Amusement glimmers in Amir's eyes. "BarryandLarry?”
I suppress a sigh, trying to maintain composure. "Listen, I didn't hire themorname them, okay? So, just pretend they're not here.Please."
“Did Damon hire them to keep an eye on you this weekend?” Amir grins as the plane takes off, and I grip the armrest. “Is he still worried I’ll somehow charm you into cheating on him?”
I roll my eyes. “You’ll be pleased to know that you’re probably the least of Damon’s worries at the moment.”
“Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good. Trouble in polygamy paradise?”
I glower at him. “Technically, polygamy is defined as the practice of having more than onespouse. We’re not married.”
Amir smirks. “Do you want to be?”
“Are you proposing to me?” I ask, tilting my head. “That’s very inappropriate Mr. Hadid.”
He expels a rough laugh. “While I think you’re an attractive woman, Miss Jones, I prefer my women a tad more submissive in nature. You’re a bit too…independent for me.”
I scoff. “How incredibly sexist.”
Amir hitches a casual shoulder. “We all have our preferences, Miss Jones. Simply because I’d prefer to be with a dependent woman doesn’t mean I wouldn’t treat her like a goddess.” He casts me a knowing wink. “Or a princess, if you will.”
I roll my eyes. I shouldn’t judge him. I know he’s right. One man’s copper is another man’s gold. And vice versa. Amir is just impeccably talented at getting under my skin. Perhaps he does it on purpose for fun.
“You never answered my question,” Amir hums, waving over a flight attendant. “A gin and tonic, please.” He turns back to me. “Well? Do you?
“Do I what?”
He releases a long, dramatic sigh. “Do you want to be married?”
A deep pain suddenly pulses in my temples. “That is a highly inappropriate question to ask your subordinate.”
“I’m asking as a friend,” he clarifies, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Not as your boss.”
Jesus. This is going to be a long fucking flight. What an intrusive question. What a stupid question. What a stupid concept. I mean, yes, when I was little, a child, I’d throw a pillowcase over my head and pretend it was a veil. But as I got older and sicker that fantasy faded, and I was hit with the cold hard truth of my reality. But I’m not sick anymore. Not really. My heart is healthy. My blood tests are normal. I’m here and I’m breathing. I’m living. For the first time in a long time.
When Damon proposed to me last year, it was too soon, too frantic. We hardly knew each other. It was rash. He said he loved me. I don’t think it was love. It was pain and lust and infatuation. But now… Now itislove. I know he adores me. I know he’d walk through fire to keep me safe. But so would Quin. He also had a ring. The promise of forever lingered on the tip of histongue. He just never got a chance for the question to reach my ears.
But now what? Two rings? Two men? Two sets of ‘I dos?’ Not only is that illegal in the United States, but it’s complicated. Even more so than our current situation. Do I want to spend the rest of my life with these two men? I do. Do I love them beyond all logic and reason? I do.
Aren’t those ‘I dos’ enough?
“I’ve got you thinking, haven’t I?” Amir hums. “I’m only asking because I know Quin believes in the sanctity of marriage. He was engaged to that woman before…” He pauses, thinking. “Alison, I believe.” He winces slightly. “Although, I heard what happened at their engagement party.” His curious gaze meets mine. “You must be quite special, Miss Jones, for Quinny and Damon to put aside their differences.”
This conversation shouldn’t be causing me anxiety. Neither Quin nor Damon have mentioned marriage since we returned to New York. They haven’t pushed the subject. They haven’t bought me rings, aside from the emerald I wear to Club Hades. I shouldn’t feel nervous, or on edge, but I do. If marriage is what Quin wants, if marriage is what Damon wants, am I being selfish by keeping them away from their dreams?
No. I can’t do this. I can’t sit here and speculate. I’ll drive myself crazy. I need to talk to them. Ask them. Kids and marriage. These are two topics we have yet to cover. Granted, given the drama we’ve been dealing with—Toni, Alison, my parents—it makes sense wehaven’t had these particular discussions. At least Toni hasn’t been an issue lately. One less problem to solve.
“Wake me up when we’re about to land,” I say to Amir, emotionally exhausted. “You’ve officially given me a headache.”
I drift off to sleep to the sound of his tongue clicking.
The iconic redcarpet of The Beverly Hotel greets us as the valet opens the car door. I keep my expression neutral despite the grandeur of the estate. Top executives from prominent Fortune 500 companies waltz in and out of the entrance; women draped in couture and men with cufflinks more expensive than a small house in Oklahoma.
“I feel underdressed,” I mutter to Amir as we head inside the hotel.
Amir chuckles. “Less is more, Miss Jones. Trust me.” We approach the check-in counter, and I let out a gasp as my waist is pinched. Amir’s gaze snaps over my shoulder, and he smirks. “Quinny boy. Early bird, I see.”
My posture reflexes as I crane my neck toward him. “Good afternoon, Dr. Marquis. How was your flight?”
