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Silence from inside interior of the car.
“Do we understand each?—”
The hand curls into a thumbs-up.
Oh. My. God. This is why no one does arranged marriages anymore. Marriage itself is enough of a cage.Thiskind of marriage? Ridiculous.
But fuck it. If this is the way she wants to do this, so be it.
I hold up the contract, the quill, and the little metal disc. “Do you know how this work?—”
Her hand curls into another thumbs-up. With a roll of my eyes, I pass my high school soon-to-be-bride the fucking contract and the apparatus to sign it with her blood. She takes it, slipping her hand back into the shadows of the car as I stand there glaring at my own reflection in the tint of the windows, shaking my head.
I smirk a little when I hear the quick hiss of pain from inside, presumably from pricking her thumb. A second later, the hand slips back out, holding the signed contract, quill, and disc.
“Well, I’m glad we could do this face-to-face like grownups,” I mutter sarcastically. “Your father and I will talk, but you and I will meet privately next week to go over the details for the wedding and the…” I clear my throat. “Theprovisionsof this arrangem?—”
I’m not even finished my sentence when the window rolls back up.
“Really?” I mutter as the SUV shifts into drive and starts to pull away. I stand there glaring at its rear fender, rubbing my sore thumb on the palm of my hand.
Suddenly, I frown as I glance past Maeve’s car. There’s a silver Bentley town car pulled up at the gate to my estate, the driver leaning out the window to speak with my security. Security nods, the gate opens, and the Bentley starts to roll in. The two cars pass each other, and my brow furrows as the Bentley stops in front of me and cuts the engine.
The back doors open, and Charles Black steps out…
WithMaeve.
I whirl, firing my gaze down the driveway to where the SUV has suddenly started to speed up. I drop my gaze to the contract in my fist and my heart drops. The signature is sloppy and barely legible, but it sure asshitdoesn’t say “Maeve Black” on the signature line.
Oh, fuck.
“Close the gate!!” I roar, waving my arms in the air at the security guards. “CLOSE THE FUCKING GATE!”
My men are the best of the best. Instantly, they bolt into action, slamming the gate shut and stepping between it and theapproaching SUV, guns drawn. The brake lights glow red as the black Escalade comes to a quick halt and my men approach the driver’s side.
“What the hell is going on, Dante?!” Charles demands, storming over to me. He jabs an angry finger at the SUV. “Who the fuck is that?!”
He snatches the blood marker out of my hand.
“Who thehellsigned the fucking?—”
The backdoor of the SUV opens, and someone steps out.
Black boots. Black fishnets. A black miniskirt and a striped Freddy-fucking-Kruger sweater, with too-black hair, too-pale skin, andtoo much goddamn eyeliner.
No. Fucking. Way.
Tempest stands tall, proud, and smug next to the SUV, staring right at me with a shit-eating grin on her face.
Our eyes lock, mine stabbing right into hers as my pulse roars in my ears. My thumb throbs from where I just let out the blood to ink my name on an unbreakable oath.
Right next to hers.
A ringing sound fills my ears as the full gravity of the situation hits me.
Slowly, still smirking at me, the little witch raises a black manicured middle finger and flips me off.
Fuck.Me.
