“You have that kind of money?”
“No. Do I need to turn myself in? Be handcuffed? Get fingerprinted?”
“About that. I have”—he looks away, his hands flexing—“a proposal.”
If he says he wants some kind of sex thing, I’m going to freak. “I’m listening.”
“I’m in need of a wife.”
Chapter 7
GRAHAM
Emmy Darling stares at me in shock, and I tear my gaze off her parted lips. Her chest rises rapidly as she grapples with my words. Just like at the motel, her delicate features make her look incredibly young and innocent. But she has a glint in her eyes, an inner fire, and she still smells of vanilla, the sweet scent lingering.
The story of her parents has gotten under my skin. I understand it. I know what it’s like to be hurt or forgotten by those who are supposed to love us. My father put me and Brody in an all-boys boarding school in Connecticut a week after my mother’s death. It cut me to the bone to lose the only home I’d ever known.
Pushing that aside, I roll my shoulders, trying to relax. I’m not myself because a lot is riding on this. It’s a lot of pressure to marry a stranger and do it in such a way as to not raise red flags to the rest of the family.
Brody is depending on me, and I’m going to deliver.
“Are you messing with me?” Her voice is soft, layered with hesitation.
“No.”
Her slender arms cross. “Is this a sex thing, where you keep me prisoner in a dungeon?”
I groan and press the tips of my fingers to the bridge of my nose. “Jesus, your imagination is off the charts, and no, I don’t force myself on women. I don’t want to marry, but I need a wife. We never have to have sex.”
“Are you gay?”
“If I were, I’d live it proud, like my brother and Cas.”
“But . . . why me?”
“Because you owe me. You’ll be motivated to be the best wife you can be, and apparently you’re a great actress. You fooled the asshole at the motel, and that’s what I need—someone to convince the world that we’re . . . in love.” It sounds lame out loud, and the truth is, I’m not sure why it has to be her. I exhale.
“Are you in the mafia?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to steal drugs or art or jewels?”
“Fuck no.”
“Do you plan to put me in some sick game where I get chased on an island by people who hunt humans for sport?”
“What? That’s . . . I don’t even know what that is. Wait, is that from one of your books?”
“Short story, ‘The Most Dangerous Game.’ A big-game hunter falls off a ship and gets stranded on an island run by a Russian aristocrat who’s been hunting humans as sport. The big-game guy, Rainsford, becomes his next human, very ironic, but back to you. What do you get out of marrying me? What are the benefits?”
I rub my temple. “A headache, probably.”
“So why do it?”
“I’ll get an inheritance if I’m married.”
“So it’s true. Rich people only want to be richer.”
I groan. “It’s for Brody, because he can’t claim his.” I hadn’t planned to admit that, but . . .
“Why not just give him the money yourself?”
“I tried. He’s proud. His inheritance won’t go to him because he’s married to Cas. It’s about conservative family politics.”
“Because he’s gay?”
“Yes. Brody came out right before our grandma died, so she left him out on purpose.”
She exhales. “That’s awful, but why would you want to get married just to help him?”
Because Brody needs justice.
Because I detest Holden.
And maybe because I met Emmy.
“He’s my brother. I take it you aren’t a fan of marriage?” My eyes drift over the curve of her cheeks, the way her pouty lips press together.
“I’m more of a bookish spinster type.”
A beautiful one. I take in the long wavy blonde hair, the arch of her golden brows, the high cheekbones.
I also see the shadows that play over her face, and a cold realization dawns on me.
Kian.
“I’m not . . . I’m not a cruel person. I wouldn’t hurt you like Kian.” I may have a temper on the field, but I’d never put hands on a woman. Another reason to marry her flits through my head. I could protect her from him.
“Were you following me today?”
I frown. “No.”