That seemed to give him pause. “Call the studio and tell them you need a substitute for the next week.”
“Just like that, huh?” I let out a humorless laugh. “You really think you can rearrange my entire existence on a whim?”
“Yes.” The simplicity of his answer was infuriating. “That's the arrangement, Cecelia. My resources in exchange for your compliance.”
“Compliance,” I repeated, the word tasted bitter on my tongue. “You make me sound like a trained dog.”
“That's not how I see you.” Something flickered in his eyes, there and gone so fast I might have imagined it. “But I need you to understand that this isn't a democracy. I make the decisions.”
“And what about what I want?”
“What you wanted was to avoid dancing for Santiago and to keep your sister from finding out about your financial troubles.” He leaned forward slightly. “I'm giving you both.”
Before I could formulate a response, Lucia returned to clear our plates and serve the main course—some kind of roasted meat with vegetables arranged like artwork on the plate. I barely registered what it was, my mind still reeled from Rafe's casual announcement about Vegas.
The rest of the meal passed in tense silence, broken only by Lucia's brief appearances and Rafe's occasional comments about the food. I pushed mine around more than ate it, my appetite destroyed by the weight of what I'd agreed to.
When we finally finished, Lucia insisted on wrapping a plate for me to have later, patting my hand and telling me in her musical accent that I needed to eat more. I thanked her automatically, the social niceties ingrained despite my inner turmoil.
After she left, I stood awkwardly. The events of the day all caught up at once, leaving me swaying slightly on my feet.
“Where am I supposed to sleep?” I asked hesitantly.
Rafe's lips curved into that predatory smile I was coming to dread as he stepped closer. “Where do you think you're supposed to sleep?”
My heart slammed against my ribs. “The guest room?”
“Wrong.” His grin widened. “You’ll sleep in my bed.”
Chapter 4
Rafe
Cecelia's eyes widened, those green irises darkening as they always did when she was about to explode. I leaned back in my chair and braced for the storm I'd just unleashed.
This was the thing about Cecelia Sutton—she burned hot and bright, her anger a living thing that filled whatever space she occupied. And right now, that space was my dining room.
“Like hell I will,” she spat, backing away from me as if I'd suggested we bathe in blood instead of share a mattress. “I agreed to marry you, not sleep with you.”
I took a slow sip of my wine, letting the vintage roll across my tongue while she gathered steam. “I never said anything about sleeping with you, Cecelia. I said you'd sleep in my bed.”
“Same difference,” she snapped, already pacing. She moved with that fluid grace that came from years of dance training—her anger somehow making her movements more precise, more deliberate. “I'm not sharing a bed with you. End of discussion.”
I set my glass down. “Not end of discussion. You're inmyhome now, about to becomemywife. There are expectations.”
“Expectations?” She whirled toward me. “I didn't realize being your blackmail bride came with a sexual services clause.”
Despite the accusation, I had to suppress a smile. Even furious and backed into a corner, she never cowered. It was what had first caught my attention about her—that unflinching fire that burned regardless of the circumstances.
“Again, I never mentioned sex.” I traced the rim of my glass with one finger. “Though if you're offering—”
“I am not,” she cut me off, each word crisp and final. “I'm not offering anything beyond what we agreed to. A paper marriage. A business arrangement. Nothing more.”
I nodded, watching as she resumed pacing. The dining room's recessed lighting cast shifting shadows across her face, highlighting the stubborn set of her jaw, the delicate arch of her neck, the way her chest rose and fell with each indignant breath. Her sweater had slipped off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin I hadn't allowed myself to look at too closely before.
“This is insane,” she continued, gesturing wildly. “You can't just... just... upend my entire life and then expect me to hop into bed with you. I don't even know you, not really.”
“You know me,” I countered. “You've known me for what, two years now?”
