"Definitely not asking, but if we arrive and I don't have the right wardrobe, you're buying." My forehead creases as my eyebrows rise, her comment taking me by surprise. Asha is fiercely independent, so the fact that she's willing to take anything from me is somewhat shocking. "What?" She points toward my face. "What is that look for?"
"Just surprised, is all. I assumed I'd be splitting checks this entire marriage."
She rolls her lips and inhales deeply through her nose. "That's kind of hard to do, seeing as how I don't have a trust fund like you. I had a credit card with no limit, but since I just married my enemy without so much as discussing it with my father, I'm sure I've been cut off.”
"My money is your money, Wife," I say a little too pridefully, drawing out that last word like it's something profane.
"I'll pay you back. I don't want to spend your father's money on my clothes."
"Not necessary. You won't be spending his. You'll be spending mine." I watch her process this, watch the war play out across her face, pride versus practicality versus whatever else she won't let me see. "The money in your trust fund wasn't earned by you, so yes, I'll be paying back every dime."
"I don't have a trust fund, sweetheart. I didn't go to college like you. Instead, I came home and started running the family business alongside my brother and my father. Every dime I have to my name is mine. The only thing my last name guaranteed me was land." I pause, letting that sink in as the clouds thin below us, revealing the deep blue hues of the sea. We must be getting close. "The only thing I inherited was enemies—including you."
I'm not sure what I see on her face. For a small second, she looks fairly impressed, but then a notable scowl appears before she snaps. "Good. I'll be sure to make it hurt," she says with a smile.
"I wouldn't expect anything less." I let my gaze drag over her deliberately. "But here's the thing, watching you spend my money on something that makes you look good isn't the punishment you think it is."
She turns back to the window, jaw tight, her interrogation seemingly put on hold. I know my responses are throwing her for a curve. It can't be helped. I want her to think about what it means to be tied to me now.
I didn't create this situation. Didn't manipulate it. I just...waited. Patiently. So patiently it nearly killed me. I waited for her to realize what I'd known the moment I found out about the land lease. I waited for her to exhaust every possibility, rage against the unfairness of it all. I waited for her to come to the inevitable conclusion: she needed me. For the first time in allthe years I've known her, loved her, fought with her, she actually needed me. And then I waited for her to come to me.
The hardest part was knowing I could approach her and offer her this very solution, but also knowing she might just throw it back in my face if I did. She'd see it as pity, as me lording it over her, as a weakness on her part. It had to be her choice. Her decision. She had to be the one to swallow her pride and ask, and last night, she finally did.
She laid it out like a business deal. One year of marriage. I get the merger I need; she gets to save her land. Then we divorce and go our separate ways. I listened. Nodded. Asked the appropriate questions. All while thinking: she has no idea. No idea she just handed me exactly what I've wanted for years. The one thing I could never take by force: her.
I made her think I was considering it. Made her sweat a little, not to be cruel, but because she needed to feel like it was a negotiation. Like she still had power. Then I agreed. One year, a few poorly negotiated conditions. Above board, on her terms.
Except for the part where I have absolutely no intention of honoring the end date.
Asha made the choice. That's what matters. She came to me, she proposed this arrangement, then she stood up in front of all our friends and family and said "I do" of her own free will. No one forced her. No one manipulated her.
She chose this. Chose me. And now that she has, I'm never letting her go.
CHAPTER FOUR
TRIGGER
The door to our hotel suite clicks shut behind us, and I watch her take in the space. It's luxury, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city of Granada, marble floors, expensive art on the walls, but none of that matters because her eyes are only focused on one thing: the single bedroom visible through the open doorway. I can see the moment she registers it. Her shoulders tense, and her fingers flex. Here we go.
"There's only one room," she says, her voice carefully neutral. She doesn't look at me, just wheels her bag forward with deliberate casualness. "I guess you'll be sleeping on the couch," she says, like it's already decided. Like I'm just going to nod and accept my place on the couch while she takes the bed.Not a chance.
"No," I say simply, setting my own bag down by the door.
She turns, eyebrows raised. "Excuse me?"
"I said no." I shrug off my jacket and drape it over the back of a chair. "I'm not sleeping on the couch."
"Our agreement—" she starts.
"Was separate sleeping quarters when possible," I finish for her. "Unfortunately, this was the only suite available on short notice. So, we'll have to make do."
Her eyes narrow. "Make do?"
"The bed's big enough for two adults to share." I meet her gaze. "We can put pillows between us if it makes you feel better. We both know you like walls. Build one."
"You're joking."
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
