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I know my words are futile, but I make the attempt anyway, “Listen, can’t you make this go away?”
“No,” is his disappointing and very solid answer. He’s not going to budge. It’s written in the unwavering look in his eyes and the concrete set of his masculine jaw. Talking him out of this will be like trying to lift Tennyson from the floor in the middle of a tantrum—impossible.
I drop down onto the couch. “We don’t even know each other,” I reason, rubbing my forehead to ease the tension in my head.
“We don’t need to. Marriages are arranged all the time.”
I look up at him. “I don’t come with a dowry.”
“I don’t need one.”
Feeling at a disadvantage from my lower position on the sofa, I stand, trying to take back some of the power I don’t have. My head pounds from all the reasons I can’t say no to this marriage, but I won’t throw Tennyson into this mess without an introduction. “I need some time.”
“You have one week and then our engagement will be announced.” His brown eyes drift down my body, finalizing the deal. “I’ll contact you to meet with me and sign the paperwork.”
“Paperwork?”
“Don’t be naive, Clementine.” He moves closer. “Everything will be laid out in a contract of what’s expected.”
“I’ll see if I can pencil you in.”
“You still have the same smart mouth, I see,” he says, with a wry grin.
“Yes, well you’re still demanding,” I retort, remembering the tall boy who flew his high-tech airplane into my hair and then tried to free it while I waited for my father to finish his business with Joseph Prince.
“Asking you to stop squirming isn’t being demanding.” His eyes sweep over my bun and I can vividly remember his hands working through the tangle, trying to remove the contraption. “Your hair was so thick.”
The fact he remembers the details of our childhood meeting unsettles me a bit. I wouldn’t have guessed he’d remember the incident, given the amount of people in and out of his charmed life.
“You nearly beheaded me. Thank goodness for Ronin.”
Like someone slamming all the windows closed, his face shutters, and the slight smile is replaced with a dangerously thin line. “I’ll see you next week.” He stalks across the living room. “And don’t try to run away,” he throws over his broad shoulder, “I’ll find you.”
I have no doubt he would. Let’s just hope he doesn’t find what’s right in front of his face.
