Page 13 of Vow to Claim You

“That’s not what I said.” His brows furrow faintly, but I cut in before he can clarify.

“Well, welcome to the club. And let me remind you—it’s me who just moved into a completely foreign house, in a completely foreign country, with a stranger who can barely stand to say my name.”

I bite, trying to ignore the frantic rhythm of my heart, to calm the chaos he left behind the moment he stepped back. One moment, he’s close enough to steal my breath. The next, I’m just a situation.

“You’re right.” His voice softens—not warm, exactly, but less frozen. “You’re in a difficult position.”

A scoff rumbles in my throat. “You don’t say.”

His jaw ticks. The room falls quiet, the storm beyond the windows somehow less deafening than the silence between us. He exhales, slow and heavy, raking a hand through his tousled black hair. It refuses to stay back, slipping over his forehead again.

I shouldn’t notice. I definitely shouldn’t care. Yet some stubborn part of me keeps collecting these useless little details anyway.

“We need to set rules,” he says finally. “Otherwise, this won’t work.”

“Oh, joy. Rules.” As if our lives didn’t already consist of enough rules. Nope. What we clearly need is more.

“But first, rest.” It seems my attempt to provoke him falls flat. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”

My eyes narrow. “And why is that?”

“Because I must introduce you to society.” He says it like one might announce a dental appointment—flat, inevitable, mildly unpleasant. “The Gods. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. It’s the very reason we had to marry, so your father could join.”

My teeth grind together. Every. Single. Time. He never misses a chance to remind me. To shove the chains of this marriage of convenience into my hands and twist until it feels like my fault we’re here.

I force my voice to stay level. “And what is expected of me?”

He studies me for a long moment—one that stretches into something that feels like eternity, his pale-blue eyes unreadable, assessing, searching for something I don’t understand.

“To play your role,” he states.

“My role?”

“Yes.” His voice drops, husky and low. “Your role as my wife.”

CHAPTER SIX

Aric

“So is our marriage an act to you? A performance?” Her arms cross, chin tilting up like a challenge she already knows I’ll accept.

I study her for a long moment. This woman—I don’t understand her. Every time I think I’ve figured out the pattern, she shifts. “Isn’t it to you?”

Her stare flickers, but she doesn’t flinch. If anything, she hardens, a blade meeting another blade. That’s what we are. That’s how our relationship is. If this—whatever this is between us—could be referred to as one.

“Touché,” she finally says, her tone devoid of the persisting sarcasm that seems to run through her veins like blood. “No need to worry. I know my part, and I know how to act.”

I tilt my head, gauging her. Weighing whether she means it or if it’s just another sharp retort designed to dig under my skin. But her black eyes don’t waver.

“Good.”

For a moment, something hangs between us. Something that makes me want to challenge her, but I push it down and bury it deep.

I turn toward the door, and my hand brushes the handle. “Good night.”

I walk out before I do something reckless.

The house is too quiet at night. Too quiet for a man who can’t silence his own head.