"Children?"
"At least six." The corner of his mouth curves. "To keep it traditional."
I stare at him.
Six.
Six children.
Six tiny humans.
"I'm not having six kids."
"We'll negotiate."
"There's nothing to negotiate." I plant my palms against his chest and push. Hard. "I don't even know if I want children at all."
"You don't want children?"
"I didn't say that." I finally manage to create some space between us. Enough to breathe. "I said I don't know. There's a difference."
He studies me.
His gaze tracks across my face like he's reading something written there. Something I can't see.
"Why don't you know?"
"Because I'm twenty-four years old." I throw my hands up. "Because my life has been chaos for the past two years. Because I just agreed to marry a man who stalked me for a month before we even had a real conversation."
"I prefer the term 'observed.'"
"I don't care what you prefer."
Silence stretches between us.
His jaw works.
"Your money," he says finally, "will go wherever the hell you want it to go. Charity. Investments. A foundation in your name. I don't care."
"Then why?—"
"Until then." He leans closer. His voice drops to a growl. "You are going to get spoiled with my fucking money. Only my money. Understood?"
I open my mouth to argue.
His hand covers it.
"That wasn't a question, solnyshko." His eyes bore into mine. "That was a statement. You will take my card. You will use it today. And every day after."
I bite his palm.
He doesn't flinch.
"Understood?" he repeats.
I glare at him over his hand.
He waits.
