Page 118 of The Unwilling Bride
My heart sinks. My stomach tightens. It shouldn’t make a difference to me, but somehow, I’m gutted.
He must notice my silence because he shoots me another glance. "You okay?"
"Why wouldn’t I be?"
He stops for a red light, then turns to me. "Did I upset you with that?"
For someone who doesn’t show any emotions, he notices all of mine. It’s so annoying. It’s like I can’t hide anything from him. I flatten my lips. "Of course, not." I manage to say in a normal voice.
"Except for in the kitchen, I do plan on wearing my ring."
I whip my head in his direction. "Naturally. We want to present the illusion this is real." I’m such a liar.
"Hmph."
I can tell that my answer annoyed him. It’s as if he doesn’t like being reminded that our marriage is not real. Or maybe that’s my wishful thinking?
The lights change. He moves the car forward.
By the time we reach The Edge, I’ve calmed down somewhat. He parks the car, then turns to me. "Feeling better?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. I’m fine," I say shortly.
I turn to get out of the car, but he catches my hand. His touch sends a surge of electricity racing from the point of contact. I still. Then turn to him to find he has a slightly shocked expression on his face. So, he felt it too. Ha. He hastily releases my hand.
"Moving forward, Henrik will take over cleaning up the restaurant and setting up for the next day so you can leave by ten p.m. each night. That way, you’ll be well-rested for the wedding."
My heart melts a little. "That’s thoughtful of you." I half smile.
His forehead furrows. He seems to be struggling with something internally, then he jerks his chin.
"Of course. I need you to look your best in the pictures taken to send to Margot and my investors."
32
James
I didn't mean to hurt her with that parting statement in the car. But I was so taken aback with how I'm softening toward her. How my emotions seem to be so much closer to the surface when it comes to her. How I can’t stop myself from caring for her… So, I lashed out.
I felt like a bastard when I saw the disappointment in her eyes.
She’d gotten out of the car without waiting for me to open the door.
I deserved worse.
And we continued with the dinner prep and service.
That was a week ago.
I should apologize.
But really… Why should I?
This might be a real wedding, but my feelings are not involved.
This is a transaction. She helps me secure my inheritance and save the restaurant. I compensate her and help advance her career.
We’re square.
