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“It’s love shit.”

Narrowed eyes. “And I deal in love.”

That has me freezing, but only for a second because then I’m dropping my head back and laughing. “You”—I clutch at my stomach—“deal in love?”

Those eyes narrow further. “I’m a matchmaker Ace.”

“Who charges two million dollars for a couple of weeks’ work.”

I think maybe she flinches, but I can’t be for certain because her gaze is dropping to her lap and she’s opening the book, pretending to read. Hiding from me. Or really, just ignoring me.

Fucking hate that.

“Shouldn’t you be sharing about yourself?” I ask, amusement long gone.

Because she’s right. I should know something about my “fiancée.”

And maybe also because I want to know more about Violet, about the woman beneath the icy armor.

One delicate shoulder lifts then drops in a shrug. “I’ll be anything you want me to be.”

That’s exactly what I need for these next couple of weeks, exactly what I need for everything to go well with my family, with the wedding, with the endorsement deal—a moldable, amiable woman who’ll be exactly what I need.

So why does that sit like a brick in my gut?

I don’t want to look too closely.

Because it’s fucking stupid.

But I still find myself asking, “What’s your favorite color?” anyway.

Blue eyes lifting from the book, locking with mine.

My stomach churns, knowing it’s not going to be the answer I want to hear.

And it’s not.

She smiles prettily and says, “What do you want it to be?”

NINE

Violet

His eyes change and then he’s in my space again.

“What’s your favorite color?” he demands.

“What do you want it to be?”

A flash of irritation across his face. “What is your favorite color?” he grits out.

I smirk. “What do you want it to be?”

His fingers wrap around my chin, not painfully, but tightly enough that I can’t easily escape. “Tell me,” he commands.

“Blue,” I say.

Those fingers tighten. “Bullshit.”