“Yes, well,” I say, “as nice as it was, it won’t be happening again.” Why do I sound like Dolores Umbridge all of a sudden?
“Princess.” He steps into me and takes my face between his hands. “Nice doesn’t pull my hair. Nice doesn’t fuck herself on my face.”
Maybe I’m having an aneurysm. Who the heck says stuff like that?
“This is madness,” I maintain, covering his hands with mine. “I’m not marrying you with or without the obvious marital benefits. Not to pay off a debt that isn’t even mine.” I slide his hands away and turn. I don’t get very far before he grabs my upper arm.
“You don’t seem fearful by nature.”
I glance pointedly down where his fingers hold me. It feels like a small win as they unfurl.
“It’s got nothing to do with fear,” I retort over my shoulder, taking another step in the opposite direction.
“You don’t seem foolish either.”
“I’m not.” I swing back to face him, hands tightened into fists. I hate,hatebeing called names. Sticks and stones do hurt. Insults glue themselves to you, and people remember. “Here’s an idea for you.” I flick back my hair, not giving him an inch. “Propose to Tod. He’s single and of marriageable age. And it’s his debt, after all.”
“Tod isn’t—”
“Your type? If it’s just a business deal and ‘not a romantic entanglement,’” I say, putting the phrase into air quotes, “it won’t matter, will it?”
“I can’t marry a man.”
“It’s the twenty-first century. You can marry a table lamp if you like.” My shoulder lifts and falls spikily.
“Except I don’t like.”
“Are you homophobic, Raif?” I fold my arms across my chest, my words and demeanor suddenly antagonistic. “Are you one of those toxic male types?”
“Wouldn’t toxic be the man who got you into this?”
“That’s obviously for me to deal with, but I can pass on your proposal if you’d like.”
“I need a wedding that’s believable.”
“Lots of men come out in their fifties—”
“I’m thirty-six,” he grinds out.
“I expect you’d be very popular.”
He shakes his head like he has shampoo in his ear. “I can’t marry a man.”
“Nonsense,” I scoff. “I was bi for a while.”For around three days.“You’d be shocked at the lack of attention paid to that announcement.”
His brows dip, and he cants his head. “My proposal is business and all for you.”
“Well, I don’t want it! You can stick your business proposal up your—”
I suddenly find my hands in his. I tend to wave them around when I’m overwrought. Maybe he thought I was about to wrap them around his neck.Without the romantic connotations.But while I might be the one with the crazy arms, he’s the one who should be in an asylum!
“Lavender.” The way he says my name feels like the brush of velvet concealing a blade’s edge. “This isn’t a chance meeting.”
I look up into his bitter coffee eyes. Or maybe bitter is just me. “You have the wrong girl.”
“I’m sorry it has to be this way.”
“Are you?”
