Page 10 of The Temporary Bride

“Be that as it may⁠—”

“No,” Tristan interrupts, cutting across the lawyer’s businesslike tone. “I’m not doing this. No way.”

I can’t help but flinch. In a straightforward sense, of course, I agree with him. But at the same time, there’s such revulsion in his voice that it stings a little. He clearly can’t stand the thought of marrying me, and the thought comes to me unbidden. Does he hate me that much?

“Unfortunately, there is no alternative provision.” The attorney shakes his head blandly. “Either the terms are met, or the shares revert to the shareholder pool and the CEO position is forfeit. There’s no third option written into the will.”

Tristan turns in his seat to face his mother. His voice drops, but the edge in it is unmistakable. “Did you know about this?”

A look of guilt passes over Camille Thorne’s face, and her gaze falls to the table. She knew, I realize.

Arranged marriages aren’t terribly uncommon among people of our social standing. If I were simply hearing about this as an idle piece of gossip—a tidbit that had nothing to do with me, but instead involved a family acquaintance—I wouldn’t be shocked.

But it was the last thing I was expecting when I walked into this room, and I can tell that Tristan was caught equally unaware.

Tristan glares around the room. Eventually, his eyes fall upon me, and I meet his intense gaze squarely, both unable and unwilling to look away.

He draws a quiet breath, audible only due to the silence of the room. Then he speaks. “Get out.”

I’ve been thrown so fucking off balance by everything that just happened that I respond to the commanding tone in his voice without really thinking about it. Rather than stand my ground and throw back an angry retort the way I would under normal circumstances, I start to rise from my chair.

His voice interrupts me. “No, not you.”

I stare at him, surprised. He gestures around himself, his piercing eyes never leaving me.

“Everyone else. Get out.”

I’m expecting some kind of argument to break out, but to my surprise, everyone in the room obeys him. They file toward the doors, unspeaking. His twin brother Reid pauses behind Tristan’s chair long enough to put a hand on his shoulder, brief and wordless, and then he’s gone too.

The door closes.

The conference room, which a moment ago held twelve people and a significant amount of tension, now holds two. Me, still sitting at the table. Tristan, standing at the head of it, the full length of the polished surface between us.

He reaches for his jacket and pulls it off, draping it over the back of his chair, and then he moves to the windows. He stands there with his back to me, looking out at the city as he starts rolling up his sleeves. It’s an agitated motion, methodical but not calm, the kind of thing a person does when they need to do something with their hands.

The sleeves go up, and I see the ink.

It covers his forearms, vines and geometric lines winding from his wrists upward, dark against his skin, detailed enough that I can’t take it all in at once. It doesn’t fit the version of him I’ve built up in my head over a decade of watching him across boardroom tables and industry events, the perfectly tailored suits and the careful composure. Those tattoos belong to a different person, or maybe to a part of this person I’ve never been close enough to see.

I find myself wondering, almost against my will, how far up they go. Whether there’s more ink hidden underneath his pressed white shirt.

And then, with a jolt that’s almost physical, it occurs to me that if the next few years go the way Julian Thorne’s will is demanding they go, I might not have to wonder for very long.

Chapter 5

Tristan

I finish rolling up my sleeves and look across the room at Chloe.

She’s been watching me do it, and her eyes linger for a beat on my forearms and the ink there before her focus snaps back up to my face, that familiar composure locking back into place.

“You didn’t have to send everyone out,” she says neutrally. “I would’ve been perfectly happy to say no to marrying you in front of all of them.”

A mirthless smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “I know from experience that it’s not that simple for you.”

Her chin lifts. “And what makes you think that?”

“Because you’re in the same position I am. You’re beholden to your family the same way I’m beholden to mine. This isn’t just about the two of us, and we both know it. A partnership between our companies benefits everyone who just walked out that door, and your father knew exactly what he was walking into when he sat down at this table today.” I pause. “So the real question is, is your family really going to let you walk away from a deal like this?”