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Imala reads the next line and flinches. “No. You could divorce, but you’ll get raped in court.”
“Meaning?”
“Okay. You know how the Hales own like seventy percent of the real estate and Dad has thirty percent? Well, Dad gave you twenty percent and kept ten. If you were to divorce within the first five years of marriage, you’d relinquish control to Oran thus giving the Hales ninety percent control which will drive up real estate prices. You only come out of this with your trust fund. Everything else will go to Oran.”
“After five years?”
“You keep ten percent and everything else still goes to Oran.”
Her almost golden eyes fly over the pages.
“In summary, Oran seems to be a moral guy because he could have fucked you then fucked you. If you have sex, you need to stay married minimum fifteen years to get out as you are now. After the fifteenth year, you can start earning from his estate.”
“Looks like the question is how much is the dick worth, sis?”
Leave it to Esme to summarize it like that.
Chapter 17
Karessa
I wasn’t hiding all day. Okay, maybe a little. When I arrive at the house, Oran is slicing up a tender looking piece of steak. His biceps flex under his white t-shirt. Turning to the island, he glances up at me, then he moves the meat to flour tortillas, cover it with cheese, and pico de gallo. His chest pulls the shirt tight with his movements, the white cotton clings to his body in ways that quickly kills my clarity. His light pajama pants that tease me with hints of a print from a part of him I’ve never met. Then reality hits me. I’ve seen no part of him. Even when he changed at the wedding, he still wore a t-shirt underneath. I want to cry.
“What are you doing?” I ask as if the last time we saw each other I wasn’t crying through an orgasm.
“Making steak quesadillas. Want one?”
I almost didn’t respond because my eyes are glued to his ass.
Why does getting my ultimate temptation come with such a steep price?
My tongue glides over my lips in appreciation and to add moisture. I snap my head up when he looks back at me. His gray eyes are guarded, but he raises his eyebrow in question.
“Well?” He prompts.
“Yes, please.”
Carefully, I perch myself on the barstool, teetering a little because I may have had one too many drinks when trying to decide what to do. My toe gets caught on the stool, lurches my body forward, I’ve accepted that I will fall and probably break a tooth with the week I’m having, but collide with a warm mass of sexy man chest instead.
“Whoa,” Oran cautions with a chuckle.
I love how it vibrates through me. I release a lengthy suffering sigh and wrap my arms around his waist.
“I like to think I’m a good person. Yet my life is telling me I’ve messed over someone, somehow. Maybe my parents did and I get the consequences as the oldest child.” I don’t give Oran a chance to respond as I continue to ramble. “I know all of us were born stupid rich, despite that, I don’t remember being a super brat making idle demands. I’ve kept my request and desires reasonable, I think.”
Oran rubs my back, the heat from his hand is soothing and frustrating.
“When life didn’t give me what I wanted, I handled it as gracefully as a teenager with hurt feelings could. I picked up and moved on only to have it come back wrapped in red tape and barbed wire then dangled in front of me like a poisoned carrot.” I sniffle like the brat I should’ve been. “What did I do to have something I want so close yet unattainable?”
Oran waits a minute to ensure I’m finished before he speaks.
“Um… what are we talking about?”
“You. You big sexy ball of complications.” Pulling away, I pick up a triangle of quesadilla and chew angrily. Of course, it’s delicious. “You heard about my stupid crush from my big-mouthed sister. I wanted to be Mrs. Hale, but it was a cold chance in hell. Then, I find out I’m being forced to marry you, but you hate me. You hate me, but you want me. We get married now, you don’t hate me and you don’t want me. Then, you might want me, but wait, there are terms and conditions.”
I drop the half-eaten triangle on my plate and wipe my hands with the provided napkin.
“Kiss me, Oran.”
