My jaw tightens, the barb cutting deeper than I would like. But he has no right to hate me for what I did.
Not when he’s guilty of the same thing.
He’s a hypocrite, a liar, and I won’t fall for his honeyed words again.
“You can trust me to do what’s right for my family. And I think I’ve proven that when the time comes, I can walk away.”
Raf leans back against the edge of his desk, mirroring my posture as he folds his arms. “You do realize what you’re proposing. You’d be tying yourself to a man you don’t love for a war that might kill us both.”
My chin lifts defiantly. “Who says I want love?” Then I temper my anger and take a slow, steadying breath. “You owe me this much, Raf.”
He has the audacity to look taken aback. “Owe you?”
“Yes.You. Owe. Me.And you don’t get to refuse me now.”
The air between us shifts, thick with old heat and something I can’t name.
Emotions dance through Raf’s hazel eyes, dark and roiling as they seem to tumble against one another like sand caught in a wave.
Then he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck as he drops his gaze. “You think this’ll work?”
Is he questioning his acting abilities?
Because I know I can hold up my end of the bargain, but maybe three nights is as long as he can pretend to care about someone.
Still, I know the right buttons to push that will get him to agree, and I smirk.
“You tell me. You’re the strategist.”
I don’t expect him to unleash his crooked smile.
But when he does, pushing off his desk to step closer, it does dangerous things to my insides.
“All right,” he agrees. “We fake it. But you play your part, Aisling. You’ll wear my ring, sit at my side, attend every meeting. The world will believe you’re mine.”
“Done,” I concede, and because I can’t stand to be in his presence for a moment longer—not after the haunting smell of amber, bergamot, and cedarwood reaches my nose—I brush past Raf toward the door. “I’ll tell my father you agreed,” I say without looking back. “And don’t worry, Rafael. I’ll play the perfect wife.”
I don’t have time to recover as the door shuts behind me.
My father and brothers, along with a platoon of Miko Novikov’s men, are waiting for me in the hall.
So I force my shoulders down and plaster on a smile.
“It would seem we have a wedding to arrange.”
Shock flits across the adopted Chiaroscuro brother’s face, and his eyebrows press into a deep frown, but the relief in my father’s eyes makes it all worth it, and he cups my chin affectionately.
“Your mother will be thrilled.”
I nod, swallowing down the guilt and bile that threaten to choke me at the knowledge of what I’ve done.
It’s the first time I have ever deliberately deceived my family, but I know it was the only way I could get Raf to agree to the proposal.
Hopefully, they’ll forgive me for the transgression when they see it was necessary in the long run. “Then we'd better not keep her waiting.”
The procession back through the house is less tense than the one going in, but it’s not lost on me that Miko stays behind, stepping into his brother’s office as soon as we depart. Sandro Chiaroscuro, identical to Raf except for the nautical star tattooed below his right eye, watches us from the stairs as we enter the foyer.
His gaze is softer than his twin brother’s—and infinitely darker.
