would roam my skin, his eyes all over the motion, and he’d tell me things like that. Things that made my heart swell and swell, practically to the point of bursting.
Until finally he jammed a knife in me, and not only did I burst, I bled out.
Thankfully the car pulls to a slow stop in front of the hotel, and my phone pings simultaneously.
Ezra: No, I don’t even know what that is. I never sent you that. And what the fuck do you mean you’re married?!
Lenox reads the text and smirks, his eyes darker than they’ve been all day. “Looks like he got the message, and I’m in.”
Chapter Six
“Miss Monroe, welcome to Caesars, Las Vegas. We’re delighted you’re staying with us and hope your trip was as pleasant as it could be.”
I shake the hostess's hand, offering her the warm, inviting smile I’m known for. “Yes, thank you.”
“I have your suite all ready for you. Right this way.”
Before she can lead me to my suite, I start to ask her if she can move my room—away from freaking Ezra—when Lenox takes my hand, squeezing it tightly in warning. My eyes flash up to his, and he shakes his head ever so subtly.
“Didn’t you want to do a bit of shopping before it got too late, Georgie?”
Georgie?
My eyebrows bounce and not in pleasure.
The hostess turns back to us, her eyes snagging on our joined hands before climbing expectantly back up to my face. “I can arrange to have your things brought up for you if you’d rather set out and explore.”
“Um. Yes. Thank you. That would be great.”
“Of course. Enjoy yourselves.”
Lenox starts to walk, giving me a firm tug as our bags are handled by a valet and our hostess. “What in the name of Jiminy Crickets was that?”
“You said you needed to buy a wedding dress.”
