Ha. That’s a trap if I’ve ever heard one. “We’ll see.”
I take my phone out, open up the contract, and hand it to her. Her hands remain very still as she reads through it.
“This is practically a marriage contract,” she says as she continues to scan it.
“Technically, but we still have to get married in court.”
“Shares?” Her brows hike up. “That’s insane.”
I grit my teeth. It could be about the money, after all. It doesn't matter. The important thing is that she's going to sign it. She keeps scrolling. Finally, she signs it with the tip of her finger and hands the phone back to me. I fucking love technology. She storms into her bedroom, and I start dialing my driver. I'd dismissed him, but since he can't fly out until tomorrow, he's still at the hotel. I'll have him check me out of my room early and bring my bag. There's no way I'm sleeping apart from her.
CHAPTER30
DELILAH
At least,he lets me shower and change in peace. I can’t believe I’m doing this. He must really hate me to take me back there, knowing I’ll relive a nightmare. And marriage? I’m not against it. Sooner or later, I know deep down that I would have married the old Lachlan. This one? Not so much. But I’m going through with it because damn it, I care about him, and if this is the only way for him to get his inheritance, I’ll help him. Besides, there’s an expiration date and he’s obviously going to let me finish my residency. That alone will take two years. By the end, I’ll cash out and pay back all of my loans. I wouldn’t even consider cashing out if he wasn’t such an asshole now. He made out with me, manhandled me inside the building, yelled at me, and demanded I leave with him. I keep replaying everything, and I still can’t wrap my head around it.
The more I think about it, the sadder I become. I knew that when we saw each other again, things would be difficult in the very beginning. I didn’t think it would be like this, though. I knew he’d be upset, so I was prepared for an argument. The difference was that when it played out in my head, we’d argue and have makeup sex and live happily ever after. Dumb, I know. Obviously, really fucking dumb, considering my situation right now.
I need to call Marissa and talk to her about this. I change fast into the first pajama I grab— a cropped t-shirt and matching shorts. It’s a freaking Snoopy pajama set, but I don’t have many options to sleep in. When I slept with him, I wore t-shirts and panties to bed, which I still wear. There’s no way I’ll walk around in my underwear in front of this Lachlan Duke. Not that I think he’d give me a second glance. Something tells me that his hatred for me overrides his attraction and whatever else he used to feel for me. The thought makes my heart hurt, but I ignore it and focus. I need to pack, which I hate doing, since I either overpack or forget everything. At least, my toiletries are somewhat organized and will be easy.
When I leave the bathroom, I feel the air go out of my lungs and freeze on the spot. He’s so damn gorgeous. I could look at him for hours. I have looked at him for hours. Seeing him sitting on my bed, as he types on his phone, is unreal. I’ve never had a man in my bedroom, and I never let myself imagine him here. Not because I didn’t want him here, but because I couldn’t have him. I was already hurting myself enough without this image.
I continue to stare, making sure that I’m not making him up. I’m completely sober now. After that conversation and the shower, there’s no way I wouldn’t be, but he still seems like a mirage. He’s here and so close that I can touch him, kiss him, and climb on his lap. My heart skips, as I envision myself doing that. That daydream is quickly replaced by a vision of him pushing me off him and yelling at me for thinking I have any right to do that.
That hurtful thought snaps me out of it and makes me move to the closet. I grab my suitcase and focus on packing. I open my sock drawer and pause when I realize I don’t know what to pack. It’s not like I have a ton of options, but I do happen to have a white dress. Not that it matters. It’s not an actual wedding, so it’s not like I need one. The thought chips away at my heart a little. I set it aside. I also have a deep green silk dress and a little black dress because, clearly, I’ve become a walking cliché here.
I’ve only worn the black one, and it was to this year’s holiday party at Tackle. Some people wore red and green, and others wore white and blue. I wore black. I’ve only worn the other two when I tried them on at the store, but I feel like I should pack them. I have enough jeans, blouses and dress clothes for work events. Most of my clothes have a purpose. I only purchase things I probably don’t need on nights when I cry, listen to music, and drink wine. I should probably ask him what we’ll be doing. God, I freaking hate surprises. I can’t believe I agreed to this.
When I step out of the closet, his head snaps up from his phone, and once again, I’m frozen. His eyes heat as he drinks me in slowly, causing an inferno in their wake. He does it again as if he’s savoring every inch of me, undressing me with his gaze. I shift on my feet. I’ve been a lot of things with Lachlan, but coy isn’t one of them. I feel exposed, turned on, and slightly embarrassed by my reaction tonight. When his gaze meets mine, the fire in them licks through me and spreads into my core.
“I don’t know what to pack,” I say, my voice low and needy.
He stares for another second, then tosses his phone on my bed, as he stands and makes his way over. My breath hitches as I watch him, and it occurs to me that this is a terrible idea. The money sounds great, but I don’t know if it’s worth the risk. I don’t think I’ll survive him, this time. He stops right in front of me. I stare at his black shirt and shut my eyes briefly to inhale his scent. Butterflies swarm my belly when I open them and find him watching me with that look in his eyes. The way he looks at me makes it difficult to breathe. When he reaches me, neither of us moves. I keep my eyes on his, heart pounding erratically, as I continue the staring contest that I’m only interested in, if it ends with his lips on mine.
It doesn’t.
He breaks away and moves into my closet. I step out fully. Thankfully, not shaking. At least my body knows when to behave itself. I pivot to look at him. The walk-in closet isn’t big by any means — something that’s demonstrated by Lachlan, who can easily reach every corner without moving. He grabs the three dresses, heels, jeans, tops, and a few other things that he carelessly drops into my suitcase. He knows that shit drives me crazy. I can have a messy stack of books on my nightstand, but my clothes need to be neatly folded. He’s doing it on purpose. Asshole. I don’t react. Finally, he moves to my underwear drawer, and everything inside me comes to a screeching halt.
I have nothing to hide or be ashamed of. Vibrators are normal to have and use, but I know he’ll be mean. The old Lach would have teased with a sparkle in his eye, a smirk on his lips, and promptly used it on me. This one. . .I don’t know what the hell this new Lachlan will do. I fight to remain calm and resist the urge to stop him. He pulls out every single pair of panties I own and studies them. I only have three nice panties, which immediately go in the bag. He tosses some of my others behind his shoulder, not even caring where they land. He does the same with the bras. His brows shoot up when he reaches the back of the drawer, and I know he’s found it. This is going to be a jolly good time, I just know it. He takes it out and examines it. It’s purple and gets used often.
I sigh. “Go ahead. Make fun of me.”
“Why would I make fun of you?” He looks at the vibrator in his hand, at me, and back at it. “Why does it look like a cactus?”
“Are you. . .” I start to laugh, but stop and step in to grab it. He holds it out of reach like we’re in fucking middle school. I shoot him a glare and cross my arms, as I take a step back. “Lachlan.”
“Lyla.”
“Please put it back.”
His smile is slow, cruel. “I will, if you answer a few questions.”
“Questions?” I ask, somehow managing to sound nonchalant. “You’re joking.”
He shakes his head. His smirk is pissing me the fuck off. He must see it, with the way his eyes twinkle in ruthless amusement. I’d expected him to make fun of the thing and then of me for needing one, but questions? He knows damn well that answering questions about sex makes me uncomfortable. Chalk it up to trauma. I can have sex, but I don’t necessarily want to discuss it. Lachlan is the only person I’ve ever felt comfortable speaking to about it, and he knows it. I know he must remember that.
Then again, everything he’s done since he got here has been deliberate, so I don’t know why I expect this to be any different. I’m already wound up and have more emotions than I’ve felt all year. For some stupid reason, even though I know this will hurt, I stay put. Maybe to feed my emotional masochism more fucked up nutrients.
