Chapter 14

14

Edward

Mine. Mine. Mine. The word ricochets around in my mind before swooping down to my chest where it sets off a fireball of sensations. How strange. I’ve never felt this, alive, this apprehensive, this nervous, and also…angry. I curl my fingers into fists at my sides. How dare she walk into my life and turn it upside down? How dare she make me feel the emotions I locked out of my life? How dare she stare at me with those big blue eyes with hurt swimming in them and trailing down her cheeks? Fuck! That ball of sensations in my chest shoots off flames which zip to my fingers, my toes. Every part of my body seems to come alive. Like a seed sprouting through the ground, the individual sentiments make themselves known.

I’m aware of her father walking out of the room. The door snicks shut. I go down on one knee, then scoop up the trail of moisture. I bring it to my mouth and suck on it.

She gasps. "What are you doing?"

"Why are you crying?"

"I’m not." She swats at her cheek. "At least, not on purpose." She bites her bottom lip before whispering, "No one’s stood up to my father for me before today."

"I’m sorry for what your family put you through."

"It wasn’t that bad." She half smiles. "I had a roof over my head, and designer clothes, and a team of staff who made sure my every need was taken care of."

"Everything except your emotional needs," I murmur. And what do I know of that? Why am I unable to stop myself from comforting her? You can take the priest out of the church. You can even try to unlearn everything that you stood for by traveling around the world and trying to lose yourself amongst strangers… But it only takes a full-figured goddess with tears in her eyes to bring out that tenderness inside you which you thought you’d managed to wipe out completely.

"He wasn’t a bad father. He was just lost without my mother."

"You’re defending the man who signed away your future in return for money?”

"Was it a big amount?" she murmurs.

"A few billion dollars."

"At least, it has a lot of zeroes." She chuckles, but the sound is weak.

"A lot of zeroes," I assure her.

"And you’re the one he made the deal with."

"Does that make you angry?" I search her features.

"I’m angry that I'm unable to disobey my father." Her lips tighten. "I’m angry I was born into a family that believes in arranged marriages to further their business interests. I’m angry that the little time I thought I had to be independent and have a normal life was taken from me. As for the rest, I’m confused."

"Confused?" I tilt my head.

"I’m confused you asked me to work for you and you gave me a job. I’m confused how you connected with my father. How you knew he was in trouble, how—" She must notice my expression, for she slowly nods. "Of course, you knew. You have money and power and connections. You knew he was in trouble. You knew you could barter a deal with him."

"I need a wife. And contrary to your declarations, you do need a husband."

"I do not." She scowls.

"If it weren’t me, it would be somebody else. Better a man you’ve already met than a complete stranger."

She blinks, then tips up her chin. "That’s what I’m trying to tell myself. But I don’t know you, either."

"A problem that’s easily solved."

"What do you mean?"

"We’ll get to know each other after we’re married."

"And love, what about that?"

"I don’t believe in love."

"Because you already gave your heart to someone else?"

I narrow my gaze. "I see you’ve heard about my past from our mutual friends?"

She shakes her head, then stops herself. "Only a little. It wasn’t that I asked; it was mentioned in passing that you had your heart broken."

I firm my lips. I want to deny it, but that would be lying. And that’s the one thing I don’t do. The habit of always telling the truth, no matter the consequences, is one I haven’t been able to shake. I settle for not saying anything, which she interprets correctly in the affirmative.

Her forehead wrinkles. "So, what I heard is true."

"My past is of no consequence to you."

"How can you say that when it will impact my future?"

"All you need to know is that your father and I came to an amiable agreement, and he has agreed to my proposal of marrying you."

"Do I have a choice in this?" There’s a bitter note in her voice.

"You know the consequences of refusing."

"So, that’s a no?"

I rise to my feet then pull out a chair and sink into it. "That’s a—this relationship can work to both of our advantages."

"How’s that?"

"You’ll be my wife in name only."

"Meaning?"

"You’ll take my name, you’ll marry me, you’ll wear my ring on your finger. You’ll be civil toward my family. As far as they're concerned, this is a real marriage. But we will not sleep in the same bed."

"We won’t?"

"I have no interest in having sex with you."

"You...you don’t?"

"I’ll take care of my needs…elsewhere."

"You mean in this club?" She gestures to the room.

"I’ll be discreet, of course."

"Of course." That bitterness is back in her voice, and for some reason, that bothers me.

"You have no interest in being my wife, Belle. But you want to save your father from bankruptcy. You also need money to keep a roof over your head."

She begins to protest, and I cut in, "You and I both know if I hadn’t offered you a job as my assistant, you’d have had to return home. This way, you don’t need to stay under the same roof as your family again."

She sets her jaw but doesn’t deny the facts.

"I am compelled to get married to ensure my grandfather confirms me as the CEO of his group of companies. This is a win-win, as far as I’m concerned."

"I can only see losses in my future."

"How’s that?"

"I’ll be stuck in a loveless marriage, with no intimacy. No intimacy,"—her features pale—"which means, no children."

"You want children?" I stare.

“Of course, I want children. The only reason I’d consider this marriage if I could have children.” She sets her jaw. “I know this might sound lame, but I’ve never known a time when I didn’t want to be a mother. In fact, it’s the reason I decided to pursue a career in childcare. It's one way to be in the company of kids throughout the day. It’s probably not the most ambitious of dreams, but?—”

“Don’t put yourself down. Your dreams are important, and you deserve to give them life.”

“I... I do?” Her lips part.

I nod slowly. A soft sensation invades my chest. Belle, big with my child. Belle, playing with my son or daughter, taking them to school, making breakfast for them. Belle, holding him or her in her arms and—I shake my head. "You can still have children."

"How—oh!" The wrinkle in her forehead vanishes. "You mean, by IVF."

"If that’s what you decide."

"And if I decide I don’t want to be married anymore?"

I lean forward in my seat. "I’m afraid that’s not possible."

"Meaning?"

"Once you marry me, you can’t leave me. You’ll be mine for the rest of your life."

"So, I marry you and that’s it. I’m stuck with you?"

"Don’t overwhelm me with your enthusiasm," I drawl.

She flushes. "You know what I mean. One day, I don’t know you. The next, you’re my boss. And now, you’re saying you want to be my husband, but not in the true sense of the word."

"There are worse options out there."

"So you keep saying."

"I’ll make sure you have your independence. You can continue to work for me."

She frowns. "But wouldn’t that be conflict of interest?"

"It’s my company." I raise a shoulder. "Besides, we’ll be married only in name, so?—"

"So—" She swallows. "No sex."

"None."

"And I can stay in my own flat?"

"You’re my wife; you’ll have to move in with me. We’ll share the same suite?—"

"But—"

"We’ll have our own rooms."

"So we won’t share the same bed?" she says slowly.

"I sleep best on my own."

She locks her fingers together. "Can I think about it?"

"Afraid time is running out." I pull back the sleeve of my shirt and look at my watch. "My grandfather wants me married within the week."

"The week?" she squeaks.

"Is that a problem?"

"It’s just… Things are moving very quickly, and I haven’t said 'yes' yet."

Not that she has a choice, given her father has already committed her to the marriage. She knows it. I know it. But I’m enough of a gentleman to play along...for now. If an illusion of having a choice is what it takes for her to say yes, then I’m more than happy to humor her.

I tap my fingers on my thigh. "What are you waiting for?"

"I... I have some questions." She shuffles her feet.

"Shoot." I settle back in my seat.

"Why did you bring me to this club?"

"So you’d be aware of the inclinations of the man you’ll be marrying."

"You mean BDSM?"

Not bad, she managed to get out the words without fumbling over the vocabulary.

"Among other things."

"You wanted to show me your needs are…a little extreme?"

I can’t stop my lips from twitching. "Those are your words, not mine."

"So this was a test?"

"Maybe?" I yawn.

"Why hire me as your assistant?" The wrinkle between her eyebrows deepens.

I want to lean forward and smooth out her brow a-n-d nope, not going there. Why do I feel so compelled to soothe away her worries? I set my jaw. "I told you already. You needed a job. I did need an assistant. Besides, what better way for you to find out more about my habits than working with me in such close proximity?"

She rubs at her temple. "But when did you decide you wanted to marry me? Did you know about my father having business troubles already? Did you—" She searches my face. "You knew who I was when we met at Gio’s place."

I nod.

She firms her lips. "You’ve been planning this since then?"

"When I met you, I needed an assistant. You’re trusted by my friends. And I trust my friends, so it felt right to offer you the job. Turns out, I also need a wife, and?—"

"You decided I fit that role, too?"

I wipe my thumb under my lower lip. "You're single. And when I had you investigated, I realized who you were."

"So, all the pieces fell together," she says flatly.

"It seemed the logical next step. You’ll have to sign a contract, of course."

"I… I do?"

I nod. "Only you and I will know the real state of this marriage. To everyone else, we decided to get married because we’re in love."

"So we met, and you decided I was the one, and we got married within a week?" She scoffs.

"When you know, you know." The words come out with more certainty than I intended. And for some reason I believe it, too.

She must, too, for her eyes widen. "You sure you used to be a priest and not an actor?"

I tilt my head. "A priest has to be an actor to take the pulpit, and an actor might well be a priest when he’s on screen."

"How do you mean?"

"An actor is the mirror of the audience’s desires. He or she accepts it without judgement, and in turn, grants them absolution."

She searches my features and hers soften. "Also a poet."

I hold her gaze and ensure my own are steely. "You must be mistaken."

She looks at me a second longer, then nods. "I must be."

I reach for my phone and message a number, then slide it back into the pocket of my suit. "The contract is for everything I outlined, including a non-disclosure agreement. Everything I’ve told you today is confidential."

"So you don’t trust me?" She scoffs.

"I asked you to marry me, didn’t I?"

"Only because I happened to be convenient. Not to mention, you had leverage over me." She wraps her arms about her waist.

"The NDA is a deterrent. So, if you’re tempted to tell your friends, it will stop you."

She jerks her chin up, and I take in the guilt in her eyes.

"It’s normal for you to want to consult with someone else on this, but I’m afraid I can’t allow that."

"You can’t?"

I shake my head. "Time is of the essence. As is the timing. I understand it’s all sudden, but you need to trust me on this."

"How can I trust you when you used my father’s circumstances to coerce me into a wedding?"

"You can leave, of course."

"We both know that’s not an option." Her lips turn down. Her eyes grow haunted.

I want to go over and pull her into my arms and tell her everything is going to be okay. But that would be lying. And I don’t say anything I don’t mean. Also, why am I so affected by her? All the more reason to get through this sham of a wedding, make sure my grandfather and half-siblings believe in the veracity of my marriage, and then I can get on with my life.

There’s a knock on the door, and a suited man walks in. He looks between us, then places an envelope in front of me. I nod, and he leaves.

She stares at the envelope with a look of apprehension. "What’s that?"

“The agreement outlining our marriage of convenience.” I pull a pen from the inside pocket of my jacket, then slip a sheaf of papers from the envelope and slide them over to her.

"Do I have to sign this right now?"