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"He’s getting too close to me," I whisper.
"And that’s a problem?"
I nod. "He’s so much more than he seems. He built up the company he inherited from his father to more than it ever was before. Not only is he powerful, but he’s actually sensitive. He loves reading. He has a library that’s packed with books I wish I owned. He even gets my pop-culture references and wants to act out scenes from my smut books."
"So, clearly, he’s not perfect for you at all."
"He’s too perfect."
"So are you."
"I’m not." I hunch my shoulders. "You know I’m not."
"You’re a strong, powerful, gorgeous woman who’s an inspiration for so many others—"
I hold up my hand. "I don’t feel very strong or powerful when I don’t even have the guts to show people who I really am."
"You’ll do it when you’re ready."
"And what if I’m never ready? What if I never have the courage to come out and share all of myself with the world? What then?"
35
Liam
I swirl my Macallan in the cut-glass tumbler. It’s a thirty-year-old double cask. The fresh honeycomb and apple aroma is potent. And the taste? A complex melody of ginger, vanilla, dried fruits, and oak. Sweet and soft, with a bit of spice and the depth of toffee, with notes of red apple and fig thrown in for good measure.
Almost as evocative as her taste. Almost as memorable as her scent. As lush as her cries when she fell apart under me. As haunting as the secrets in her eyes. I had her investigated, but nothing stood out of the ordinary. Other than her father dying early, her childhood seemed happy. And meeting her family only confirms that. She has friends who are loyal to her, runs a thriving business—which is going to boom with the publicity that continues to roll in from that single video, and the pictures the paps took of us disembarking my private jet and through the windows of our car as we drove home.
I arranged for that, of course. Just enough to keep them salivating, but not too much to spoil the mystique of what we are. What are we, anyway? Another made-for-media couple who will be filing for divorce soon?
At least, we won’t be setting any records on that. Small consolation. She thinks I’m going to let her out of the agreement, but she’s in for a rude awakening. I married her with one purpose—to get my inheritance—and I plan to ensure that happens. Which means, she has to stay married to me for whatever length of time that takes. Which gives me a fighting chance. An opportunity I’m not going to squander.
"Deep thoughts for someone who just got married. Shouldn’t you be home with the Missus?" Hunter-fucking-Whittington strolls over. He sinks into the armchair next to mine, then places his phone facedown on the small round table between us. We’re at the club JJ Kane opened a month ago and which Sinclair Sterling’s company 7A invested in. It’s smack dab in the center of London, yet hidden away behind one of the pockets of greenery the city seems to abound in.
It’s a good place to retreat to when you don’t want to be disturbed by anyone. Normally, I’d be at my townhouse if I felt the need for solitude, but she’s there, and I’m not ready to face her. Not after that last conversation, when she trampled my heart. Not yet, at least. I also don’t want to go to the penthouse which holds too many memories of her. Which is why, like a coward, I came here after work. I could have worked from home, but opted to go into the office for the same reason. Good thing I checked earlier and know I still have my balls. Else I wouldn’t have believed it, given this overwhelming need to sulk that seems to have grabbed hold of me.
"I thought they promised privacy here?" I glance around the living-room-like space of the club.
"They do."
I look at him pointedly. It takes a second for it to sink in, then he chuckles. "Good one, ol’ pal. Good to know you haven’t yet lost your rapier wit, despite the ol’ ball and chain."
"If you don’t have anything meaningful to say, why don’t you get your fat face out of here?"
In response, he leans forward, pours a generous splash of whiskey in his glass, and raises it in my direction. "Here’s to you and your beautiful bride, and to a long and happy marriage."
"You’re a little too late with the wishes. It won’t be long before we go our separate ways."
He lowers his glass without taking a sip. "You’re shitting me."
I toss back the contents of my glass, then pour out more of the elixir.
"She doesn’t think we have a chance with each other."
"And you accepted that?"
"Of course, not. But my every overture has been met with an adamant refusal to recognize that what we have is unique."
