“You think you can get your father into a prison?”
She shakes her head. “No. So we’ll have to settle for what normal people use to get married.”
“Normal people don’t have a future father-in-law who’d love nothing more than to put a bullet in my head during the ceremony."
"If that happens, I'll be sure to compliment the flowers at your funeral."
A laugh nearly escapes me before I catch it. “It’s your big day, Princess. You decide.”
Her eyes narrow. “Don’t call me that.”
“What should I call you?”
I swear I can see the gears turning in her brain as she concocts a retort. “Queen would be nice.”
“It’s your day, my Queen. You Decide.”
“Oh… I like that.” Her eyes alight with delight. I can’t stop the image of her looking so animated under me as I fuck her hard and fast from popping up in my mind.
I shake the image from my head and lean against a marble column, watching her examine the space.
“You know, you don’t have to come to these things,” she says, her gaze taking in the view of the harbor.
"I needed to check security measures personally."
"Is that the only reason?"
Fuck. Can she see through me? "What other reason would there be?”
"None at all," she says coolly. "It's just business, after all."
Just business. Exactly what I've been telling myself.
She wanders toward a garden terrace, and I follow like a fucking puppy.
"Why this place?" I ask. "Of all the venues in New York, you chose the most predictable."
She traces a finger along the stone railing. "Father wanted something that screams 'old money' to impress everyone. I simply nodded and agreed."
The way she delivers the line, flat, yet with an undercurrent of mockery, makes me pause.
"And what would you have chosen? If the decision were actually yours."
Isabella's eyes meet mine, surprise flickering across her features before her mask slips back into place. "Does it matter what I want?"
"Humor me."
She hesitates, then turns fully toward me. "Somewhere without two hundred guests pretending not to hate each other. Perhaps a vineyard upstate, or a small ceremony on a private property." Her lips quirk. "Somewhere without gold decor that screams 'compensating for something.'"
This time, I can’t stop the laugh. The sound seems to startle us both.
"You're not what I expected," I admit.
"A disappointment, I'm sure."
"The opposite, actually." I move closer, drawn by the challenge in her eyes. "Most women in your position would be simpering for my approval."
"I’m not most women, much to my father’s disappointment.”
