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He smells like sugar and scotch. Deliciously sinful.
Intoxicating.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
His eyes rove over my face, stalling for a beat on my lips before meeting my gaze again. “How will you handle your inheritance dilemma otherwise?”
“I don’t know. My father’s sick. I wish I knew what he’d want me to do. I can’t imagine any of this being his wish for me. My mother chose three men for me to consider. That doesn’t appeal to me, but at least I’d have three months.”
“Three months.” His jaw tics.
Does he feel the same twinge of jealousy I felt at the bar?
“Although,” he argues, “five years is five years, no matter when you start it.”
“Valid point. This just feels … fast. And I’m not even sure if I need the money. My head is spinning. If I decide not to do this, what will you do? Do you have someone else you can marry for the position you want?” My voice cracks on the last sentence—a crack surely revealing I’m a scared little girl harboring a heart-pounding infatuation with a flawless, powerful man.Please tell me there’s no one else.
“You’re the one I need, Ivy.”
Holy mother of Moses.
I’m tattooing that sentence—along with his scent and touch and rasp—on my soul. It makes zero sense and is most likely suave flattery because it can’t possibly be true. We just met. But I don’t care. I want him to utter that string of words again and again.
My eyes close as I murmur a breathy, “Okay.”
“Go home, Ivanna.”
“What?” The word croaks out like a croupy cough.
His fingers twiddle a strand of my hair, tucking it behind my ear with a tender brush of my cheek. “Go home. Think about it. Be sure. If you decide you can make this arrangement work, call me. I am on a bit of a time crunch, so I need to know in a day or two, but do what’s best for you.”
My mother is perched at the kitchen island, laptop open, when I walk through the door. We both smile apologetically in greeting.
“What’s that?” I point to the open web page for a spa. “Going to Switzerland?”
She waves her hand at me. “No. Not now anyway. Sharon invited me. Her husband had some unexpected business come up, and they were planning to retreat for a week at Grand Resort Bad Ragaz before a twelve-week trip through Italy, France, and Greece. She’s devastated that he’s deserted her and begged me to go, but I told her now isn’t a good time. Not with needing to plan a wedding.”
I pour myself some apple cider from the fridge and twist back around, arms folded across my chest. “I’m not going to marry one of those men you picked. I won’t do it.”
“Ivanna, you can’t be serious.” She sighs, stroking her forehead. “I gave you the weekend to relax and come to your senses. This is a temporary inconvenience to enjoy a life of luxury.”
An inconvenience?“I don’t need a life of luxury.”
She laughs, and I see red. “Honey, look at your clothes, your custom jewelry, your Louis Vuitton handbag.”
“All presents from you,” I say through gritted teeth. I do like them, but that’s beside the point.
“Perhaps. But you’ve enjoyed them, come to expect them. It isn’t a criticism. You’re right. I raised you this way, wanted you to have beautiful things, big opportunities.” She softens her tone. “Forget the handbag. What about owning a gallery?”
I snatch a cinnamon streusel muffin from the counter basket, picking at the top and knowing how right she is. I’m not certain I want to open a gallery, but I don’t want tonotbe able to do it. The ability to choose is what’s important.
“I don’t mind making my own way even if it’s hard, but I do know Dad would be heartbroken if he saw me struggling. So, I’ve found another way.”
She perks up. “Did you speak with a different lawyer? How? It was a holiday weekend.”
“No.” I shake my head, resolution settling in my bones. “I found someone to marry. Someone I chose.”
Her eyebrows shoot up playfully. “Oh. Who? The handsomefriendyou texted me about earlier?”
