I look at the office door and wait for a petulant, spoiled woman-child to flounce in. Hopefully she doesn’t get naked and try to attack me. In a bid to get himself a grandchild, my father sent a hooker to my place a few months back. The experience was more than a little traumatic.
The door opens. Christoph’s holding the handle meekly, and Lucienne walks in, head held high.
She seems even taller than she was at her mother’s funeral, with shapely legs that go on for miles. Most women that tall feel self-conscious and wear flats or stoop a little to make themselves appear smaller. Not Lucienne. Her feet are in sleek teal high heels, her spine erect, her shoulders straight. There’s a stubborn set to her chin that says she knows she’s not only in control but will be victorious. Like a Valkyrie before a battle.
Desire tugs at me, and my blood starts to run hot. The fact that I find anything about her sexy is exasperating, but I refuse to lie to myself because that’s the surest road to bad decisions. I can’t afford to make a mistake with her. She’s sneakier than the viper that tricked Eve into taking a bite of the apple.
Her ice-blue eyes, framed by lashes two shades darker than her golden hair, are guarded as she scrutinizes me. So. She’s not a completely self-absorbed narcissist; obviously she’s capable of gathering that I’m not thrilled with the situation she forced me into. My esteem for her goes up, but not by much. There’s still a lot I’m furious with her about. Her not being a blind fool isn’t going to be enough to redeem her.
The golden off-shoulder dress reaches an inch above her knees. How conservative. I thought she might show up in a “dress” that barely covered her tits and ass. Although the outfit isn’t outrageous, it does show off the smooth, creamy skin and full breasts that are just big enough to fit my palms. My spine prickles a little, but I force myself to keep my battle face on. She’s not getting the upper hand in my office.
“Mind if I sit down?” she says when I don’t offer a seat.
“I didn’t realize you were waiting for an invitation. I thought you did whatever you wanted, Valkyrie, consequences be damned.”
“You can call me Luce,” she says, like she hasn’t noticed my sarcasm. “That sounds more intimate than Lucienne.” She takes an armchair opposite my desk and crosses her legs carelessly. Her skirt rides up, revealing more thigh. She isn’t exposing much, but somehow it feels erotic.
What the fuck?What’s the matter with me? I’ve seen a lot more skin than this and remained unaffected. “Noted.Valkyrie.”
A soft sigh. “What are you upset about?”
“Whatwouldn’tI be upset about?”
Lucienne arches an eyebrow. “I thought your mother spoke to you and you understood the situation.”How could you not see everything from my perspective?I can just hear the unspoken, chiding question.
Fabulous. She really is a female version of my father. “You thought wrong.”
She exhales softly in another sigh. “I need reassurance that I can only get from your family.”
“Reassurance for what?”
“That I won’t be backstabbed.”
“Backstabbed,” I repeat conversationally, while fantasizing about strangling her and everyone on the Comtois side of my family. “What an odd choice of words coming from you, when you’ve forced that exact experience on me.”
Confusion fleets through her eyes. “Did they not tell you what you’d be getting out of this marriage?”
“Some lousy shares and a seat on the board?Ha!”
“And Sebastian Jewelry, too.”
Rage digs its claw into my gut. She should’ve never tried to bargain with the ownership of Sebastian Jewelry, the company I’ve nurtured and grown over the years. If I only saw it as a source of income or amusement, I would’ve walked away. But it’s my baby, no matter how much I pretended I didn’t care in front of my family. “I never needed you to get Sebastian Jewelry, Valkyrie.” Underneath my soft tone is an edge sharp enough to draw blood. “You’ve disrupted my plans with your little scheme.”
“I thought the offer was fair.”
“I’ll be the judge of what’s fair, not my family.”
She studies me, her eyes shuttered. Her full lips are set in a flat line that gives nothing away. She doesn’t squirm. She maintains a posture so perfect, even my grandmother would approve.
The fact that Lucienne’s so calm makes me want to shatter her composure. Maybe even make her cry. She doesn’t get to upend my life, then stroll into my office and play “I didn’t do anything.”
She wants to marry me because she doesn’t want to get backstabbed? Fine. I’ll give her the backstabbing of her life.
Starting with the wedding ceremony. A girl like her is bound to want a lavish event with everyone watching. She probably wants to stream it on some social media site, so everyone can see her—a glowing bride in a priceless dress, covered in gemstones—and burn with envy. Well,fuck that.
“Since you’re here, I’m going to lay down a few terms of my own. We’ll have a civil ceremony with no guests, except a witness, who I’ll provide. No photographers or flowers. No music.”
As I spit out the conditions, I watch for signs of an oncoming temper tantrum. But there’s nothing. She almost seems…relieved.
