“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Alaric said at last. “It was uncalled for and totally unnecessary.”
I felt my mouth drop open. Astounded, I looked into the three sets of ice cold eyes, then the three faces finally merged into one. I had no idea what to say even if the booze hadn’t messed with my ability to think. As he watched me, expectant, I finally and hastily blurted, “Oh. It’s okay.”
“Does that mean my apology is accepted?”
“Uh, well, yeah, sure.”
Alaric left me to wander around the foyer, examining the original oil paintings on the walls, the antique tables with vases of flowers or marble statues atop them, then finally looked back at me.
“Saying I’m sorry doesn’t come easy to me.”
“Uh.”
Alaric scowled. “Why did you have to be drunk on this day of all days?”
I managed a shrug. “I’m at home, right? Not working. Not driving.”
I know my words slurred, but suddenly I didn’t care what Mr. Rightous Prick thought of me. “What do you want?”
Alaric paced away, his hands in his pockets. As he stared at an abstract painting, he spoke again, his back to me.
“I need a wife. I need you to marry me.”
Chapter Four
Alaric
Hayley laughed.
As drunk as she was, I wasn’t certain she understood what I asked. Of course, I didn’t like asking her to marry me in the first place, even to fake it for a few months. She might be beautiful and sexy and maybe I did want her naked in my bed with her silver gilt hair spreading over my pillows, her slim body exposed to me. I wanted her body for my pleasure, even if her empty head made my stomach turn.
Still, her amusement angered me. “Why are you laughing?”
“This is a joke, right?” Hayley continued to giggle, sounding as giddy as a school girl. “That’s funny. You want to marry me. Hah!”
Unable to keep her balance while chuckling like a mad woman, Hayley stumbled over to a nearby settee and dropped onto it. Tears glimmered in her jade eyes before tracking down her high cheeks. She wiped them away with the heels of her hands, gasping for breath.
Offended, I stalked toward her. “I mean it. I need a wife. You’re not my first choice, but you need a place to live. I’m offering you my house to live in.”
Hayley blinked up at me. “You’re not joking?”
“Do I look like I’m having a good time?”
Standing, she swayed until I thought she would fall. “I need a drink.”
“I’d wager you’ve already had several.”
“Not enough for this shit.”
Bemused by her sudden ability to speak intelligently, despite her inebriation, I followed as she walked from the foyer. Hayley strode down a short hallway with a parlor on one side and a large TV room on the other to a pristine kitchen. It seemed as if everything was made of refined steel. Even the table was created from a slab of iron, then polished to a sheen. I absently wondered if this kitchen reflected Roxanne’s soul. I leaned against the counter while Hayley opened a cabinet to get glasses down.
“Vodka?” she asked, opening the refrigerator. “I think I need another knock.”
“Another out of how many?”
“Nunya.”
She poured for us both, with a fairly steady hand, then set the bottle on the counter. Her green eyes watched me, her hand trembling slightly, as she raised her glass to her lips. I sipped from my own, feeling the vodka’s heat ooze down my throat and into my stomach.
