I realize how callous that sounds as soon as the words are out of my mouth. I need her physically—as a wife. That was my intent. Mywholeintent. But you know what they say about best-laid plans going awry.
Which is just another way of saying they get fucked.
Hell, she’ll be wife in more than just name, which is something I hadn’t planned on making a requirement.
So we’ll call her interjection a happy accident.
“My body?” she says mostly to herself, her lush mouth seeming to exaggerate the words. “You didn’t mention anything about my body,” she adds in a stage whisper.
My gaze roams over her again, purposely misunderstanding her. “Surely that can’t be right.”
“That’s what I’m saying! You can’t just chuck last-minute changes into this arrangement.”
“Marriage,” I correct gravely. “And I think you’ll find I can do what I want.”
And what I want is to fuck her. Which is all kinds of wrong.
Her arm drops, along with it, her bouquet. What the hell was I thinking sending Antonio to buy fucking flowers? Was I trying to soothe his feathers or hers?
“Think of your mother,” he’d said.“Such a kind, blessed woman. What would she say if she were here?”
“Doesn’t mean I’ll go along with it.”
Her huffy exclamation brings me out of my musing.
What would my mother say? Probably that Lavender looks like the kind of wife I deserve.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Yeah.”
Fuck it.
“Excuse us for a moment.” Taking her hand, I cross the terrace, tugging her along in my wake. The glass doors to the villa are already open. I close them behind us with a definitethunk.
“Well, there was no need to drag me,” she scolds, pulling on the hem of her dress—coverall—cover-up, cover-nothing goddammit!
“I’m sorry,” I say tersely, “thoughdraggedis an overstatement. But I thought you might prefer a little privacy for this conversation.”
I cross to the bar and, uncorking the scotch, make a casual gesture.Want one?
Lavender shakes her head and offers an equally terse, “It’s a little early for me.”
“Or late, depending on your perspective. I didn’t sleep on the flight.” I was too wired. Unlike Sleeping Beauty, my body clock still thinks it’s nighttime.
She folds her arms across her chest, the happy effect making them a perfect frame for her breasts. It also lifts her cover-up. Damn, those legs.
“What are you smiling about?”
You traversing the room. The littleflt-fltof your flip-flops.
Shibshib, my mother’s voice corrects in my head.
“Do I need a reason? Maybe I’m just a happy person.”
She makes a dismissive noise as she sets her bouquet on the bar next to my elbow. “You said this was business. You never mentioned anything about sex.”
“I didn’t think I had to,” I reply disingenuously, pouring a shot into my glass. “The fact is, a wedding—”
