This isn’tfair. How can this be happening? Why would Prime do this to me? Valentina was perfect, she was brilliant and gorgeous. She made sense hanging on his arm.
But me? I’m nothing. I didn’t even go to college. I’m his freaking personal assistant for fuck’s sake. What’s more cliche than that? I’m not smart enough, pretty enough,goodenough?—
I’m not enough.
“Marry me,” he repeats, thumb brushing my cheek. “I need you, Deanna. Just like you need me.”
Fuck fuckfuck.
“I hate you for this.”
“I know. I don’t care.”
“I don’t even have a dress.”
“You’re wearing black. That could be more appropriate for what we’re about to do?”
“This is insane. All those people, they’ll talk.”
“Darling, you’re about to enter my world. You’ll find that this is about the least scandalous thing we’ll do together.”
“I really do hate you.”
“So long as you’re my wife, that’s good enough.”
His thumb brushes closer to my mouth. I turn my head and take it between my lips and bite down. His eyes widen in surprise and I taste iron sharp blood on my tongue. I suck it, glaring death at him.
“Five years,” I say once he pulls his hand back. “And you take care of me and my parents no matter what. If I want money, you give it to me, no questions. I’m going to put all this in writing.”
“Whatever you want, darling.” He licks the wound I gave him. “Now it’s my turn.”
He catches my hand. I think he’s going to bite me back, but instead he takes the ring intended for another woman and he slides it down my finger.
It’s a simple gold band, nothing special, but it fits perfectly.
He leans in and his mouth crushes mine in a blistering, starving kiss, and I whimper against his lips as hate and need rush through me in a whirlwind of confusion and anger, and I kiss him back despite myself, knowing full well I’m damning myself to hell and diving head first into the lava on my own free will, but if it means taking care of my parents—of saving them from the worst of what’s coming?—
I’ll happily burn under this devil’s tongue.
CHAPTER 12
PRIME
“What’s taking you so long?”
Deanna’s voice drifts from my open front door as I lug her suitcase up the stoop. It takes a lot of self-control to keep myself from snapping back, and since I’m light on that wholerestraintthing these days, I dump the case down in the hall.
“You can always carry it upstairs yourself.” I brush my hands on my jeans and cross my arms. I like the way her eyes stray to my muscular chest as she puts hands on hips.
“We both know that’s not happening.”
“It’s almost bigger than you are.” I grin and picture her crammed inside. “What’s in here, anyway?”
“Half my wardrobe. Don’t worry, the other half is coming with the movers.” She wanders away toward the kitchen. “Go ahead and get started, darling husband. I’ll make you a drink.”
I rub the tense spot between my eyes. I don’t remember getting headaches before I married Deanna, but now they’ve bloomed anew each morning for the past few days.
The god damn wedding was a clusterfuck. Even worse than I imagined.
