“And after that?” Rafe's eyes narrowed. “Santiago doesn't let pretty things go easily. What was the next step in hissolution?”
The implication made my stomach turn, because I'd asked myself the same question in the quiet hours of the night.
“There wasn't going to be a next step,” I insisted, but the tremor in my voice betrayed me.
Rafe pushed away from the window and took a slow step toward me. “Why didn't you go to Everlee?”
I stopped pacing and whispered, “I couldn't.”
“Why not?” Another step closer.
“Because she has enough to worry about with the baby coming and…” I swallowed hard. “Because I'm supposed to be the one who has it together. The one who doesn't need rescuing.”
“And yet.” His gesture encompassed my apartment, the rejection letters, the evidence of my failure.
“You can't tell her.” The words rushed out before I could stop them. “Please, Rafe. She can't know about this.”
Something shifted in his expression, something cold and calculating. Tilting his head slightly, he studied me with the intensity of a predator assessing prey. “What would you do to keep this from her?”
“What?” The word squeaked past my lips.
He moved to the window again, his back to me, hands clasped behind him in a way that screamed old money and control. “I need a wife.”
I blinked, certain I'd misheard. “You what?”
“My father is trying to force me into an arranged marriage with a client's daughter.” His voice was cool, detached, as if discussing the weather rather than his life. “I need an alternative.”
A startled laugh escaped me. “And you thought of me? Why, because I'm so clearly marriage material?”
He turned to face me, and the intensity in his eyes killed the laughter in my throat. “Marry me.”
It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a proposal. It was a command, delivered with the casual certainty of a man who wasn't used to hearing the word no.
“You're insane,” I whispered.
“I'm practical.” He stepped closer, his presence suddenly filling the small room. “You need money and discretion. I need a wife who isn't Samantha Hastings. It's a simple exchange.”
“Simple,” I repeated, the word tasting bitter. “There's nothing simple about marriage, Rafe.”
“There is when it's a business arrangement.” He checked his watch, the expensive timepiece glinting in the dim light of my apartment. “Your debt to Santiago is now your debt to me. Marry me, and I'll consider it paid. Plus, I'll ensure you have financial security moving forward.”
My mind raced, trying to make sense of what he was proposing. “And Everlee?”
“Never needs to know why we suddenly decided to get married.” His voice dropped lower. “Though I suspect she and Liam will be quite pleased with the development.”
I knew what he meant. Everlee had been trying to set us up for months, convinced that the tension between Rafe and me was romantic rather than whatever it actually was. I'd always laughed it off, telling her that Rafe de Luca was the last man on earth I'd ever consider.
And now here he was, offering me a way out of my mess, with a price tag I never saw coming.
“How long?” I asked, my voice small.
“A year. Maybe two. Long enough to be convincing and to get my father off my back.” He checked his watch again. “You have one minute to decide, Cecelia. After that, I'll assume your answer is no, and I'll be calling your sister on my way out.”
“That's blackmail,” I said, voice trembling.
“That's negotiation.” His face remained impassive. “Fifty seconds.”
Mind spinning, I paced again. Marriage to Rafe meant giving up my freedom, my independence, everything I'd fought for since moving to New York. But refusing meant watching Everlee's face when she learned her little sister had been dancing at Vice and Virtue, borrowing money from men like Santiago Alvarez. It meant disappointing her again, confirming that I was exactly the mess our mother worried I was.
