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She chews the inside of her cheek. I’ve seen her do that before, usually when she’s worried.

“Hundred grand clears the immediate lodge debt,” I say.

Her eyes snap to mine. “You’ve been checking into my finances?”

“Didn’t have to look hard.”

“That is none of your business.”

“Make the deal and it becomes my business.”

“No.”

“Then don’t make it.”

She glares at me.

I wait.

She hates that I don’t fill silence.

Most people do.

They start talking when I look at them long enough.

Lila stares right back.

That’s another reason I chose her.

She’s one of the only women in Devil’s Peak who doesn’t drop her eyes when I walk into a room.

Eventually she reaches for a pen.

My chest tightens.

“Separate bedrooms.”

“Fine.”

She writes it into the margin. “You don’t get to tell me what to wear.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

“Where to go.”

“That depends.”

Her eyes narrow. “On what?”

“Whether you’re climbing another fucking ladder on ice.”

“I’m not putting ladder privileges in a marriage contract.”

“Then I’m reserving the right to take you off them.”

“You’re impossible.”

“So don’t marry me.”