5
LAVENDER
The air iscool in the early morning, the sky a mixture of indigo and orange as, somewhere out of my line of sight, the sun begins its ascent.
I’ve been in some scrapes in my time. I’ve made dubious and spur-of-the-moment decisions but never completely sober. And I am right now.
Sober yet reckless beyond compare.
Raif says our marriage will be contracted, business only, and if I stick to the rules, I’ll be a million richer in twelve months.Crazy pants, right?But so tempting.
My brother might be a billionaire, but this is the nearest I’ve ever come to wealth. That’s not to say he doesn’t look after us all—his siblings and our mum, but the benefits come with strings. The way Whit fusses is like an old woman, and his money comes with rules and regulations, conditions and provisos. I’m grateful for his help—of course I am—but I’m also tired of being questioned. Of feeling controlled.
What I wouldn’t do to live my life on my own terms.
What I would do is marry a stranger, as it turns out. Even if his reasons aren’t yet apparent.
We even shook on it once he’d removed the clause that I have to sleep with him. Sleep might’ve been what he said, but I’d be lying if I wasn’t thinking about other things that happen in a bed. I suppose that’s where the panic came from. What if I have a horny dream and wake up in the middle of molesting him? I’d die a thousand deaths. I’d have to go and live on a llama farm in Peru or something!
Carrot or the stick, I remind myself. Like the million-pound payoff is a small thing to me. It’s more than just a monumental payday. It’s an opportunity for freedom. I’ll be master of my own destiny instead of being watched like a hawk as the whole family waits for my next fuckup.
A quickie ceremony and then, twelve months to that date, I’ll laugh my way right to the bank. A bubble of excitement rises inside me. Once freed from my role as the troubled middle child, who on earth will I be?
“Coming?”
Nope, that was just an aftershock of pleasure. It happens every time I look your way.
Flicking his finished cigarette across the pristine driveway, Raif indicates one of the cars parked to the right, the row of vehicles like a high-end motor show.
I watch the cancer stick swallowed up by the well-tended plants bordering the driveway, then wonder why that whole actiondidn’t seem disgusting because smoking is a filthy habit—one that kills. It doesn’t make me a teensy bit wet.
It strikes me that this agreement, this marriage, might be easier—safer—if Raif didn’t look like some film noir antihero. He might as well have morally ambiguous written all over him. And the fact that he gives head like a lesbian is, quite frankly, annoying.
After the fact, at least.
Because now I can’t stop thinking about it.
“Lavender?”
“Sorry.” My answer is automatic as I will my feet to begin moving. “I was just taking a moment to process your repulsive habit.”
“And that’s what you were just doing? Staring at me in disgust?”
Ignoring his tone, I glance his way. “What else?”
His answering laughter glows inside my chest as hot as the glow on his just-finished cigarette. “Because it looked like you were considering jumping my bones.”
I fold my arms across my chest, realizing my nipples are visible under my dress. “I think I can resist.”
Note to self: less perving and ramp up the distaste.
“You’re sure? If you change your mind,” he adds as I reach his side, “you just let me know.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“You want to do that for me?” he asks at the passenger door of a midnight-colored sports car.
I reach for the door handle, which isn’t where it should be. “Yes, you’d be into that, wouldn’t you.”
