“Because I knew you’d come in here and try to take over the entire thing.”
I scowl. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“Really?” She shoots me a look.
A wave of snickers spreads throughout the room and I feel my anger rising. I give each person an intense glare again, since the first one didn’t seem to work. I wrap my hand around Lyla's wrist and pull her away from the group. The office is massive, but it's not big enough to provide enough privacy for us. And I can’t take this out into the hall and risk employees hearing us argue. I drop her hand when I feel we’re at a good distance.
“Why do you need ‘your lawyer?’” I ask, air-quoting as I glare at Prescott again. He’s drinking and typing on his phone with his free hand.
“I wanted to go over the contract you made me sign blindly that night.”
“And you had to do it today?” I ask. “The day before our wedding?”
My heart sinks. What the hell does this mean? She can’t walk away. I can’t fucking lose her again. The rational part of me knows she won’t. But the angry, emotional child inside me is terrified she might. She means more to me than anyone in the world. If she does that, it’ll fucking crush me. She brings her hands up to caress my face. My eyes shut instinctively. I’m addicted to everything she does to me, and she knows it. I grab her wrists and lower her hands from my face.
“Yes, it needed to be today,” she says simply.
“Did you change something?” I ask, searching her face.
“Some things, yes.”
“What things?”
“Some things I didn’t like. I also added some stipulations,” she says, as if that’s a better explanation.
“What. . .things?” I grit my teeth. She raises an eyebrow at me. I Ignore it. Fuck that. “What things, Lyla James?”
She stares at me for a moment — that stare of hers that gives away nothing, the one she never uses with me, the one I fucking hate more than anything. After a moment, a deep, worried frown appears on her face. I almost laugh.She’sfucking worried?
“I would never leave you,” she says quietly when she finally speaks. “You know that, right?”
Oh, fuck. My chest squeezes hard. I try to look away, but she grabs my face. I shut my eyes. It’s not like I didn’t have abandonment issues before her. I don’t need a therapist to confirm that — though one did, when my anger became a problem at home. It’s one of the many reasons I never let anyone in. And I didn’t just let Lyla in. Of course not. Like her, I can’t do anything half-assed. I allowed her to fucking consume me in a way I never thought possible. I remind myself again that she’s not going to leave me, but the uncertainty creeps up anyway.
“Open your eyes, baby,” she whispers, and fuck, when she says that. . . I take a deep breath, open my eyes, and find her looking at me with the kind of love she reserves only for me. “I love you so much. So, so much.”
“I know you do,” I mutter under my breath. “But you can still leave me.”
“Lachlan Duke.” She drops her hands, an amused expression on her face. “Any signed contract, marriage or not, won’t bind me to you if I wanted to leave you or vice versa.”
“I would never leave you,” I growl quietly.
Her eyes heat instantly and damn it. Now I need to fuck her. She crosses her arms, the heat still in her eyes, but she’s much better at containing the urge than I am.
“Just tell me what you added,” I say quietly, my voice softer.
“Stay here,” she says and walks away.
I watch her go up to Prescott and say something. My mom, dad, and now Liam, who’s joined the party like a FUCKING TRAITOR, are sipping their champagne and looking at me like I’m the one who’s acting crazy. My wife is making important decisions without me and they’re just sitting there, enabling her. Lyla walks back with papers in her hands and hands them to me.
“Can we go to your office?” she asks.
My heart sinks. She wants more privacy. I simply nod. She turns around and tells them she’ll be right back, and then we walk out. I follow her, papers in my right hand and my heart in my throat. Once we’re inside my office, she shuts the door behind us and walks to the couch. I follow and sit next to her.
“I asked them not to write it in legalese,” she says, sounding amused by this.
Maybe I would be amused too if I wasn’t so damn nervous about what I might find. The first few pages look the same, but what do I know? I don’t know legalese, either. I’ve only looked at merch and hockey contracts, and then, I’m only primarily interested in the length of time I’m committing to and how many zeros will be on the check. I keep flipping. What kind of arrogant, pretentious douchebag decided that contracts should be more than one page anyway? Finally, I find new things on the very last page. She wasn’t kidding when she said she made them write it in plain English.
Lyla James Marichal agrees to waive the right to the money owed to her for her marriage to Lachlan James Duke. *The sum of two million dollars will be donated to women’s clinics and hospitals in need.
