"What could you possibly need a wife for?" I ask.
"For a merger. They're an old, traditional family. The patriarch won't do business with unmarried men under forty. It shows a lack of commitment and stability."
Right. I drop my gaze to my glass. Of course, he has an angle. I'm not sure why I thought he wouldn't. I have one too.
"Why me?" I ask, trying to pull more information out of him, since he's not giving me much to work with. I know he's not telling me everything.
"It's practical. You need a husband to keep your land. I need a wife to secure my merger. We both get what we want."
"For how long?" I ask.
He furrows a brow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, how long do we have to pretend to be husband and wife?"
"Oh, there's no pretending, sweetheart. You're taking my last name. That's forever."
There it is, that nickname that makes my blood boil as much as it makes me squirm in my seat, hating the way it slithers like a caress down my spine, but I shove it off.
"Absolutely not. One year. One year and we go our separate ways."
His eyes narrow in question. "I know you've read the lease, but did your lawyer fail to tell you about the deed? A year does nothing for you. If we divorce, you don't have any rights to the land. Hale land can't be sold. I can't give it to you. You have to stay or…"
"Or?"
"Or produce an heir. Our child would then be entitled to the land."
"You are literally insane. That's not happening," I say before finishing my tequila in one go and setting the empty glass down hard enough to get the bartender's attention, where I tap my glass for a refill. "One year gives me enough time to find another way. My dad kept this from me. If I had more time?—"
"You think he hasn't already done everything in his power to keep it?"
"No, actually, I don't." I meet his gaze. "He never told me marrying a Hale was an option, so you'll have to excuse me if I don't think he's done everything in his power to ensure I don't lose the last pieces of my mother."
His eyes hold mine for a beat, and in them I see sadness. I quickly turn away. I don't want him to pity me. I don't need someone feeling sorry for me, and besides, we both know his childhood wasn't all rainbows either.
"Fine, a year," he agrees as he signals to the bartender to refill his glass too.
"But there will be conditions."
He holds up his finger, signaling me to wait as the bartender finishes pouring his new drink. With a full glass, he says, "Name them."
"Separate bedrooms. This isn't a real marriage."
His jaw tightens before he takes a slow swallow. "Agreed."
"No one can know it's fake."
"We can't go from not talking to head-over-heels and expect no one to bat an eye."
"Have you been with anyone?"
His eyes widen, and he brings his hand to his mouth to keep from spitting out his drink. "If you're worried I can't perform in the bedroom, don’t be. One night, and I promise my name will be the only one you remember."
I give him a dramatic eye roll. "Please, did you forget condition number one? There will be none of that. I mean, have you been in a relationship since…" I clear my throat, suddenly a little uncomfortable, and pick up my glass, swirling the contents for a distraction. "Since high school?"
His knee bumps mine, drawing my eyes back to his. I watch his throat work as he swallows, but it's the contact. The heat from his knee burns, and my mouth goes dry. There's always thisdancebetween us, this magnetic pull neither of us will acknowledge. The air between us crackles, charged with everything we're not saying.
"I'm more interested in your answer."
