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“Why are we here?” I ask Keir again.
“You should tell Joey why we’re here,” Keir presses to the brunette.
“Again, if you aren’t buying books, you should leave.”
“Okay, what the fuck is happening?” I ask Keir and point to the woman. “And who the fuck is she?”
Keir heads to the door, but I stay put, still having no clue what is happening.
He looks over his shoulder at me. “That is Adora, your soon-to-be wife,” he states, then walks out without another word.
I glance back at Adora as she stands there with her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open—the shock is written all over her face.
Her stance and expression match mine, I’m sure.
What the fuck?
I’m supposed to marry her.
No way.
No fucking way.
Never!
“You fuck women. No way am I marrying a woman who chooses pussy over my cock.”
Adora throws her head back and laughs.
I’m dead serious.
She picks up on my incredulous stare, and her laughter dies down as her eyes find mine. “Oh, you are serious?” She almost whispers the words, but I still hear the amusement in her voice.
“Look…” she steps over and places a soft hand on my chest, and pats it, “… I’m not going to be your wife. We both know this. Make your moody boss see it’s never gonna happen, will you? Okay, champ?” Adora pats my chest again, this time with more force, then goes to step away, but I reach out and catch her wrist.
“Champ?” My eyebrows rise in another incredulous stare.
She just shrugs as I drop her hand like a hot tamale.
“The way I see it, this…” she waves between us, “… never happened.” A slow and steady smirk touches her lips.
“Do you not like cock?” I ask, confused.
“Not yours. Now leave.”
“I will not under any circumstances marry a woman I will have to convince to sleep with me.”
“See, it’s settled. Now, can you tell your brother, boss, or whatever you call him?” Adora waves to Keir who’s waiting by his car, his face a picture of everything I don’t want to see—the stony glare, the upright posture of defiance, and above all, fuck me if there isn’t determination in his damn eyes.
“You simply don’t tell Keir anything,” I mumble.
“I’m sure you’re a smart man. Think of something,” she responds with a shrug while waving her hand around.
“You also don’t lie to him if you want to live,” I say, my eyes narrowing into a glare. “Do you know nothing?”
This woman has to know.
Her father is well known. Dangerous. When we were kids, he took his daughter and moved her to Italy when she was ten, and that’s the last time I saw her. If I am being perfectly honest, I hardly remember her.
