His voice is soft, pleading, yet still commanding at hardly a whisper. “You will join me in Spain and play the role of my beautiful, doting American wife. As far as my family is concerned, you have stayed abroad because you had family, and work, obligations to tie up prior to moving to my country. Once you join me for my father’s burial and the ceremony in which I am bestowed his title, then I will grant you the divorce you seek.”
I can feel my resolve cracking. There’s truly no reason for me to not do this for him. Am I just being selfish? What’s a couple of quick weeks in Spain?
Deciding maybe I should just think about it, I ask, “When is the service?”
“In two weeks' time.”
My eyes narrow at him. “And the succession?”
“Four months from now.”
Rearing back, my head shakes before I’ve fully processed the words. “No.”
I can’t put on this ruse for almost five months. I can’t stay in Spain for that long, and I certainly won’t upend my life to travel back and forth at his beck and call.
“You must,” he presses.
“I have no obligation to you, Javier,” I repeat, again, since clearly he isn’t hearing me.
“You are my wife!” Frustration raises his voice, then he drags his hand down his face again and evens his temper. Smart man, realizing his macho caveman bullshit won’t get him far.
“Why do you want me to be your wife? I’m sure you could have any woman you want in Spain, so why the hell have you traveled all this way to the big shiny fucking apple to harass me about being your rent-a-bride?”
He begins to pace, muttering to himself in his native tongue, and I don’t understand a damn word he’s saying. Then, a few minutes later, he comes to a stop in front of me, opening his mouth, closing it, then opening it again, as though he’s hesitant to tell me the truth.
“Because the last thing I want is to be married, Raina. I loathe the idea of marriage. I plan to spend my days warming the beds of whomever I please, and I will not be on someone else's timeline as to if, when, or whether I take a spouse. This marriage, ourpapermarriage, means nothing to me. You, while a lovely woman who is a goddess in bed?—”
“Thank you.”
“—you’re quite welcome. But you mean nothing to me. I assure you that you being my wife only means something to my family and my succession of title. That is it. When I have gained what I seek, you will get your divorce. You have my word.”
But how can I trust that his word is worth a damn?
“I’ll think about it,” I manage to say through the dryness in my throat, and I start to walk toward the door. I’m done. I’ve reached my mental capacity and I need air. “That’s all I can offer right now. Let me speak with my fiancé and make a decision.”
Picking up on my cues, he meets me at the door and opens it.
“I will need an answer soon, Raina. Please consider helping me.” The pleading look in his eye almost has me agreeing on the spot, but I force myself to hold my ground.
My gut is telling me to stay alert, and I learned at a young age to trust my gut.
I squeeze his arm as I walk past him, not even bothering to muster a smile. Why fake it? I’m not happy about this situation I’ve found myself in. “I’ll let you know.”
Then I leave, and it feels like I can’t breathe again until I’m in the back of a cab, watching the city pass by in a blur.
CHAPTER FOUR
The water from the faucet of my bathroom sink wakes me up. I’m still naked from last night—or this morning rather—with my arm lying over my eyes, shielding the light from the early sun.
Groaning, I turn over and peer at the alarm clock, not amused by how early it is. Six in the morning is an ungodly hour considering I don’t need to be up until seven, and I wonder if the woman I bedded last night is trying to sneak out or is simply an early riser.
“Good morning,” she says with a smile moments later as she emerges from my en suite in last night's clothes.
Before I can protest, she presses one knee into my bed and leans down to kiss me—a sweet gesture I want nothing to do with, but I return her smile as she pulls back, hovering over me.
“Leaving so soon?” I feign interest as I take in her features in the daylight. Her dirty-blonde hair is pulled back into a water-slick ponytail, her figure on full display from the way her pantsuit hugs her body.
She’s a lawyer, too. Met her yesterday at the courthouse. It’s a shame I can’t remember her first name.
