Page 236 of Damsel in Disguise

Silence. The monitor continues its steady rhythm.

Asher and Adrian look at each other—both confused by the sudden play. Neither says a word.

Asher raises an eyebrow at my completely innocent expression, then at the signed marriage certificate, before looking back at me with a level of suspicion usually reserved for unexploded bombs.

Please tell me you’re not carrying his tiny apocalypse? his face seems to ask, to which I give a reassuring slow blink.

I keep my expression perfectly calm, trying not to give in because obviously it’s a lie.

Alistair keeps looking at me.

The silence keeps stretching, making it so uncomfortable that I’m squirming in my seat. I almost blurt out the truth.

The heart monitor beside the bed continues its patient rhythm. Nothing like my own heartbeat.

Suddenly, he smiles—it takes me by surprise.

Alistair shakes his head in amusement and picks up the marriage certificate, and actually signs it.

My eyes track his hand move over the paper, watching him sign beside mine, but I still can’t believe it.

I was expecting him to be difficult.

“It was a marriage certificate, by the way,” my eyes keep dancing back and forth between him and the paper.

He looks at me with the same expression he uses when a student asks an exceptionally disappointing question.

“I’m capable of reading, Ariella.”

I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.

“You seem not to accept the fact that I’m legally your husband now,” he smirks at me.

I choke on nothing but air.

“Jesus fucking Christ, how are you tolerating this bullshit?” Asher says to Adrian. “Save it for later,” he says to me.

I stare at him, completely unconvinced. “You signed that awfully fast. Faster than you signed CynoTech’s contract.”

“There was very little to consider about it.”

“You didn’t even argue.”

“I simply reached the conclusion that marrying you would probably be easier than arguing with you.”

Before I can recover, he adds with perfect calmness. “I signed it because I intended to marry you eventually.”

Asher coughs like a tuberculosis patient. Adrian suddenly develops an overwhelming interest in the window.

I look at Alistair. He looks back at me. Neither of us says anything.

“Well,” Asher clears his throat aloud, picking up the employment contract and the pen from the bedside table.

“I’d also like it formally recorded that CynoTech has hired an internationally wanted genius, and he has accepted a marriage proposal within the same ten minutes.”

“I didn’t propose,” I protest.

Three pairs of eyes turn toward me.