Ember as my wife.
In my home.
In my bed.
My heart slams against my ribs. My pulse thuds at my temples. At my wrists. Even in my balls. A strange possessiveness grips me.
One that threatens to break through the barriers I’ve used to keep my reactions in check.
A cold warning spreads through my chest. Even the thought of marrying her makes me feel out of control.
And yet, my instincts tell me this is the only way forward.
I roll my shoulders, forcing myself to relax. “She’s my sous chef. The most promising member of my team. She doesn’t tolerate my domineering ways and doesn’t hesitate to say so. It’s one of the reasons I fell for her.”
The lie slips out easily again. Almost as if part of me believes it.
“Firecracker, that one,” Whittington chuckles. “But a fiancée? You’re sure?”
Marry or lose the inheritance. Margot’s ultimatum echoes in my mind.
As for the viral video? If it becomes known it was a lover’s spat and we’re getting married, that problem would resolve itself too.
A marriage to Harper solves both of my problems.
As for emotional involvement? Nope, I can’t commit to that.
I pause, staring out the window at the trees outside. What if…I ask her to marry me but specify that there’ll be no emotions involved? That way, I can ensure there's no chance of letting my feelings take over. I can protect myself from getting hurt.
Yes, that could work.
And if she refuses?
I remember how fiercely she expressed her opinions in front of others, and to me, her boss. And after I told her explicitly that she can never disagree with me in front of others.
Yep, she’ll have a lot to say about it. She’ll probably refuse right away. I’ll have to soften the deal to get her on board. And use my charm. I’ll try to make her understand how this will benefit the both of us.
I’ve faced down enemies on the front line, but this… I’m not underestimating how difficult this is going to be.
I slide my hand into my pocket and brush my fingertips against the hair tie I carry there. Run my fingertips over the smooth elastic.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
The coldness in my chest recedes. “I am. We’re getting married.”
“When?” he fires back.
“Soon.”
“It needs to be very soon, like next week soon, to avert any scandal, you understand.”
I frown. Am I going to let this prick dictate when I marry? Am I really going to marry Harper? It’s not a real marriage though.
“James?”
