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“So, you don’t write at all?” She looked so hurt by that.
“I do. But never with the intention of people reading it—at least in my lifetime. You write as well, correct? For your music?”
“It’s not Shakespeare, though,” she replied, brushing her hair behind her ear again. “It’s just my random thoughts or feelings or sometimes from what I learn from other people.”
I wanted to listen to her sing now. “It’s enough to make an avid fan out of my sister. She’d love just to be here to talk to you. She begged me to allow her to say hello.”
“Why didn’t you let her?”
“She would have never got off the phone.” I groaned. “Believe me. I spared you. That is the story. Anyway, I did what I was told, too. So that is the reason I am not a writer.”
She frowned and glanced at her wine. “You did what you were told to do. Like you are now? You were told to marry me. So, you are trying to make it work with me?”
“Yes and no.”
Her brows came together as her head came up. “No, to which part?”
“Yes, I was told to marry you. But I’m trying to make it work because, well, I am a sucker for a beautiful face. And yours in the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”
“Oy.” She hung her head. “You are drowning me in these lines.”
“Good!” I shot back. “But honestly, you have the most power between us two.”
“How so?”
“Our parents and families can push us. I will listen. However, you can refuse and marry someone else and still get your inheritance. There is nothing my family or I can do about it. I need you more than you need me. If I did not like you at all, then I would push to end this.”
“Are you confessing that you like me?” Her eyebrow rose, and a grin spread over her lips.
I was not sure if she was excited at knowing that or just teasing me. “And if I were?”
“Already?”
“I’ve always been good at knowing what I want. Whether or not I get it is not always so certain.”
“So, you know you want me?”
“Yes, and if I told you exactly the ways in which I did, you would throw your wine at me,” I replied, fighting to keep the lust that made me want to stare at the curve of her breast inside me. I needed to calm down.
She did not need to see that side of me—not yet, at least.
“Throw my wine?” she whispered back. “Nothing you could say would make me do such a thing.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Do not tempt me.”
Her brown eyes were dead set on me, and I could only stare back at her. “I kind of want to, though.”
God, help me.
“Your dinner.” The server appeared like a bloody ghost.
I stared at him, annoyed.
When I said God help me, I did not need it urgently.
It was hot.
It was freezing outside. But here at this table, I was heating up from the inside out. And it was all his damn fault.
