“That’s exactly what it is.”
Chapter 4
Nova
It’s been five days since I met Mica and agreed to an arranged marriage with him. We met at his attorney’s office two days ago and had breakfast afterwards. I foolishly agreed to have breakfast with Mica’s family this morning. It seemed like such a small thing when he first asked. But now I’m nervous about a bunch of things. What if his parents think this arranged marriage is going to be our happily ever after? Or if they hate me? I should never have agreed to this. However, I’m dressed and ready to go when he knocks because I’m a woman of my word.
When I open the door, Mica is standing on the porch, looking every inch the badass biker. His hair is tied back so it doesn’t blow into his face. And his beard is neatly trimmed. He’s wearing old, faded jeans and a dark t-shirt under his cut. I never had much of an interest in corporate men, so when I saw him in his suit and tie I hadn’t taken in quite how handsome he is. But seeing him without the business attire… Damn. I can’t let my feelings get in the way of this arrangement, so I file it under things to ignore.
“Are you ready? We need to get on the road now or we’re gonna miss breakfast,” he tells me bluntly.
“Yes, I’m ready. I just don’t think this is a very good idea.”
“Jesus, it’s just breakfast. My family is very come-as-you-are,” he says, glancing up at my messy updo.
I resist the urge to reach up and smooth it down. “I’m just having second thoughts.”
“You agreed to meet them when you signed the agreement.”
That’s about the time I notice he’s holding something in his right hand.
“What’s that?” I ask with dread already pooling in my gut.
His hand comes up and he holds it up for me to see. The way he’s folded it, I can see the words ‘Property of Mica’ in beautifully scripted letters.
“It’s my property cut. You’re contractually obligated to wear it.”
I frown at him. “Are you sure you’re an accountant? I only ask because you’re sounding more and more like an attorney.”
“Hilarious,” he says. “Put it on so we can hit the road.”
I hold it up with one hand and give it a shake. “Are you sure this is necessary?”
“Yes, whether by choice or circumstance, you’re my old lady. That means you wear my cut. There really is no gray line here, Nova.”
“Why does this feel like you’re staking a claim?” I ask, growing frustrated with his insistence.
“This isn’t about claiming you,” he explains. His voice finally gentling. “I know this must feel weird, but wearing my cut is more about protecting you than claiming you. My property cut communicates to everyone exactly who’s gonna drive a fuckin’fist through their face for messing with you. It’s an unfortunate fact of life that some men need to be told obvious shit like not to piss in their drinking water or covet their neighbor’s wife.”
I put it on. As I zip it up, I realize that it fits like a glove. The leather smells new, and it feels high quality. It’s a lot more comfortable than I thought it would be.
He reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a small box. “I hate to press my luck, but you’re gonna need this as well.”
I glance down in time to see him opening the box. As I stare down at what’s inside, my guard drops for a moment because the ring is genuinely stunning. It’s a large diamond solitaire. Only it’s not round. It’s marquise cut. And it must have cost him a small fortune.
“God, Mica. It’s too much,” I say, because it totally is, especially for an arranged marriage that’s probably destined to end in a trail of tears.
“It’s fine. You deserve nice things,” he says. “Plus, it makes the engagement look real.”
“Your dad told me, this is an arranged marriage, not a fake one.”
Mica chuckles wryly. “Yeah, he told me that too. The ring is yours, Nova. No matter how this ends, I want you to have something to remember me by.”
“That’s really nice of you, Mica. I don’t know what to say.”
He teases me, as he slides the ring onto my finger. “Say thank you, so I can get to my third gift of the morning.”
When he turns to walk away, I grab his hand and pull one of my many prized possessions out of my jean pocket. Slipping it into his palm, I tell him, “I want you to have something to remember me by as well.”
