Page 19 of The Wrong Billionaire
“I get that we’re friends, and you know that I asked Caesar for a baby, and so you think it’s solving both problems. But surely, you’d be much better off with someone who was comfortable in your world. Come on, Mars, look at you—your designer jeans, your expensive watch. Ordering the second most expensive wine on the menu. I bet your chauffeur-driven car is an Aston Martin or something.”
“It’s a Bentley Flying Spur.”
I know enough about cars to know it’s expensive, sleek, and flashy. Very Mars Ashford.
“I’m a primary school teacher,” I remind him. “I drive a ten-year-old Toyota Corolla. I buy the wine that’s on offer at the supermarket. I can’t afford to go on vacation this year. We lead completely different lives. I’d be lost in yours. A marriage of convenience would be a lot easier with someone more suitable than me.” It pains me to say it, but I mean every word.
He doesn’t look shocked. He sips his wine, studying me with those cognac-colored eyes.
“I’m not offering a marriage of convenience,” he says. “I want a real marriage. And a real family. I’m not going to be a donor. I’ll be a husband, and then a father, too.”
I stare at him, completely speechless.
I thought I understood Marcus Ashford. But suddenly I’m not sure of anything at all.
Chapter Five
Marcus
Wren’s face is a picture. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so anxious that she’s going to turn me down.
Her face reddens again. “You’re teasing me,” she says.
I just sip my wine and hold her gaze, not smiling.
“Oh my God,” she whispers eventually. “You’re serious.”
“I’m very serious.”
She blinks a few times, and her brow flickers with a frown. I can see her trying to puzzle it out. And gradually, her eyes light with fury.
Luckily, I was expecting this. I know how her brain is framing it. First she thought I just wanted a business deal, but that doesn’t make sense to her anymore. Now she thinks I’m demanding my conjugal rights like a medieval king.
“Absolutely not,” she snaps. She gives a humorless laugh. “Jesus, Mars! I am not having a fake marriage. And I refuse to sleep with a man who doesn’t want me.”
“You won’t have that problem.”
“I… what?” She looks baffled.
I sigh patiently. “I don’t want to be married to just anyone, Wren. I want you. I wanted you when I was eighteen, and I want you now.”
Her expression slowly softens, and she says softly, “Oh… honey, I’m still five years older than you. That hasn’t changed.”
“No,” I say firmly, “you’re not going to frame this as a crush.”
“Isn’t that what it is?”
“No.”
“So, what? You’re in love with me?” Her words taunt me.
I stiffen. “I’m not a boy, or a teenager. I’m a fully grown man. It’s not a crush. I know my own mind, and when I decide that something matters to me, I don’t let it go. I want you. I don’t see why that’s such a hard concept to grasp.”
Her eyes flash. “This is about sex. I turned you down, and now I’m like the moon. You want to stick your flagpole in me.”
“You mean I want to plant my flag.”
“I know perfectly well what I meant.”
