The window was open for Duke in the back, who hung his tongue out with a happy face and a wagging tail. His ears perked up at every new sound—the rustle of the leaves in the breeze, the chirp of a hidden bird, the distant bark of another dog.
The air, once filled with exhaust fumes, was now fresh with the scent of pine and salt. Every so often, a glimpse of the ocean would peek through the trees, a flash of turquoise between the emerald-green.
Eventually, Max turned the car down a driveway lined with colorful wildflowers. This house looked just as grand as the rest of them.
“So this is where the devil lives,” I finally managed, the question tumbling out in a breathless whisper. I was nervous.
“The devil, and now, his maker,” Max corrected as he threw the car into park before getting out. His mouth didn’t shock me anymore. He was trying to blame me for his heinous crimes.
I scoffed, a spark of anger igniting in my chest. Crossing my arms defensively, I retorted, “Arrogant bastard.”
“I heard that,” he demanded, his voice clipped as he opened the backseat door to let Duke out. Then I noticed the window in the back seat was open.
I guess he did hear me.
With a heavy sigh, I decided to play along for now. There was no point in escalating things further—not yet.
Following after Max, I watched him grab my things from the trunk. He began to walk toward the house, holding my things with ease. He turned to face me fully, his jaw clenched.
“Get your ass inside,” he growled, his grumpiness running its full course. “And while you’re at it, learn some manners.”
With a sigh that escaped my lips as a frustrated whoosh, I stepped inside. Duke padded eagerly past me, his tail a blur of excitement as he darted toward the opposite end of the room.
The space was huge. An electric fireplace, sleek and modern, hung prominently on the wall. The dining table, crafted from a rich, dark wood and with a polished finish, reflected the dim light. The space had charm, which was the complete opposite of my apartment.
Max placed my bags at the bottom of the stairs with a thud that echoed in the space and gestured for me to follow. Resistance felt futile, so I did. We stepped into the kitchen, where light oak cabinets hung from the white-painted walls.
Then it hit me. This was real. I was going to be spending most of my time with Max, which meant it’d be impossible to escape him.
I needed a plan if I wanted to survive.
“Hey,” I began, my voice weak, “I think we should have some ground rules. You know, until we, uh, get married.”
The last word hung in the air, a not-so-subtle reminder of the deal we’d struck. I was stalling again, and I was sure he could see right through me.
Max reached into a cupboard and pulled out a short glass. He nodded, his expression unreadable, before placing a bottle of whiskey on the counter with a clink.
“Okay. Let me hear them.”
He poured a shot of the amber liquid. He took a sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he watched me over the rim of the glass.
“Right,” I started, gathering my thoughts. “For starters, no kissing.”
“Merda,” he whispered, rolling his eyes. The word sounded like a curse, but I wasn’t sure which one it was. I made a mental note to download Duolingo if I wanted to keep up with his occasional slips into his native tongue.
“And . . . no sex.”
He shook his head. “You will be my wife, Rosalie. I will be doing both of those.”
My face flushed with heat. “No.”
“Haven’t you tortured me enough?” he asked.
“I need more time.”
He didn’t like it, but he wanted to respect me. “You get to pick one.”
If I wanted to survive a man like Max, I couldn’t sleep with him. And kissing Max would lead to sleeping with Max, which would make me stupid and sloppy. The last thing I needed was to end up pregnant with his child. That would give him exactly what he wanted.
