“Bad. Your house is freezing,” she said, her voice slipping.
“Sorry about that,” I admitted. “Clothes might help your situation—if you wear them, that is.”
“Right,” she muttered, snatching her gaze away from me.
Eventually, she reached for a piece of avocado toast, her defiance forgotten. She glanced down, spotting the neatly folded papers and the accompanying pen. Curiosity flickered in her gaze.
“What’s this?” she asked, her voice cautious.
“Our rules,” I began. I slid the papers closer, gauging her reaction.
Rosalie looked up at me in disbelief, then at the papers. She picked the stack up, her movements jerky, and scanned them quickly. With each word she read her eyes widened. Finally, she slammed the stack down on the table. I watched her start to lose her mind.
“You can’t be serious,” she said.
“Oh, I am,” I replied. I reached for my glass of water, taking a sip as her gaze darted back to the damning rules. “I plan on earning you, and that means taking your rules very seriously. Consider these mine. A way to keep me on my best behavior.”
A scoff escaped her lips. “Number five,” she challenged, her voice drowning in disbelief. “I can’t wear revealing clothes around you? You’re supposed to be myhusband,not some prudish Victorian gentleman. I should be able to wear what I want.”
“Not with your rules,mia cara,” I countered, a hint of amusement dancing in my eyes. “Read out rule three.”
Her gaze darted back to the document, her brow furrowing in concentration. “No kissing,” she mumbled.
“And one more down?” I prodded gently, following the path of her eyes as they scanned the list.
“No sex.”
“Right,” I said with a smile. “If you break rule number five again, I will break both three and four.”
She shot me a glare I couldn’t read. “Have you no control?”
“I’m nothing but a man who’s waited years for a chance. Have some mercy on me.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and with a sigh, she tossed the papers onto the table. “You are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met,” she muttered with a hint of amusement that sounded heavenly.
“So I’ve heard.”
“What does this mean?” she asked, her voice regaining its usual fire.
“What?”
“Me as your wife. What do I have to do?”
“As my wife, I expect a certain level of respect from you. I’ll be needing your trust. You will need to be honest with me, evenwhen it’s difficult. You will attend events with me, hold my hand, and play the role of the perfect spouse. You will be loyal to me, and only me.”
I wanted a partnership, not another political tie. My memory flashed to what she’d said about me finding a woman other than her to have my children. The thought was laughable considering I hadn’t been able to spark an interest in any woman who wasn’t 5’5”, with fiery red hair and an attitude to match.
There would never be another woman.
And there was no chance in hell I was going to have an open marriage. The thought of seeing Rosalie with another man made me furious. The population of men in New York City would slowly start to dwindle, and my name would be on every news channel that aired if she ever looked at another man. I was tired of teaching her lessons. She would learn to want me. Learn to crave me. Of this, I was certain.
“Is that all?” she asked, her voice laced with a hint of skepticism.
“Among other things,” I replied.
She didn’t look away. Instead she tilted her head slightly, holding her chin high as she continued to scrutinize the list of rules. Her eyes scanned the page slowly, lingering on each point before finally settling on a particular one.
“And what happens if I break any of your rules?” she asked. “Like, for example, rule number two. ‘No wine.’”
