Page 136 of The Unwilling Bride
I refuse to be taken in by his wanker-like comment.
I’m sure he does it only to distract from the fact that he’s much softer on the inside that he’d like the world to find out. More humane. Someone who is moved by the human condition.
Something inside me relaxes. Maybe, I didn’t make a huge mistake marrying this man, after all, regardless that it’s an agreement of convenience. Still, it’s good to know I’m sharing a home—however temporary it may be—with someone who will do the right thing.
"My point exactly." I survey his features. "This is prime real estate inone of the most expensive cities in the world, with a view that people would pay vast amounts of money to enjoy. One you didn’t mind messing up for your…rescue cat."
He shrugs. "She’s home all day. I’m not. She should enjoy the view."
I look back at Malice, staring out at a multi-million-dollar view, on her heated platform, protected by netting that cost more than most people spend on their children’s education in this city.
"I rest my case." I half smile.
His jaw tightens. He looks half perplexed, half angry.
But this time, I’m not distracted by his scowl.
I’m starting to understand James Hamilton. He doesn't know how to say he cares. But he does show it through his actions. He rescued and gave shelter to a traumatized alley cat.
Now…me? Did he offer me this agreement because he wanted to help me? Because he wants me but can’t bring himself to openly show it?
Nah. If he really wanted me, he’d have never let me go in the first place.
Nope, I’m nothing like Malice. She’s his pet. And I…am his wife? Nope, his marriage-of-convenience spouse.
Then, another thought strikes me. "Actually, I do have a question. Why did you tell the brigade that they had to respect me?"
His face turns unreadable. But the shadows under his eyes and on his chin, combined with the food stains across his once pristine shirt front, make him more human than I’ve ever seen him before.
That, along with the fact that, at some point, he slipped his ring back on, gives me the courage to approach him. "Why, Chef?"
A strange light flares in his eyes.
“I told you to call me James when we’re not in the kitchen.”
He did. But it feels too familiar. Too intimate. I’m not ready for that yet.
I don’t say any of that.
Instead, something stubborn rises in me. Something restless. Something that has been simmering beneath the surface ever since he proposed our arrangement.
Because the truth is, part of me is angry.
Angry that this marriage didn’t happen because he wanted me.Angry that it exists only because of a contract and a set of practical needs.
And that frustration keeps pushing at me, looking for somewhere to land.
“There’s no one here. We don’t have to pretend.” I let a hard edge creep into my voice.
Even as the words leave my mouth, I know I’m being deliberately difficult.
But I can’t seem to stop myself.
Part of me wants to push him. To test the limits of that iron control he wears like armor.
Just once, I want to see it crack.
His lips firm. A muscle works at his jaw. But he refuses to take the challenge. When he speaks his tone is even.
