Page 34 of The Marriage Clause

"I have to get back to work," he says. "My driver is yours now. I can drive myself while you're here."

"That isn't necessary. I can drive myself."

"You're engaged to a Kauffman. Everything is necessary when we're trying to convince the board," he says evenly. "My chef, Matteo, is here for breakfast and dinner. Let him know what you like to eat tomorrow, he'll keep it stocked."

I stare at him.

Logistics. Contingencies. That's what this is.

A man making problems disappear before they happen.

He goes on like he didn't just tilt something inside me.

"I know Lana is coming tomorrow to build out your closet, but you may want a few things for tonight. He can take you back to your apartment if you need to collect anything."

"Oh." I glance down at the ring again. "Right. My apartment."

"My accountant already sent the lease payoff to your landlord. A moving company is coming next week," he says.

I blink. "I can get another job and pay you back for the lease buyout."

"Your job is to be my wife, Aria."

The words land somewhere deep.

"Anything you need, I'll take care of until the year is up."

Then he reaches into his wallet and pulls out a black card.

"You don't have to ask," he says. "Just use it."

I take it automatically, staring down at the smooth black surface in my hand, barely aware of how we got here.

His driver. His accountant. His card. His ring on my finger.

His whole damn world, closing around me one piece at a time, and I'm not sure if that's safety or a trap or both.

Then he turns and heads toward his office without looking back.

And I'm left standing at the window with a ten-million-dollar ring on my hand and absolutely no idea what just happened to my life.

Cammy would tell me to run. Penelope would tell me to enjoy the ride. If I'm being honest, I don't know which one of them is right.

That night, I lie in the guest suite—the one with the gray bedding and the view of the city and the silence pressing against the windows—and stare at the ceiling.

Christian's words swirl around me.

An annulment can be granted if the marriage was never consummated or considered fraudulent.

Somewhere on the other side of this penthouse, Everett is staring at a ceiling too.

I know he is.

I know it the same way I know he likes one and a half sugars and a splash of cream, even though he never told me. It's the only time he's ever not grimaced.

Some things you just learn from paying attention.

And paying attention to Everett Kauffman is becoming the most dangerous habit I have.