Page 49 of Forbidden Forget-Me-Not

The box was intimate in a way that felt intentional. Two chairs were slightly turned toward each other. Our shoulders brushed as he sat down. I shifted to the side and didn’t care if half of my ass hung off the seat, as long as we weren’t touching.

If Julian noticed, he didn’t mention it. He settled beside me, smooth as silk, posture relaxed. Too relaxed. He had already decided how this night would end.

“You handle the spotlight well,” he said quietly, eyes on the stage. “Most women in your position mistake admiration for safety. But you don’t let their attention sway you. I may have underestimated you.”

“I don’t mistake anything. Especially men who confuse proximity with permission and view money as a golden ticket to do whatever they want.” I looked at him. “And I’m positive you’ve underestimated me. All you saw was a pretty face, a sassy mouth, and a family name that would boost yours. But I can assure you there is far more to me than that.”

A corner of his mouth lifted, but not in amusement.

“Your father warned me you were direct and might need more guidance than other women.”

“Guidance? Is that what he calls a heavy hand and chains these days? How quaint. What he was really warning you about is how I will not pretend. Nor will I inflate your ego just because you need it stroked.”

His eyes darkened at the sexual undertone. My insult had been received loud and clear.

The orchestra swelled and broke our staring contest. Movement filled the stage as the house lights dimmed.

I knew this story well. A servant girl who longed for more, but realized she was seen as nothing but dirt beneath the nails of those who mattered. She met her one true love by chance, a duke, a man of power. And for a short time, they lived in a fantasy untouched by the ugliness of reality.

But by the end of the ballet, they were torn apart. He married another, leaving her devastated. In an act of despair, she took her life, leaving her lover trapped in a loveless marriage, carrying a broken heart and unable to find the will to go on. It was a tragedy that played out the same way for centuries.

It played out now in this theater. Except I was the duke in the story. But I refused to let my ending become a tragedy.

I watched the dancers glide across the stage, their faces full of emotion.

Julian leaned closer, legs crossed, hands resting in his lap. He turned his head and studied me openly. I tried my best to ignore him.

As the music rose into a dramatic crescendo, his arm stretched along the back of my chair. He was careful not to touch me but still claimed space without asking. My nostrils flared as my grip tightened on my clutch.

“Remove your arm.”

He didn’t.

“Julian, it would be wise to listen to me.”

“Is that so?”

I caught his wrist mid-motion as he shifted, aiming to rest his hand on my leg.

I glared at him, my pulse pounding in my throat as his eyes filled with a calculated malice. The first real crack in his composure all evening.

“You do not get to touch me because you think my father would approve.”

A flash of irritation crossed his face. He didn’t bother trying to hide it.

“I wasn’t asking,” he murmured.

He pushed his hand down, proving that I couldn’t physically stop him. His grip settled on my thigh, and he smirked.

And that was when I knew.

Julian Harrington did not negotiate anything. He took. And he was far more dangerous than I had allowed myself to believe.

Instead of wasting any more time, I stood. Opening my clutch, I took out the ring he had given me and dropped it into his lap.

“Now you have my final answer.”

Before I could walk out, he grabbed my wrist. His fingers were firm enough to bruise, but I didn’t wince.