I snort. “How did you get them to invite my father?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He kisses my forehead.
“Jesus.” I lean into him for a moment before I press further. “I thought we put the marriage talk on hold?”
“I clearly remember you proposing.” He shrugs.
“And then regretting it.”
“You must agree that it still makes sense.”
“You still want your revenge.”
His jaw tightens. “If you really think that is my reason, you haven’t been paying attention this past week.”
He laces his fingers through mine and leads me out of the restaurant. I stare at our connected hands. It doesn’t feel like surrender letting him lead. And I feel my grip on myself loosen. I breathe through it.
Liam hands his ticket to the valet.
“Okay, Thunder, I still want to know what your father has on mine.” He squeezes my hand. “For whatever reason, my father, usually a reasonable man, is trying to destroy his children’s future. He’s been forcing your brother on Lottie now.”
“Jesus,” I sigh.
“Exactly.” He squeezes my hand.
“So, if you marry me, my father will be pleased.Whatever the debt is, it will be paid. You wouldn’t need to know what it was.”
“I’m not sure I can count on that. I don’t know about you, but I’m not planning on doing your father’s bidding when at the helm of one of his companies. So our union might not satisfy their need.”
My stomach tightens at his words. Why is he marrying me? Am I really going to go through with this?
“So this is a fake marriage?” I ask, wishing he would say yes, because I’m not ready for anything else. Hoping he will deny it at the same time. Fuck.
He studies me for a moment. There is a war behind those perceptive eyes. One I wish I understood.
He sighs. “You want to help your sister. I want to help mine. This is the best solution.”
His answer should make me happy, but it doesn’t land that way. “Is that all?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“That’s all you’re willing to accept.” He looks away.
“You don’t have to marry me,” I breathe out.
“I know that.”
He takes the keys from the valet, and I will my stupid heart to regain its natural, healthy rhythm.
He starts the engine, but doesn’t step on the gas. Instead, he turns to me. “I want to.”
“Why? You really don’t have to do the right thing because I’m pregnant. I don’t need a gentlemanly gesture.”
“This isn’t about doing the right thing.”
“Then what is it about?”
He sighs. “I want you. Not because I have to. Not because of your father. Not because of the baby.”
My chest tightens, my throat burning with emotions I can’t control.
