Page 17
Using my fingers, I hold an imaginary phone to my ear. "Hey, Dante? Yeah, it's 1952 calling. They want their misogyny back."
His jaw tightens.
“Are you finished?” he asks.
“No. How long do I have to endure this arrangement?”
“Twelve months,” he says.
“That is a very long time.”
“Seven hundred thousand is a lot of money,” he says. “Think of it as paying me back in monthly installments.”
He pushes off the counter and walks toward me. My heart rate picks up, but I stand my ground and don’t step back. He stops close enough that I have to tip my chin up to meet his gaze because he towers over me.
“I’m going to give you an opportunity,” he says. “Right here, right now. Say whatever you need to say. Get it out. Every insult, every complaint, every colorful opinion you’ve been holding on to since I walked into your father’s office. Say it now. Because after tonight, we move forward. If this is going to work, I need to know you can fall in line when it matters.”
“Fall in line?”
“You heard me.”
This close, I can see the small scar near his left eyebrow that I didn’t notice before.
“Fine,” I say. “You want me to get it all out? Here it is. You are a bully. A thug in an expensive suit who thinks his power gives him the right to treat people however the hell he likes. You put a gun to my father’s head and brought me here to this soulless penthouse, where you expect me to play house like I’m a doll in a dollhouse. But I’m not a doll. I’m a human being with feelings. And while I’m sure this is a foreign concept to you, this is a hell of a lot for me to take in right now.”
He doesn’t move. In fact, he doesn’t react at all. He is completely expressionless, which makes everything so much worse.
“So no,” I continue, “I will not fall in line. But I will attend your events. I will wear your ring. I will do what I agreed to do because I love my father, and he is the only reason I’m standing here right now. But I will not pretend to be happy about it. And I will not pretend that you are anything other than what you are.”
“Which is?”
“A man who has to buy a wife because no one in their right mind would choose to marry him.”
He holds my gaze for a long time. The air between us is thick, and my pulse is dancing wildly in my neck. The anger is hot and ferocious in my chest, but it’s also tangled up with something else. Something that has to do with how close he’s standing, the way his eyes keep dropping to my mouth, and the stupid, traitorous warmth spreading through my body.
“You have a sharp tongue,” he says.
“And you have a gun. Looks like we’ve both got our weapons.”
I can almost see the steam coming out of his ears.
I annoy and intrigue him at the same time.
I decide to use it to my advantage.
“Counterproposal,” I say.
“And if I don’t agree?”
“Then I’ll be the most inconvenient wife in the history of forced marriages, and trust me when I tell you, I have the stamina for it.”
His gaze roams my face. His expression remains neutral. “Fine, what is your counterproposal?”
"One. You said my father’s debt is cleared. I want that in writing before we marry."
"Already agreed to."
"I'm reminding you."
