“Why would I agree? Knowing what you’re like? The FBI has a file on me because of you. And your life is… so dangerous, for you and the people around you. Frank Palermo shot at his own daughter and everyone near her.”
Shoveling some more food down my throat, I swallow and sip in some air. The spices are legit. Leaning forward, I take a swig of her ginger ale. Warm and flat, it’s not great, but it serves the purpose. “I understand your concerns, but I am who I am. You knew that before we had sex.”
Her gaze narrows, and for a second, I think she might throw her plate at me.
“Look.” My voice is controlled, but I can’t control how her resistance hits me. I don’t like it, and I’m barely keeping myself from spilling some old world shit about my owning her now. “I take responsibility for the broken condom and for not choosing a safer location for my cum.”
She grimaces, and I immediately regret being flippant and crude. Her attitude isn’t what I hoped for, but she’s not some prostitute or pretty little kitty girl. Though I’m happy to have her play one in my bed, when we’re talking seriously about marriage, a grown man doesn’t say certain things to his future wife. No matter how dead tired I am, it’s time to man the fuck up.
“I’m sorry for speaking to you that way, Laurelyn.”
Her brows rise in surprise, which is warranted. I almost never apologize to anyone. And in doing it, I sounded as formal as an engraved placeholder. It’s one extreme to the other tonight.
Sliding the plates aside, I move around the coffee table and sit in front of her, taking her hands between mine and rubbing them.
“Look, everything that happened to you in my place, including your getting pregnant, is on me. I’m responsible, so I’m taking responsibility.”
“It’s noble… I guess? But also very old-fashioned. You’re not old-fashioned, so I don’t get what you’re doing? Are you just trying to make sure I’ll share visitation with you or something? I will try to do that, Trick. As long as it’s safe.”
“It’s not about that. I’m always gonna be part of my kid’s life. I’ll never need a court’s interference for that.”
“So then why are you rushing us into a sham marriage? We’ve barely started talking again. We don’t have to figure anything out today.”
“I showed up with a hundred-thousand-dollar ring in my pocket. I’ve figured things out.” I take a breath and exhale.
This is Laurelyn Reilly. She’s independent, smart, and assertive. You have to bring her along slower than this, Trick.
My pep talk doesn’t work because it’s not in my nature to take things slow. I analyze, make decisions, and act, often within minutes to hours. How long does she expect to have to come to terms with what needs to happen? Weeks? Months?
“Remember the debate back in high school? If I tell you to trust me about something, do that. If I say I know what’s best, I do.”
She hits me with a look that I recognize from my sister Kathleen. It says, ‘I know you from way back and that’swhyI don’t trust you.’ Except in Laurel’s case, every time we’ve disagreed, I’ve been the one proven right.
“This is completely different than your knowing someone’s cheating to win a school debate.”
“Similar enough. We’re at an impasse, and a decision has to be made. As captain of the debate team, you had the final word. We both know how that turned out.”
“Yeah, when I wouldn’t listen to you, you quit.”
“You lost the debate. If you’d trusted me, I’d have fixed the problem for you.”
“You didn’t care about the debate team.”
“No, I didn’t. I cared about the captain of the debate team. I joined so I could show off for you because I knew it would get your attention.”
Her expression is suspicious. “Is that true? I kind of doubt it. I tried to apologize after the debate, and you didn’t let me.”
“I let you. I just didn’t accept your bullshit apology.”
She laughs. “The picture of diplomacy your whole life. Do you wonder why I hesitate to spend time with you? Let alone marry you.”
I smirk, because she’s trying to persuade me that she’s being reasonable. I don’t care whether she’s being reasonable or not, but I do care that my opinion matters enough for her to try to win me over to it. She doesn’t understand leverage. I do.
“You’re right, Laurel. I suck at compromise. I hear married men have to compromise all the time. Why don’t you marry me, so I’ll get better at it?”
She laughs again, and this time it’s the deep throaty laugh that wakes my cock. “Would you really try?”
Do I lie? Nah, but I know how to make the truth less heavy. “I might pretend to if that would make you happy.”
